Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
He does.
“So tell us all about the mural job,” Carlos says. “We’re so excited for you and it sounds like it’s leading to all sorts of things.”
“Asher said you’re getting new gigs from it,” John adds. “He was really excited when he got the cilantro. Such a huge break for you.”
It’s happening again. My throat is tightening, and it’s not only from the fact that Asher told them about my life and career. But from the fact that they not only remember, they also care enough to ask me.
I tell them about the café where I’m finishing the tree painting tomorrow, then a request from a new night market to carry some of my decorative mirror designs, and even some requests from galleries to look at my pop art kiss portfolio, and it’s so nice to share with his parents. They dote on me and treat me like their real daughter-in-law and it’s almost embarrassing how much I love it.
But I love even more the reaction my jersey gets when Asher races onto the ice at the start of the game against the Los Angeles Supernovas. I rise and cheer him on with everyone behind me seeing the custom-made jersey—custom made for one woman only.
Me.
It has his number and his name, like all the other Asher Callahan jerseys.
But this is the only one that says Mrs. in front of his last name.
Carlos hoots when he sees it. “Damn, he likes claiming you,” he says.
“He really does,” I say, and once again, I feel like a part of their family, and I love it far too much for my own good. I can’t let myself get too caught up in the moment.
“Besides, it’s a damn good name,” John says, and Carlos laughs, like they have an inside joke.
“That’s why we picked it, babe,” Carlos says to his husband.
That raises an interesting point. Do both his dads have the same last name? I don’t actually know, because do you really need to know your friends’ parents’ names? “Did you pick that last name for Asher? Rather than use a hyphenated name?”
Carlos grins. “Actually, neither one of us wanted a hyphenated name, so we picked a new last name and moved our given names to middle names, and that way the three of us could have the same last name.”
My heart swells. It’s just a name, but the gesture and the reasoning fills my heart. “That’s lovely,” I say.
They both smile my way. They invite me to their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary dinner in a few weeks’ time, and they don’t stop including me for the rest of the game. They involve me in everything. From their discussions about their favorite shows—they’re hooked on First Dates too—to trade rumors surrounding Miles’s younger brother, Tyler, who plays for the Supernovas, as well as their predictions for when that trade might be. “Trade deadline just passed. Bet they get him in the off-season though,” John says confidently.
Oh! Maybe that’s the trade Eleanor was dropping hints about. Possibly she was discussing it, but it didn’t come to pass before the deadline? Then I laugh quietly. I don’t know the ins and outs of trade machinations, but maybe she does like me if she’s dropping breadcrumbs about trades.
That makes me feel like maybe I do deserve some of the attention I’ve been getting. Asher definitely does when he scores the first goal of the game near the end of the first period. After he fist-bumps with the guys on the bench, he turns to me, locks eyes, and blows me a huge kiss.
I catch it, then turn around, looking over my shoulder, showing off the back of my jersey just for him. He mouths Mrs. Callahan.
And he looks even more pleased than he did when he scored that goal.
46
KEEP IT TOGETHER
Asher
“I’d say I’m sorry for your loss, man, but I’m really not,” Miles says, grinning at his brother in the corridor after the game.
Tyler scratches his thick beard with his middle finger. “I’m not sorry for telling the press you slept with a stuffed bunny till you were twelve,” he shoots back as we head toward the media room.
Miles’s face turns pale. “I did not.”
I chuckle, enjoying this. “Wait—dude, you slept with a stuffed bunny?”
Tyler nods, smug. “Sure did. He was scared of thunderstorms.”
“No shame, man,” I say to Miles, trying to keep a straight face. “I’m scared of stuff too. Like anacondas. And climate change. But thunder? That’s loud, so I get it.”
Miles huffs, clearly not amused. He turns to his brother with a scowl. “I mean it, Ty.”
Tyler gives him a playful pat on the cheek. “Maybe don’t gloat, then.”
“You’d do the same,” Miles grumbles.
Tyler shrugs. “Yeah, you’re right. Gloating’s fun. Go ahead, but just know I’ll gloat ten times harder when we beat you for The Cup.”