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)
A little less tense, I join Maeve and her aunt at the table, pushing my worries aside. “How’s everything going, Vivian?” I ask, trying to focus.
“Great! You had a fantastic game against Vancouver. In fact, I like the way your whole season is going.”
This is a good sign—maybe she’ll just chat about hockey. Maybe she won’t get into Maeve’s art career.
But then Vivian turns to Maeve. “How’s everything going with you, Miss California Style?”
Maeve squares her shoulders and smiles. “Really well, actually. The mural’s almost done, and I’ve gotten a few more jobs from it—and from the piece, of course. I can still probably cater for you now and then, but I’ve had so much going on with commissions that I don’t know if I can take on more catering work.”
Oh my god, she’s doing it. She’s moving forward. She’s making a living as an artist. This is her dream. I squeeze her hand, letting her know I’m so fucking proud of her.
But the thought comes crashing down when I remember her wrist pain. What if it gets worse? Will she still be able to paint? Will she still be able to make the mirrors and lamps for the night market? Will she be able to have a career?
We order, but my mind is stuck on the same loop. She’s too young to worry about tendonitis. I need to figure out a long-term plan for her.
I push back in my chair, and just as I’m about to excuse myself again to do some more research because that’s what I should be doing right now, Maeve shoots me a funny look. Right. Vivian had news for us. I settle back in, focusing once more on the dinner.
Vivian flashes a pleased smile. “I’m going to throw you a wedding party.”
What? I blink. “A wedding party?”
“Yes. I didn’t get to throw an engagement party because you got married right away without family. We didn’t have a reception. I really want to do this for you.” She turns to Maeve, her eyes softening. “I always promised your mother I’d be here for you. Whatever you need.”
Oh no. There’s no way Maeve can turn her down now.
Maeve’s eyes shine with unshed tears. She’s clearly touched, but she says, “You really don’t have to do that.”
Vivian thinks this is real. Maeve must be freaking out that the truth might unfold. How much longer can we keep pretending?
Maybe this isn’t simply a sign. Maybe this is the opportunity I’ve been wanting. This is my chance to tell Maeve we don’t have to pretend.
“I’ll handle the catering free of charge,” Vivian adds. “I have friends who own a venue.” She turns to Maeve. “We can invite your brother and Reina, of course, and any of your friends. Just give me some dates that work for you.”
“I appreciate that, Vivian, really,” I say, cutting in before Maeve can answer. “It’s an incredibly generous offer. Maeve and I will need to take a look at our schedules though. We’ve both been swamped with work.” I glance at Maeve, offering her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “But I promise, we’ll figure something out that works for everyone.”
“We will,” Maeve says, sounding relieved, then stretches her hand once more, like she did earlier.
Vivian’s eyes flick to her wrist. “You’re doing that again? You used to do that all the time when you were younger, back when you’d spend hours painting.”
What the fuck? She’s been doing this for years? My jaw ticks.
“I’m fine. I took ibuprofen, and I do my wrist stretches…”
Vivian cuts in, “You’re overworking yourself, Maeve. Maybe you should consider catering full-time.”
Whiplash. The way Vivian switches gears grates on me. I hate that Maeve’s overworking herself to the point of pain, but I hate even more that she’s being told to give up her art. “When your passion has physical effects on your body, you find ways to mitigate the effects,” I say. “You don’t give up your passion.” The words come out strong, and I meet Vivian’s eyes. “Don’t worry. I can help her.”
Vivian’s face softens. “That’s so sweet of you. I feel better knowing you’re looking after her. I can tell you’re in love with her.”
I can’t hold back completely. “I am,” I say to Vivian before I can stop myself. The truth feels good. And it’s good practice for when I say it to Maeve, just Maeve. When I tell Maeve this romance isn’t for show. It’s for real.
Vivian beams. “I knew it.”
Maybe Maeve knows it too. Maybe she won’t run. Especially if I can help her. And I need more info. I waggle my phone. “Sorry, I’ve got to make a call. My agent’s been texting.”
I excuse myself and rush back to the restroom, pulling up more websites for wrist exercises. There’s so much that can be done—stress balls, finger stretches, therapy options. I can help her. I can tell her I love her, and I can fix this for her.