Page 8 of Now That We Don't Talk

“It was a good season overall,” he agrees. “We were hoping for a different outcome, but the Wolves will be even stronger in the fall. Tell your husband I said hello and thanks for the support.”

“Can we get a picture with you?” she asks, reaching into her bag for her phone. “My husband is going to flip.”

“Of course,” he exclaims happily.

She thrusts her phone toward the cashier and then posses with Mac and her kids.

The cashier is also staring at him with stars in her eyes as she finishes bagging his items. I guess this is what everyday life is like for him. Women swooning over his looks and men over his hockey skills.

“Well, it was nice seeing you, Vivian,” he says, eyeing me again.

“You to,” I say, giving a wave.

He says goodbye to the cashier and the lady with the kids before strutting out with an air of confidence that’s typical for Mac Evans.

“Oh wow,” the woman exclaims. “You must have some kind of past with Mac Evans. Did you and him?—"

“No,” I say louder than I intended. “We just have a few friends in common.”

She shakes her head. “Well, there has to be more to the story because that was really tense.”

I don’t answer her. I’m not talking to a stranger about anything Mac Evans related. This is how rumors start.

Thankfully my phone rings, saving me from having to continue this conversation. Katie has the best timing. I wave to the woman and answer my phone.

“Hello.”

“Did you and Mac have a chance to talk?”

“Briefly.”

“Were you nice?” she asks.

“Of course,” I exclaim, feeling slightly offended.

“Good. At least try to fake it.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Now on to more important topics—how about dinner with Cash on Friday night and no more canceling?”

“Fine,” I say. “There are worse things than being introduced to a successful, attractive lawyer.”

“Finally. That’s what I’ve been saying. You should know by now that I’m almost always right.”

I laugh. “Okay sure.”

I hurry off the phone so I can purchase my groceries and get out of this store before I cause any more of a scene.

“Oh, I love your hair,” my mom says giving me a hug. I lean over the table and kiss my dad on the cheek.

“Thanks, I washed it.”

She makes a face. “Oh Vivi. Please tell me you wash your hair more than once a week.”

“Of course.”

She lets out a huge sigh of relief.

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