Page 90 of At First Smile
“You’re debuting as a couple at Landon’s fundraiser?” She claps her hands together. “Brilliant! That will officially kill the story about the punch. Your meet-cute and relationship is PR gold. The public would much rather focus on the hockey bad boy redeemed by one of social media’s sweetest and, may I add, gorgeous influencers.”
Flipping his cap backwards, so I can see his eyes, he locks his gaze on my face. “That’s not why I asked Pen to come with me.”
Eliminating the space between us, I take and squeeze his hand. “I know.” My pull to assure him stamps out any concern about the hospital’s chief of staff or my future boss.
“I know, Rowan. You’re not that calculating. I’ve cleaned up enough of your missteps over the years to be very much aware of that.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Still, this will cause a bit of a stir. I fielded several ‘Are you sure there’s nothing going on there?’ messages from reporters after the pics at LAX. Photos don’t lie and the chemistry between you two is evident. We should discuss a strategy. I know you hate this stuff, but a plan ensures we control the narrative.”
“She’s right.” With one last stroke against his palm, I let go of his hand.
He tips his head back. “I know. Sash, can we discuss this on Monday?”
“Of course. Okay, taking the publicist hat off now.” Sasha loops her arm with mine. “How on earth did he manage to win you over? I need to hear everything.”
“Uncle Rowan!” A little human screams and barrels into Rowan’s arms.
“He’s not your uncle,” a man in a wheelchair grumbles, following behind.
“Pen, may I introduce you to Damon, Sasha and Greg’s son.” Rowan hoists the little boy into his arms and my ovaries explode.
At twenty-six, kids are a few years away for me. But seeing Damon in Rowan’s arms unleashes a flood of hormones that suddenly make me want to take Rowan into the nearest bathroom for him to put a baby in me immediately.
Good God, Pen.
After officially being introduced to Damon and Greg, Sasha tugs me away for a private tour of the new play equipment. It’s amazing. The sprawling playground offers various accessible features. There are ramps allowing for easy access to slides,tunnels, and activity areas. Tactical activities and nonvisual/auditory adaptations allow low-vision folks to easily traverse and engage.
After the sneak peek, I sit in the bleachers with Damon and Sasha cheering on Greg as he coaches his team of famous clients facing the L.A.-based national goalball champions. Despite one Superbowl ring, two gold medals, and a scrappy hockey player who may have sworn one too many times, Greg’s team loses to the team of weekend warrior goalball players.
“We should head over to the playground for the ceremony.” Sasha stands.
I stand and smooth down my dress’s skirt. “Is there time for me to hit the restroom?”
“Yeah. Want an escort?” Sasha asks.
“I got it.” Smiling, I take the sidewalk through the park, leading to the brick building on the other side.
It’s far enough away to offer a quiet respite in the moments before the ceremony. The hum of activity gentles as I reach the bathroom. A warm breeze rustles the fat leaves of the maple trees encircling the building.
Freshened up, I step back outside. Instead of heading straight back, I take a little break and lean against a tree trunk. I feel its rough bark through my thin cotton sundress. The cacophony of little and big voices crescendo across the park. Moments like this I can’t help but think of Aunt Bea. She’d love this. Every single thing about today she’d delight in. Me stepping out of my comfort zone allowing Sasha to take a few photos and videos of me playing with Damon on the playground for both MVP and my social media. Me taking a step professionally for Walters. Me stealing quick touches and brushed fingers with a man that I know she’d adore.
In the distance a voice booms, announcing that the ceremony will begin in ten minutes. Straightening, I step away from the tree and smooth out my dress.
“No need for that. As always you look beautiful, sweetheart.”
A shiver rips up my spine. Breath ragged, I lift my gaze toward a very familiar voice. “Alex.”
“Pen.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Not a White Knight
Rowan
“Ibelieve this belongs to you.” I chuckle as I lower Damon from my shoulders and plop him in front of his mother. We’d been watching his dad playing a pick-up game of wheelchair basketball.
“Hey, kiddo.” Sasha bends toward Damon, her dark curls falling over her face, and plants a kiss on his head. “How’d dad do?”
“This many swears,” he whispers and holds up four fingers.
