Page 149 of Proposal Play

Or, more importantly, to her.

About a week later, we’re getting ready for Vivian’s dinner, and Maeve’s twisting her hair into a clip while Ruby Rooster sits at her feet, thumping her tail as she watches Maeve get dressed.

I understand this dog so much.

Maeve checks her reflection in the bathroom mirror, and I notice it again—the twist of her wrists.

My brow furrows. “You okay?”

“Totally,” she says with a bright smile, but I can’t take my eyes off her wrist as she grabs the ibuprofen. She tosses back three pills this time. I count.

“You’re not okay,” I say, sharper than I’d intended.

“I am,” she insists, her smile dimming a little. “They’re just a little sore. Like I said, it’s normal. That’s why I do the stretches.”

I draw a deep breath, trying to keep calm. “How is that normal?”

“I work with my hands, Asher,” she says, then looks me up and down. “Don’t you ever get sore?”

All the time. But I’m an athlete. It’s literally part of the job, and I fucking deal with it. I handle it. “Yes, but it’s not the same.”

“How is it not the same?” she counters, already leaving the bathroom and sweeping through the bedroom where she grabs her bag.

Ruby Rooster trots after her, and Maeve coos at the dog, scratching her chin.

She stops and gives me a thoughtful look, then sets a hand on my chest. “Asher, it is. You work with your body. So do I. It happens.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the words stick in mythroat.I can handle it when it happens to me, but what if it gets worse for you? What if you can’t heal quickly?Your hands are your livelihood.

“We could look into it,” I suggest, a knot in my chest tightening.

She tugs me closer. “Let’s just go to dinner. Seeing my aunt is stressful enough.”

I inhale, trying to just focus on the night ahead. When the dog rubs her head against me, the tightness loosens for a minute, and I lean down to give Ruby Rooster a kiss on the head, catching a whiff of something floral. “Why does the dog smell so…fancy?”

Maeve grins, then says offhand, “Oh, that’s paw-fume.”

I blink. “Paw-fume? Did you just say paw-fume? What the hell is that?”

She nods seriously. “Yes, I got it at the pet supply store. It’s cruelty-free, and it makes her smell so pretty.” She bends to the pup, cupping her snout. “Such a pretty girl. And you love your paw-fume, don’t you?” Maeve asks, stroking the dog’s face.

I can’t help it—I start laughing. Only Maeve would get something like paw-fume. It’s soher—a little quirky, a little over-the-top, but absolutely charming. And in that moment, I know.Tonight. I’ll tell her tonight that I am absolutely, wildly in love with her.How could I not when everything she does melts my heart?

We say goodbye to the dog, but as we drive to the restaurant, I can’t stop thinking about her wrists.I should do something to help her. I should fix this.

At the restaurant, I slip off to the men’s room to wash my hands—and to Googlewrist pain for artists.Tendonitis. That’s it. Could be tendonitis. Wrist braces…splints…strengthening exercises. I’ll order her some wrist braces tonight and find better exercises. I’ll look up more later. I can fix this.

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, MissCalifornia 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.

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