47. Just Right #3
“I’m working on a whole series now,” I say, appreciating that he called them swans, even though they were fans.
“Maybe we can add that to the sports camps. Competitive napkin-folding,” Lydia says.
“I’ll teach it,” I offer.
Asher smiles fondly. “You’d be great at that.”
And optics or not, I can tell one thing—he likes having me here. And that’s reason enough. “I would be good,” I say, feeling his confidence in me, but also this newfound confidence in myself.
My brother swings by and pats me on the back, teasing, “Going great, huh? It’s the optics, right?”
“That’s me. I’m magic when it comes to optics,” I say.
He smiles, but then his smile fades and he tips his forehead toward the water, a sign for us to step away from the crowd. I walk with him toward the edge of the picnic grounds. “What’s going on?” I ask.
“Just want to see how everything’s going with the whole…thing,” he says in a low voice.
“It’s great,” I say, meaning it completely.
“Yeah?” It’s asked like he doesn’t believe me.
“Beckett, I swear it is,” I add.
He blows out a breath, then nods a few times. “Okay. I can’t help looking out for you.”
“It’s the big brother gene,” I say, but there’s affection in my tone.
“Guilty as charged.” He sighs and looks toward Asher, who’s chatting one on one with Marcus now. My brother returns his focus to me. “Anyway, so it’s working out. You’re getting lots of new gigs, right?”
“I am, but it’s not because of the marriage,” I say, believing it for one of the first times.
Maybe there’s more interest in me now, but these days it feels like the interest is in Maeve Hartley, the artist who’s working on the Sea Dogs mural, rather than in Mrs. Callahan.
I square my shoulders, something like pride filling my chest. “I started a new line of mirrors. And Angelina already heard from a couple local shops that might want to carry them,” I say, sharing the latest news with him.
I sent her some pics of the Love Lessons mirrors last week, and she made some calls, and quickly found some stores that like to carry local artists’ work.
“Good, good,” he says, rubbing his palms. “I don’t want you getting hurt during this whole…charade.”
“The opposite is happening,” I say, because my dreams are finally coming true. “Maybe the whole pay it forward thing worked out in its own way.”
He scratches his jaw, seeming to consider that as he nods a few times, his gaze drifting to Asher. “And the two of you? You’re friends and all still?”
I snicker. I can’t help it. It just bursts from me.
“What’s that for?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “We’re all good,” I say, but I’m not telling him anything more. My sex life is none of his business. Come to think of it, neither is my love life. I don’t need anyone’s permission to date.
“Okay,” he says, not looking quite satisfied with my answer but accepting it, nonetheless. He exhales, then nods toward the group again. But before we go, he turns to me one last time. “Do me a favor then.”
“What is it?” I ask, a little skeptical.
He squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t break his heart.”
On that mic drop, he walks off to rejoin the others. I stand in place for a long beat, the words echoing. Don’t break his heart.
Does my brother know something? Does he sense something? I catch up to him, grabbing his shirtsleeve. “Did he say something to you? Is that why you said that?” I whisper.
Beckett shakes his head. “No. He didn’t. But I have eyes. Now let’s go.”
His advice—another love lesson—rings in my head as we return to the donors, the kids, the families, the board, and my husband, who’s still chatting intensely with Marcus.
It plays on a loop as Beckett clears his throat, gathering everyone’s attention. Behind him, the bay gently laps the shore, its waves soft like background music.
“I want to thank you all for coming today and supporting Total Teamwork,” Beckett says. “None of this would be possible without Asher’s idea to get it started, so I’ll let him take it from here.”
And the words ring in my head once more as Asher steps to the front of the picnic tables, his usual easy confidence shining.
“Thanks, Beckett,” he begins, glancing around at the gathered crowd.
“This cause is so important, and I’m grateful to everyone who’s helped make Total Teamwork possible.
But today’s not just about me—it’s about the people who’ve supported me along the way.
I’ve been lucky to have Maeve by my side, helping in more ways than I can count.
I couldn’t do any of this without her. So thank you—to my wife. My best friend.”
His words hit deeper than I’d expected. Everything right now feels so real, from my brother’s unexpected advice to Lia’s watery eyes to my own dreams finally feeling within reach.
But this, most of all—the goal Asher and Beckett had years ago to create this charity.
They made it happen, and it’s coming true at last.
Asher talks more about the charity, the picnic, the fun run, the upcoming summer camps, and the range of services available. When he’s done, the crowd applauds, and I’m left standing there, feeling the warmth of his words, the heat of his gaze, the love that surrounds us.
Don’t break his heart.
I don’t want to. I’d never want to. But is that even on the table? His heart? As that thought grows roots, so does another one. Is my heart on the table too?
It beats louder, thumps harder.
My thoughts start to race. It’s only been six or seven weeks—how could I possibly be falling in love? My emotions are so tangled, so blurred, I can’t even tell what’s real anymore. Is this part of the act, or am I starting to feel something deeper?
There’s no time to figure it out, since I need to mingle more, so I push down the confusion that swirls inside me. Play the part. Smile. Focus on him, on being the wife. Optics, right?
* * *
Asher is amped up when the event ends. I’ve seen him like this after hockey wins. There’s this charged energy around him, like he can’t sit still even as he drives.
“Are you happy with how it went?” I ask on the short ride back to Pacific Heights.
“Hell, yes. This launch is better than I’d imagined.
Had a good chat with Marcus for a while too.
Smart guy. He knows a ton about working with athletes’ mental health.
Well, obviously,” he says. “So we can definitely incorporate more of his skills. But that’s not why I’m so fucking excited right now. ”
“Why, then?”
He grins at me, full of secrets, as we pull into the garage. “Let me show you.”
“What is it?” I ask, his energy infectious.
“Patience, my wife,” he says, then he leads me through the house, out onto the terrace, and into the backyard. Fairy lights twinkle along the fence—brand new and lighting up the yard with a soft glow. My eyes drift toward the little shed, the former sunroom.
It doesn’t look like a sunroom anymore.
I gasp, barely able to breathe. “Asher?”
“Yes?”
“Did you make a—?” I stop, unable to finish. This is so much. This is unreal.
“A studio for you?” he asks, holding my gaze with the most satisfied, hopeful look ever. “I did. Well, I had it made while we were gone.”
This is so much more than words of affirmation. This is everything.