Page 73 of Proposal Play

Then Maeve locks eyes with the romantic across the table from her. “Actually, Eleanor, the whole thing kind of feels like a dream. Or like a dream becoming reality. And I suppose when we made the pact, it was sweet and playful, and I wasn’t ready to believe it could be real.”

Another perfect detail painted into the story. It prompts me to carry the tale forward.

“It was real,” I say. “It was also…” I trail off, unsure how far to go, how much truth to infuse into the tale.

“A promise?” Eleanor offers eagerly.

“I suppose it was.” I settle back into my chair, feeling pretty damn good about the play we’re presenting. “Now, I can see it was a promise I needed to keep. Once she bid on me at the players’ auction, and we went away, well, it all clicked.”

“And you went viral. I just loved all the photos—you and the couple you gave the room to, the concert, the roulette game. Even the auction kiss.”

“Ah, it’s so lovely.” She turns to her husband. “Maybe we should pay it forward too. With a kiss.”

She doesn’t need to tell him twice. Spencer leans in and presses a quick, affectionate kiss to Eleanor’s lips. Except…nope, it’s not quick. It lingers. It lasts longer than I’d expected.

When he finally pulls back, he shrugs, but his smile is cocksure. “My wife is irresistible.”

“It’s good that you feel that way.” I think back to earlier at the coffee shop when Maeve and I re-established our rules—nothing physical. Maeve seemed to need that line in the sand, so I’ll respect it. I keep my hands to myself for the rest of brunch as, at last, the conversation shifts to the mural and away from us.

“By estimates I’ve been given, it should take several weeks—anywhere from eight to ten,” Eleanor says.

Maeve’s eyes widen. “Oh. Really?”

Shit. Does that bother her? Eleanor picks up on Maeve’s surprise and asks, “That won’t be a problem, will it?”

Maeve quickly recovers. “Of course not.”

When brunch ends, we offer to clean up, but they decline. Eleanor says she needs to gather her notes for the mural and then arranges to meet Maeve at the arena later.

“I’ll bring Holmes,” she tells Maeve. “He likes to keep me company. Does that work for you?”

Maeve snorts. “I believe the question is—does that sound like the best way to work?”

Eleanor smiles. “Like I said, kismet.”

“It is,” she agrees and waves at the dog when we pass him on the way to the door. In the foyer, Eleanor tilts her head, assessing us like puzzle pieces, roaming her eyes over Maeve and me.

“I remember the honeymoon phase,” she muses. “We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. But maybe young people today are different.”

Wait. What the hell?

I feel like I’ve just been checked into the boards. Myhead is rattling. She thinks I’m not into my wife because I didn’t touch her ten million times like they did?

“That’s not the case,” I say quickly, defensively. I reach for Maeve’s hand, but she’s holding her bag, and I miss it.

Great. Just great. Now I look like an awkward teen flailing around on his first date.

Spencer offers me a sympathetic smile and a clap on the shoulder. “There, there. You’ll figure it out.”

I stare at them, dumbfounded. A perfect routine, which I fucked up by not touching her like the Greers touch each other. We didn’t stick the landing, and that’s what the judges will remember.

We leave, and once inside my car, I grip the wheel hard, dropping my head on it. “So much for that show.”

When I look up a few seconds later, Maeve gives an apologetic wince. “I guess we need to be as handsy as they are next time. Who knew? I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” I murmur, frustrated I missed that detail. I don’t like to fuck up. I don’t like to make mistakes. I don’t like asking my next question, but I have to know.

“When she said the mural could take eight to ten weeks—did that bother you? I know it’s longer than we’d planned to stay married.”

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