Page 56 of Stick Fight

“This actually doesn’t seem like much,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

I grin. “And yet, here you are.”

“Maybe if I make enough money, I can finally buy a sewing machine. Grab some fabric. Make a few pieces myself. It’s more economical that way.” She says it so casually, like it’s no big deal, but it is. It’s her dream, and said softly, it’s like she’s not sure she’s allowed to chase it anymore.

I work hard to keep my face neutral, but subtlety’s never been my strong suit.

She catches it instantly. “What?” Her eyes narrow, reading me like an open book. “You’re thinking something.”

“Nothing,” I lie, my voice too quick. “I think it’s a great idea.” I flash her a smile. “Now come on. It’s getting late, I’m starving, and we’ve still got a stop to make before dinner and Tanner and Maeve’s.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t push, and we move. Back to Ben, back to the car, back to the rhythm we’re slowly finding with each other. We hit the grocery store, load up on enough food to last the week, and by the time we’re back at my place, Ben and Steven are both there to help unload.

Steven shows up with the building’s cart and an easy smile. I shoot him a look—just a subtle lift of my brow, a silent question I don’t say out loud. He catches it and answers with a big grin and a nod. I’m not sure if Gabby noticed the exchange, but if she did, she keeps it to herself.

As we’re waiting for the elevator, she quietly grabs one of the small boxes and hands it to Steven. Inside he finds two cinnamon rolls.

“You didn’t,” he says, grinning wide.

“I did,” she replies. “Thanks for helping me out this morning. I really appreciate it.”

Steven beams. “Anything for my guy Roman here.” He tosses me a wink. “And his girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

The word hangs in the air longer than it should. She doesn’t correct him. And neither do I.

But I’m still chewing on it long after the elevator doors slide shut. Because maybe Steven sees what I see—a woman who's been knocked down but hasn’t lost her shine. Someone who gives, even when she has so little to spare. Someone kind. And strong. And thoughtful in a way that wrecks me a little.

She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met.

But that doesn’t mean I should let myself fall for her…

16

Gabby

Ican’t believe how nervous I am.

It’s just a casual visit, nothing formal. But something about meeting Maeve and her daughter Stella feels big. Important. Maybe it’s because I’m genuinely starting to love the idea of being Stella’s temporary nanny. Or maybe… it’s because I want Maeve to like me. Really like me.

Which is silly, right? I’m not planning to stay in Boston long-term. And from what I’ve seen, all of Roman’s friends have been nothing but kind. Taylor, especially. When I met her in Vegas dressed asMrs. Roper, no less, she was warm and completely judgment-free. That kind of kindness is rare in the fashion world, where everything is curated, critiqued, and polished to perfection.

Part of me should be relieved to be far away from all that noise, from the shallow friendships and the endless pressure to be ‘on’. But the other part of me misses it like a phantom limb. Because designing isn’t just what I do, it’s who Iam.

I sit up straighter as our driver, Fred—new guy, friendly eyes—pulls into Tanner’s driveway. The house is beautiful in a storybook kind of way. Not over-the-top like Cass’s mansion, and nothing like the cozy little apartment I once called home, but there’s a kind of quiet charm to it.

Funny how I’ve started missing small, warm places. Roman’s apartment isn’t exactly aesthetic. It’s more “rugged hockey player” than anything else. But it’s his, and somehow, that makes it feel… comforting.

“You didn’t want to live on Beacon Hill, like the other players?” I ask, glancing over at him. His dad’s the Lieutenant Governor of California, and I know he didn’t grow up in anything close to modest.

Roman’s jaw tightens just slightly before he replies, “No. I kind of like my small place.” His hand moves toward the door handle, then hesitates. “Besides… I’m single. Most of the guys only moved here after they started families.” He runs a hand along his jaw, almost absently. “I’d say ‘maybe one day,’ but… that’s not going to happen.”

The air shifts.

I try to keep it light. “Right. Romeo doesn’t do relationships.”

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