Page 50 of Stroke of Fate

“Sorry, I’m working tonight.”

“Tomorrow night, then?”

“Working again.”

“Sunday?”

There are 139 days left in the year, and I’ll go through each one until she says yes.

Luckily, I don’t have to.

“Sunday should work,” she finally says.

“Perfect. Then it’s a date. I’ll text you the details.” My shoulders relax, and I suddenly have this strange urge to pump my fist in the air.

“Not a date,” she corrects, biting her lower lip. “A meeting to discuss the project, remember?”

Not even her reluctance to call it a date deters my good mood.

Grinning, I say, “Sure, Teddy Bear. Whatever you say.

17 | BEAR

This is not a date.

I repeat the sentence to myself for what feels like the hundredth time. I said it while curling my hair into beachy waves, then again as I spent an agonizing amount of time deciding what to wear, and now, as I check my appearance one last time in the mirror.

The butterflies remain, their tiny wings fluttering so much that I feel sick with nerves.

“This is a casual business meeting about the project, Bear,” I say aloud, hoping it'll be easier to believe if I speak it into the universe.

Nope. Flutter, flutter, the butterfly wings go.

Ugh.

I grab my bag and a notebook, because every business meeting needs one, and wait for Levi in the living room.

His hoodie is folded neatly on the coffee table. Tonight it’s getting returned.

It still faintly smells like him when I pick it up, a mix of sandalwood and fresh apples. Spicy and sweet. Which is ironic, considering that's exactly how I would describe him. It smells good enough to make me want to bury my nose in it one last time.

Embarrassment still lingers when I think about him seeing me in it. I have no idea why I wore it to his practice on Thursday. My only excuse is that my brain wasn’t fully awake when I threw it on.

Oh, and let’s not forget that I didn’t even know he was on the team! Or that I had somehow convinced myself I was attending an all-girls swim practice.

God, what a train wreck.

It doesn’t matter anyway. This is where we are now, and the only thing left to do is make these next three months as unproblematic as possible.

When the doorbell rings, I give myself a quick pep talk to calm my nerves.

Opening the door and seeing Levi standing there makes my traitorous stomach dip, just like it does during takeoff when I'm flying.

Why does he have to look so good?

I grip the doorknob tighter. This would go so much more smoothly if he resembled a troll.

“Wow,” Levi rasps, running a hand through his hair. “You look beautiful.”

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