Page 59 of Stick Fight

Tanner lifts a brow. “You’ve never been to one?”

“No. I’ve been too busy building a career.” The words taste like regret. My stomach twists, and Maeve must sense it because she gives me a soft, knowing look. Thankfully, Stella picks that moment to launch more cereal across the table, stealing everyone’s attention.

“I think it’s time for this little tornado to call it a night,” Maeve says as she stands.

“Can I help?” I ask, eager for something to do. Something normal.

“Sure. I’ll show you around, too,” she says, then arches a brow. “Want to carry her?”

I nod, and she hands over Stella, who immediately calms in my arms. Her sticky fingers tangle in my hair, and I don’t even care. There's something so nice having her in my arms, the way she studies me like it might be important to her.

Aunty Gabby.

Whoa, where did that come from?

Upstairs, we wash her up and change her for bed. Stella yawns like it’s her full-time job, and once she's settled in her crib, Maeve dims the lights and reads her a story. I stand there, watching, and it hits me—how far I’ve drifted from this kind of simplicity. This safety. This love. When Stella's asleep, Maeve gives me a tour. On the main floor, we step into her craft room, and I take in the walls lined with cheerful fabric, a sewing machine parked by the window like it's waiting for a story.

“You sew?” I ask, my fingers brushing a bolt of unicorn print cotton.

“Not much,” Maeve says with a shrug. “But Stella’s grandma loves it. She’s always making stuff for the grandkids.”

I smile, soaking in the bright colors, the dinosaurs and butterflies. “That’s really sweet.”

“Have you ever made children’s clothes?”

“No. My work’s always been high-end fashion. I wanted to specialize in wedding gowns.”

“Well, if you ever want to use this room while Stella naps, it’s all yours. Fabric too.”

“Thanks… but I wouldn’t even know where to start with kid stuff.” Not that I think it would be too difficult. Just a smaller version of the clothes I make now, with brighter colors.

She chuckles. “Maybe you could do little wedding dresses for dress up.”

I laugh as I visualize it. “Now that’s a niche market.”

“Probably untapped.”

We leave the room, my mind racing, and when we rejoin the guys in the living room, conversation flows easily over drinks. But eventually, exhaustion creeps in and I fight back a yawn.

Roman notices. “We should head out. Early practice tomorrow.”

I stand as he does, and we say our goodbyes. On the way home, nestled in the back seat of the Uber, Roman takes my hand.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, meaning it more than I expected. “I really like your friends. And I think watching Stella will be fun.” He nods, but goes quiet. Like he’s waiting for something. “Did you know they have a sewing room?” I add. “Maeve said I could use it. I won’t, though. People can be funny about their machines, and I wouldn’t want to risk messing with Grandma Stella’s stuff.” I shake my head, trying to brush it off. “God, I’d do anything to have mine back.”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares out the window, lost in thought. I don’t push. It feels like something he’s working out in his head, and not everything needs to be said in the back of a car. When we get back to his place, Everett greets us at the door. Roman takes my hand again and leads me upstairs.

Inside, I turn to him. “Is everything okay?”

“I, uh… I did a thing,” he says, eyes a little wide, like he’s not sure how this is going to land.

“What kind of thing?” I ask, nerves prickling.

He pulls me gently down the hall, to the small bedroom. My heart stutters. Is he… moving me out of his room? But then he takes me to the den, and I see it. Centered under the window, sleek and beautiful and entirely unexpected. A brand new, top-of-the-line sewing machine.

I stop cold, blinking. My brain can’t quite catch up.

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