Page 36 of It Happened on a Sunday
Okay, that more than stings. “I’m pretty sure it’s my turn to say ‘damned by faint praise.’”
She laughs again. “They’reverypretty. Sincerely.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. You’ve got to read at least one of the cards.”
“Oh? Hold on a minute.” This time, she actually puts me on hold. And she keeps me there so long I keep checking to make sure the call hasn’t dropped.
By the time she comes back, I’m pulling off the highway and heading up the hill that leads to my house, while a whole host of news and paparazzi vehicles follows behind me.
“Sorry. My publicist collects them and writes thank-you notes. If nothing else, you would have gotten one of those…probably.” She pauses, and I can hear the rustling of an envelope opening. “‘How do you cut the Roman Empire?’ That’s it?” she asks, sounding bewildered. “That’s your big move?”
“I used my big move on the first bouquet I sent to the venue,thank you very much. The card you’ve got there is technically move number four.” I stop at the main gate to the neighborhood and click it open. “Look on the back.”
I sit there for several seconds, waiting to cross just as the gate starts to close. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t take pleasure in watching it slide shut before any of the news vans can make it through behind me.
I know it won’t hold them for long. It never does. But for now, I’ll take it.
“‘If you want to know the answer, call the number below. Also, break a leg tonight. And if you do, also call this number. I know a great orthopedic surgeon.’” She sounds amused, which is a win in my book. I wait for her to say something else, but there’s only silence on the line.
I’m starting to wonder if the card annoyed her when she finally says, “Well?”
“Well what?” I ask, baffled.
“I called the number. I’m pretty sure you owe me a punchline.”
“Oh, right.” I grin. Looks like move number four is doing better than expected. “With a pair of Caesars.”
More silence, and then a reluctant chuckle, followed by a full-blown laugh that’s as seductive as it is sweet. It’s a warm, full sound that fills up a bunch of the empty places inside me. “That’s really bad, Sly.”
“You’re laughing, aren’t you? And you haven’t hung up yet.” I’m grinning so hard my cheeks hurt as I turn onto the street that takes me up to my house, but I don’t give a shit. I made Sloane smile. Moreover, I made her laugh. “I count that as a win.”
“I’m sure you do.” She’s quiet, and I can hear her inhale like she’s trying to smell the flowers.
Which is strange, considering…
“I know they don’t have a scent,” she admits after a few seconds. “But I can’t resist checking. I guess I just assume theyshould smell as pretty as they look.”
It’s my turn to laugh, and even though it’s corny, I can’t resist asking, “Is that your way of telling me yousmell?”
“Is that your way of telling me I’m pretty?” she fires back.
“You’ve got a mirror and about a billion adoring fans who say it every chance they get. I don’t think you need me to tell you that.”
She clears her throat and then says softly, “WhatdoI need you to tell me?”
Her tone is light, but there’s an underlying thread of seriousness that lets me know she’s listening. “Nothing, probably. But if you’re asking—”
“I am.” She takes a breath, then holds on to it, almost like she’s afraid she’ll mess something up if she blows it back out.
I know the feeling. But if being a quarterback has taught me anything through the years, it’s that the best time to take a risk is when you’re down a couple of touchdowns and the clock is running out.
“You’re gorgeous,” I tell her softly. “But there’s so much more than that.”
“How would you know?” Her voice is little more than a whisper now. “You met me once.”
“Sometimes once is all it takes.” I can still picture her standing in the middle of that gigantic stage, fighting her way through the darkness to the light. “I think I see you, Sloane. And I think you see me, too.”
I pull up to my house to find another slew of reporters camped at the end of my driveway. Surprise, surprise. I’m not about to tell her that, though.
