Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
“Your signature dish,” he says, then guides me through the concourse, past the expansive wall covered in all kinds of foliage, then to the bougie section of food vendors peddling artisan pizza, honey-roasted pretzels, and gourmet popcorn, among other treats.
“Hey, you should carry Afternoon Delight treats here,” I say, feeling a little Why the hell not.
He gives me an approving nod. “We should.”
When we reach the suite level, he looks down at his phone in his free hand, then says, “Want to come with me?”
But before I can answer, the sound of someone running up behind me intensifies. I spin around and jerk back in surprise. It’s not that it’s strange to see Remy here, but I wasn’t expecting her to be racing toward me in jeans, knee-high black boots, and a soft cowl-neck sweater. Her brown hair is loose tonight, waves curling over her shoulders.
“Mabel! Theo mentioned you were coming tonight, and I need you right now.”
“Okay,” I ask, curious. “Why?”
She gives me a look. “Is that any way to greet a friend? Especially someone who helped you bake a Saran wrap cake?”
“Saran wrap cake?” Theo asks. “Gross.”
“It’s not Saran wrap cake,” I say, then wave a hand. “Never mind.”
“I have an idea for a proposal. A romantic one,” she says. “Do you have a sec?”
“Sure,” I say, turning to Theo. “Do you mind?”
“All good,” he says. “I should handle the sponsors myself anyway.”
“Okay. My business cards are in the boxes,” I say, as he heads down the hallway toward the suites, and Remy grabs my elbow and ushers me back through the food concourse, nodding to her boyfriend, who works the taps at a local craft beer brewery here at the arena.
“So I have a potential client for my Romance By Design business,” she says.
“Oh! That’s great.”
Remy’s been hoping to use her podcast as a springboard to launch a business as a romance designer extraordinaire—from the meet-cute to the proposal, she’s your go-to girl for picture-perfect moments to remember.
We weave past vendors and security guards before the concourse opens to the arena bowl. “Wait. Are we watching the game?” I ask.
“Do you have to go back?” she asks, concerned. “I thought the bakery was closing soon.”
“It is. In thirty minutes, so this is fine. I just wasn’t expecting to watch a game tonight.”
“Well, you’re with me. Special treatment,” she says, and holy shit. Special treatment indeed. She ushers me down, down, down all the way to a row right behind the players’ bench.
My heart squeezes, and a pang of longing digs deep into my chest.
Corbin will be here tonight. It’ll be hard to see him. But I’m getting used to the challenge—like I had to get used to it at work earlier today. It’ll be fine. I swear it’ll be fine.
I steal a glance toward the tunnel. He’ll be coming through there in a few more minutes. My chest flutters, and I will my body to settle down.
But my brain has other ideas. It flashes back on last night with my friends—the things they said.
Did you tell him you fell for him too?
When a guy falls hard, he goes all out.
We can have it all—if we let ourselves.
Maybe they’re right. Maybe I should insist on sharing the last letter with him after all. And the last page I didn’t read after all. I didn’t feel right continuing to read it without him.
But for now, I join Remy and listen to her talk about her plans till the game starts. The lights dim. The music swells. And the fox mascot skates onto the ice as an announcer booms, “And now, your Golden State Foxes.”
Excitement pings through me as the crowd roars.
The players fly through the tunnel as the announcer calls their names.
“Miller Lockwood.”
The goalie skates onto the ice as the sea of fans erupts.
“Lake Axelrod.”
More cheers.
And then my heart goes crazy when the announcer warbles Corbin Knight.
Number Fifteen flies across the ice, heading to the players’ bench, but scanning…the stands.
Looking for…me?
He is looking for me. His gaze lands on my face, and his smile is bright and confident, a man who knows what he wants.
My pulse soars to the moon as he jumps over the boards to the bench. He shuffles to the end of it, determination in his every move. When he nears the end of it, he reaches under his shirt, grabbing something. Corbin stretches his right arm toward one of the slim openings between the glass, sliding an envelope through and handing it to me.
I’m still staring at the envelope in my hands as the National Anthem finishes.
Some people in the crowd are checking me out—the woman who just got a letter from a hockey star. With my name in a neat script on the front.
But all I see is my name on this paper. Every single molecule in my body is comprised of hope. Intoxicating, beloved hope that floods my cells.