Page 131 of Beautiful Storm

“Now there’s an idea.” He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door but I hold strong.

“I have to go.”

“I know.” He sighs, his shoulders dropping in defeat. “But one day we are making that happen. You deserve a day to rest.”

“Deal.” I smile.

“In the meantime, I’ll be there at some point today, so I might pop in.”

“I thought you were off.”

“We are, but I’m meeting a few of the guys for a workout. A stipulation of a new group chat we’ve got.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that a few of the guys started a group chat to offer me some dad advice. But Easton only agreed to be a part of it if we also made it about football. So…Reed texted to say we should all work out today and Easton was happy about that.”

I fall silent and bite back a smile. God, I wish I’d heard about that in one of their interviews. Audiences would eat that up.

“What’s so funny?”

“I’m not laughing.”

“Your veins are practically popping with how hard you’re trying to hold back.”

“Okay.” I giggle. “It’s not funny so much as freaking adorable, and I wish I could show that side of you all on the show.”

Luke bites his lip before gracing me with a mischievous grin. “Want me to mention it on the record? It might help my image. I want to be adored.”

I work hard to keep my straight face, but when he bounces his eyebrows, I burst out laughing. “You don’t have to worry about that. Wait until they see Luke the soon-to-be dad. Because I can guarantee, Tom will be begging us to talk about that before the end of the day.”

“Do you want that?” His face softens as the smallest crease forms between his eyes.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to avoid it. But I’m telling you now, I won’t be making an appearance and neither will our child.”

“Good, I’d rather keep you both to myself.” He tries to secure me in his hold again but I wriggle free.

“I have to go.”

“Fine. I’ll see you later.”

“You will.”

No one says anything when I arrive in the edit suites a short time later, but it’s obvious that everyone knows. There’s a strange energy in the air that’s following me around, and I notice people stop talking when I pass by, or watching me out of the corner of their eyes, like I’m about to do something newsworthy.

I keep to myself, focusing on what needs to be done, but when my headache gets progressively worse over the course of the day, I can’t do it anymore.

“I’m going to work from home for the afternoon,” I announce to the crew in the production office, and I swear everyone collectively relaxes. Which means, I have to address the elephant in the room. “Tomorrow, we’re going to chat about the article I assume you all saw, and then by Wednesday everything will be back to normal. Deal?”

“What article?” our runner asks while others chuckle and nod.

“Someone fill him in while I’m gone. And be here tomorrow, eight a.m., for a chat.”

A weight lifts as I make my way out to the parking lot, but it’s short-lived when I find what’s waiting for me. Or more specifically, who.

I freeze, as I stare into eyes the same olive-green color as my own, my pulse racing as a shiver runs through me. It’s been years. Probably close to fifteen, but other than his gray hair and wrinkles, he’s barely changed. “What are you doing here?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

“Nice to see you too, Amelia. I came because I wanted to talk.”

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