Page 23 of It Happened on a Sunday
“So you admit there was a situation.” She breathes deeply, and I can tell she’s going to impart some more motherly advice. “You control the narrative of your life, Sloane. You don’t let anyone else control it for you. You know that. If you give them an inch, they’ll take a mile. Then they’ll use that mile to drive over you with a dump truck full of trash. No one wants trash in their drawers, Sloane. No one.”
“I know that.I do. Which is exactly what I did.” I take another fortifying sip of coffee before giving her a rundown of the conversation and how I handled it. By the time I get to how I told Vittoria to grab a few cookies for the road, Pauline is relaxed again, for real this time.
“That’s my girl,” she says with a proud grin. “Though you still haven’t told me who all this fuss isabout.”
I sigh. She’s going to get it out of me either way. “He’s a football guy. The quarterback for the Twisters.”
“Sly Sylvester?” She leans back in her seat, throwing a hand over the back of the couch as her eyes narrow thoughtfully. “My, my, my. He is a pretty one. Howinteresting.”
“What’s interesting about it?” I ask. What does Pauline know about Sly that I don’t?
But she just smiles, a little like a cat who got all the cream and not just three seconds’ worth. “I think you’re the only one who can answer that question, baby.”
“We met for ten minutes, Pauline.” I make sure my voice sounds a lot more bored than I currently feel. “Maybe fifteen. He has a cool grandma, and that’s about it.”
I don’t mention the way his dark-brown eyes pop into my head at the most inopportune times or the melody I heard when we first touched. And I sure as hell don’t tell her I asked for his phone number, then freaked out so much I never used it.
I start to change the subject, but before I can, there’s a knock on the door, followed by Marco, my head of security, poking his head in. “Sorry to interrupt, Sloane, but there’s a delivery for you.”
More flowers. Fantastic. As much as I appreciate being surrounded by beautiful blooms, getting inundated with gifts from people who want something from me kinda sucks. And it’s not great for the environment, either, considering I almost always have to leave them behind.
“You can put them over there with the others,” I tell him, waving to the pile of flowers sent by the hotel, minor celebrities trying to get last-minute tickets, and Lord knows who else. I gave up looking at the cards years ago—they never say anything that matters. Bryan usually rounds them up at each tour stop and sends a thank-you note without bothering me with any of it.
Well aware of how I feel about floral arrangements, Marco grins. “Actually, it’s not flowers this time.”
“Well, if it’s a gift basket, you know the drill. Take what you want and set the rest aside for the food pantry.”
His smile is nearly as big as the rest of him now, which is definitely saying something. His brown eyes are all but dancing when he says, “It’s not that, either.”
“Ifyou’rethis excited about it, I’m not sure I even want to know.”
“Well, I do! Don’t just stand in the doorway.” Pauline commands the room with a wave of her hand. “Come over hereso we can get a look at it.”
“My pleasure,” he replies as he comes in and drops a small cooler on the coffee table in front of us. “Why don’t you check out the card first?” He holds it out to me, and though his face is carefully blank, the amused look in his eye keeps me on red alert.
What the hell is this going to be?
The fact that I don’t know the answer to that question has me staring apprehensively at the card for several seconds before Pauline takes things into her own hands.
“For God’s sake!” she exclaims, all but ripping it from Marco’s hands herself.
My trepidation only grows when she starts smiling as soon as she sees what’s written on it. “My, my, my.”
“My, my, mywhat?” I demand, curiosity getting the better of me as I lean over to read it myself. Despite my best efforts, my breath hitches at the words printed inside.
Everything good comes on a sundae…
Sly
I read it over a few times before I can stop myself, and my heart goes from stuttering to beating overtime the same way it did that night when he lingered in the doorway, all calm and quiet, like a challenge I didn’t know how to meet.
I take a breath to ground myself, and that damn melody comes crashing back, even louder than before. Only this time, a flash of lyrics comes with it.
It happened on a Sunday.
I reach for my book before I can forget and scribble the lyrics down next to those same two bars. Then I turn my attention back to playing it cool.
Why is Sly sending me presents? And what exactly do I want to do about it?
