21. Mckenna
TWENTY-ONE
MCKENNA
The pace of my life slows when I begin dating Mav. My financial concerns lessen, my hectic schedule eases, and my nights are spent with quiet stretches of study time rather than the chaotic bustle of serving.
My biggest concern is disappointing Lia and losing her friendship by quitting the café.
Fortunately, in true Lia fashion, she’s understanding. She doesn’t hold a grudge that I’ve now stepped in as the lady in Mav’s life.
It puts a damper on our budding friendship but lacks the animosity or catty words I expected. For that, I’m grateful. Lia’s acceptance allows me to slip more surely into my role.
In the following weeks, I dive into my classes and fill out internship applications. I steer clear of Branson and his sinister smirk as much as possible. To avoid him in the library, I start studying at home.
And I learn much more about Maverick Tate.
It’s subtle at first. We casually begin eating dinner at the same time. Some nights, we sit in the living room and work with our laptops—he bought me a new one as soon as he learned my old one broke—perched on crossed legs. When one of us laughs, the other looks up expectantly, and small pockets of conversation occur.
Sometimes, Mav scratches out words in a line-filled notebook with doodles in the margins. While he hasn’t let me read what he’s working on, he’ll often ask me for synonyms for deep feelings. Like loss. Or regret. Love.
Most nights, my stomach grumbles, and I beg him to split a bag of popcorn with me.
He always agrees, even when he’s not hungry.
When our eyes grow bleary, we kick back and watch movies together.
Slowly, our casual morphs into familiar.
Mav begins buying the oat milk I like when he grabs groceries.
I mentally keep track of his schedule, reminding him about dentist and eye doctor appointments.
Our solo microwaved dinners become a double takeout order. Or even a night out, dining at some trendy wine bar or slipping into an ice cream parlor for a single—ahem, triple—scoop.
He confides that he’s writing lyrics for the Clovers’ next album. I admit that Branson creeps me out, and I’m avoiding him.
As the first snowflakes of winter coat the Boston cobblestones, Mav and I are a bona fide couple. At least publicly.
The scandal of him hooking up with Angela Hayes has subsided considerably. Photos of us grocery shopping and sipping wine are splashed across gossip magazines. The laughter in our expressions and the casual way we touch each other are genuine.
When Kimberly stops by the brownstone in early December to inform us that we’re attending the record label’s New York City Christmas party together, I don’t bat an eye, and Mav hardly grumbles.
“You’ll need a gown,” Kimberly advises. “I can help with that or?—”
“Have you seen her, Kimberly?” Mav interjects, gesturing toward me. “She may look frumpy?—”
“Hey!” I swat at him, tugging down my merino wool sweater. It’s not frumpy; it’s classic.
“But Mckenna Byrne knows how to pull together a black-tie look,” Mav carries on like I haven’t smacked him. Instead, he captures my hand and keeps it trapped against his abdomen.
Kimberly arches an eyebrow, her eyes darting between us. They narrow slightly as a questioning look ripples over her expression.
I roll my eyes and yank my hand out of Mav’s grasp. “I can get dressed just fine. Thanks, Kimberly.”
“The event is the eighteenth,” she continues, shaking her head. “You’ll be in New York for at least four days.” She pulls up her notes app and rattles off a list of activities for us. “ Hamilton or The Book of Mormon ?”
“Hamilton!” I say instantly.
Mav shrugs. “Whatever she wants.”
“You’re going to the Friday evening performance,” Kimberly confirms. “Brunch at Sarabeth’s or Le?—”
“Clinton Street Baking Company,” Mav cuts her off. His eyes dart to mine and flash playfully. “You’ll love it. Banging pancakes and the best chicken and waffles.” He groans appreciatively. “But totally unpretentious. It’s warm and chill and…I gotta take you.”
Kimberly pulls back in surprise.
I grin. “Okay. Clinton Street.”
“Anything else?” Mav asks Kimberly.
She sighs. “If you’ve got ideas, I’m open.” Her finger hovers over the screen of her phone, waiting for our suggestions.
“Ice skating at Rockefeller Center,” I confess one of my childhood wishes. Every year my father promised to take me, but it never materialized. He always had a crucial meeting or a last-minute lunch. Mom scoffed when I suggested it. The wind would mess up her hair.
Mav cocks his head thoughtfully. “Huh? Wouldn’t have taken you for the touristy type.”
I snort. “It’s a thing from when I was a kid.”
He studies me for a beat before nodding, his gaze flicking back to Kimberly. “Add it to the list.”
She dutifully types it out. “What else?”
“Dyker Heights Christmas lights,” Mav tacks on.
Kimberly gapes. “You want to go all the way out to Brooklyn?”
Mav shoots me a look and a sheepish shrug. “Childhood thing.”
I grin. “I’m in.”
“You guys are crazy,” Kimberly mutters. “And taking this in stride. Better than I thought.”
“I want to go to the Public Library,” I add.
“And eat late-night tacos in Hell’s Kitchen.” Mav smirks.
“Walk through the Bryant Park Winter Village.”
“Buy roasted chestnuts on a street corner.”
“And a pretzel,” I agree.
“Might as well get hot dogs too,” Mav chirps.
Kimberly’s gaze ping-pongs between the two of us. She stares like we’re giving her the creeps, and Mav and I both erupt into laughter at her horrified expression.
Kimberly shakes her head. “You guys are freaking me out. What do you want me to book besides the hotel, the Broadway show, and brunch?”
“Nothing,” Mav and I say in unison.
“We’re…winging it,” I admit, shocked that those words are coming out of my mouth. I don’t “wing” things. Like Kimberly, I plan, process, and execute according to a list. But with Mav, the idea of a long weekend in New York City, being a tourist and a holiday reveler, is thrilling. I don’t want to plan and process; I want to feel and experience.
Mav drapes an arm around my shoulder and tugs me into his side. “We got this, Kimberly. The public loves Mckenna and me together. Don’t worry about New York. We’ll charm the label execs, and you’ll get your perfect holiday romance photos.”
I snake my arm around Mav’s waist. “I’m a great plus-one in a corporate setting.”
“My first choice.” Mav glances down at me and winks.
“I’ll go dress shopping this week,” I confirm.
“And shoes. Get sexy shoes, Mckenna. We want these uptight pricks to think?—”
“I got you,” I reassure him, patting his hip.
Kimberly slips her phone into her back pocket. “I don’t know what’s happening anymore.” She lets out a shaky sigh. “You two are either fucking with me and doing a great job or fucking with yourselves.” I open my mouth, but she waves her hand. “I don’t want to know. Mav’s right; you are trending well in the papers and on socials. The fans actually like you.” She points at me, her voice wrapped in surprise.
Mav chuckles.
“Thanks, Kimberly,” I say.
Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just, the fans never like any of the girls. It took them a while to warm up to Allegra. And they straight up hate Amelia.”
“Amelia’s a bitch,” Mav says simply.“Jameson was better off when he was with Marisa.”
Kimberly shakes her head. “They like you,” she tells me sincerely.
Her words force me to dip my head. I bite my bottom lip and try not to grin as a wave of assurance washes over me. The fans like me.
It shouldn’t mean as much as it does, but…in some weird, strange way, I currently fit in Mav’s life. We belong together, and it feels better than I thought it would.
It matters more than it’s supposed to.
Even bantering with Mav is fun instead of annoying. His quirks make me giggle when I used to find them infuriating. Our lives mesh a million times better than I thought possible. And I like it.
“If anything,” Kimberly continues, “you need to watch out.” She pokes Mav in the chest. “Even your male fans are obsessed with Kenny.”
A growl rumbles through Mav’s chest, and the corners of his mouth pinch. “What do you mean?”
I smile, a flush working over my face. Is he jealous?
Kimberly laughs. “The women think she’s good for you, and the men think she’s too good for you. I think ‘too hot’ is the post I read. For the first time ever, Maverick, you are batting above your average.”
Mav scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Well, obviously.”
Huh? I lift my chin to study his expression. Is he serious? Does Mav really think I’m too hot or good or whatever for him?
He changes the subject before I can get a read on him. “A baseball reference? Really, Kimberly?”
Kimberly blushes. “It just popped out.”
“She used to date a pitcher,” Mav whisper-hisses to me.
“Oh,” I say.
Kimberly is beet red. “It ended poorly.”
“Fucking train wreck,” Mav divulges.
I pinch his side again.
He yelps. Swears. And then, “Sorry, Kimmy.”
Kimberly nods and averts her gaze. “Since you seem ready for the trip, I’ll arrange your accommodations. Do you want to leave the day before?”
Mav glances down at me, a playful gleam in his eyes. “How about two days before? Get some extra downtime to enjoy the city at Christmastime.”
“Sure,” I agree. “I have my last final on the sixteenth.”
Mav nods and glances up at Kimberly. “We’ll leave as soon as Mckenna’s done with exams.”
“Okay,” Kimberly agrees. “I’ll email you the itinerary.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Kimberly,” I say.
“Sure.” She waves another hand as she slides into her boots. Pausing, she looks at us for a long moment. “You know, if I didn’t know you guys, you would have fooled me too. You seem…happy together.”
Mav smirks, and I laugh, but neither of us drops our arms. Neither of us denies the truth behind her words.
Because they’re true. The realization magnifies the significance of Kimberly’s assessment.
I am happy posing as Mav’s girlfriend.
Right now, Maverick Tate makes me happier than I’ve been in a long time.
We’re going to New York City together to put on a show. To perform what relationship goals look like. It’s supposed to be fake. It shouldn’t matter, and I shouldn’t care.
But inside, my heart pounds, my nerves zing, and the exhilarating thrill of anticipation dances.
I like being Maverick’s girl.