Page 54 of High Notes & Hail Marys

Your throat goes dry.

“Ster…” you begin.

“Just open it,” he says impatiently.

You undo the ribbon and get the box open. On a bed of black velvet is a bracelet. It’s threerings of tricolor gold: white, yellow, and rose. The three are entwined so that they can move separately without coming apart. The bracelet’s been polished to the point of gleaming.

Without realizing it, you’ve started chewing the inside of your cheek. You pick the bracelet up off the velvet, feeling its solid weight. You have huge hands, but it slides on just right, settling comfortably on your wrist. You can’t help turning your arm to see the way it catches the light, glowing against your skin.

“It looks amazing,” Sterling says. “Do you like it?”

Your first two or three tries at saying something adequate don’t come out. You clear your throat.

“It’s too much,” you say. “If I had realized…”

“Don’t.” The resolve in Sterling’s voice snaps you to attention. “I’m allowed to spoil the people I care about. And I love my gift, so please don’t imply that it wasn’t enough. Put your arm closer to the camera.”

You obligingly do as he asked.

“It fits right,” he says, with no little satisfaction.

“Maeve?” you echo.

“Nope!” He pops thepon the word. “She’s good, but not that good. You don’t really wear any jewelry, so I had to guess. The sales associate asked how muchbigger your hands were than mine, and we went from there.” He tilts his chin at you. “There should be something, um. Engraved. On the inside of the yellow gold band.”

You slide the bracelet off, and examine the inside. The light really isn’t good enough. You have to bring it right under your lamp. Only then do you see the writing.

Apr 28, 2024 at 8:37 AM

“What’s this?” you ask, running your finger over the engraving. It’s faint under your touch, barely deep enough to be tactile.

“It’s a timestamp,” Sterling explains. “It’s when Maeve texted me to ask if I’d heard of Kaius Reinhart.”

“Oh, god.” You slide the bracelet back on. “After that interview that Sandy did?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“You totally didn’t know who I was.” It’s not a question.

Sterling snorts. “You’re right. I didn’t. I told you that I don’t follow football. But I Googled you…”

“Oh, now you admit it.”

“I Googled you,” Sterling repeats, “and, at 8:47 AM, I texted Maeve back and told her to get in touchwith you.”

It’s on the tip of your tongue to make an asinine remark.You saw all this fine-ass body, and you knew you had to hit that. But it would be inappropriate. Ten minutes. That’s all it took for you to get Sterling Grayson’s attention. What did he see when he looked you up?

He saved the text.

The enormity of that hits you, all at once, and it kind of chokes you up. You duck your head, afraid that your heart will be written all over your stupid face.

“I really like it,” you say, carefully. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Sterling says.

And it occurs to you: you should have brought him home for Christmas. You should have gotten over your fears about your family, and Sterling’s reaction to their over-abundant attention. He should be there with you right now, snuggled next to your side, so he could tell you in person about that goddamn text, and you could kiss his soft mouth.

Next year.

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