26. The Fold Problem

26

THE FOLD PROBLEM

Maeve

If the brunch with the Greers was an out-of-town tryout, this dinner three nights later with the Total Teamwork board is opening night for the Broadway show. Presenting Mr. and Mrs. Callahan.

And I plan to earn a standing ovation.

It’s been a busy week, working on the sketches for the mural both at the arena and at home. But on Friday night, at Everly’s place, I put murals, paint, acrylics, and ladders out of my mind as I zip up my navy blue sheath, one of my painting-party dresses.

My friend smiles approvingly. “You look amazing,” she says. I can’t believe you snagged this at Goodwill.”

“I can’t believe someone bought this and never wore it. The tags were still on when I found it,” I say.

“Thank god for fancy ladies who buy too much.”

“Indeed,” I say. I look in the mirror, admiring the shoes Everly let me borrow—basic nude heels. “Tasteful dress. Styled hair. Understated pumps. Will my husband even recognize me without an outrageous outfit on?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he’ll always recognize you,” she says, knowing. “The man doesn’t take his eyes off you when you’re around.”

Scoffing, I shoot her a look. “Please.”

“Don’t please me. You know it’s true.”

My stomach has the audacity to swoop. I like her suggestion too much. Which means it’s best not to focus on it at all. I don’t want to cling to my temporary husband. “Anyway, give me your best tips for a fancy-pants dinner.”

“Don’t use the word labia,” she says.

I jerk my gaze to her, jaw falling open. “Why would I use the word labia?”

“I don’t know but I wanted to pass on the tip,” she says earnestly.

“Did you say labia at work today? Tell the truth.”

“God no,” she says, frowning. “But I was in a bookstore the other day and overheard some of the employees talking about words they don’t love in romance novels. One of those words was ‘folds,’ which then turned into a conversation about different sizes of folds, which then turned into a conversation about labia, which then turned into a discussion on how nobody should discuss labia so I thought I should pass it on.”

“I am shooketh,” I say.

She nods in solidarity. “I am also shooketh.”

“And yet you still said labia.”

“That is how much of a good friend I am to you. I don’t want you to run into the fold problem. So I’m passing on the tip.”

I let my gaze turn skyward. “How on earth am I going to make it through dinner now without saying folds or labia?” I narrow my eyes and look at my friend. “Thanks, Everly. Thanks a lot.”

She smiles. Serenely. “You are welcome.”

“You are not helpful,” I say, wagging a finger as a text from Asher pops up on my phone, letting me know he’s here.

“Oh, but I think you’ll find I really am,” she says. “I guarantee you won’t say labia.”

“Stop. Just stop speaking,” I say, then I give my friend a hug and head downstairs to meet my husband.

Husband .

Such a strange thought. But I glance at my ruby ring, and something feels a little fizzy in my chest. I head outside and find Asher waiting on the steps, looking mouth-wateringly hot in tailored charcoal slacks and a purple dress shirt that shows off his firm chest and strong biceps.

I stop in my tracks for a second. His eyes widen. “Wow,” he says, right as I say, “You clean up well.”

We both laugh, a little awkwardly. Is this how newlyweds behave? I don’t know. They’re probably used to compliments. I back up and try again.

“You look great,” I say.

“And you’re stunning,” he says, then holds my gaze for a long, weighty beat that makes my pulse skitter. “Should we go?”

“Right. Yes. We should.”

He walks me to his car at the curb, his hand on the small of my back the whole way.

And the whole way to dinner, I’m thinking of his hands on me, and his lips, and how he kissed me the other day by the Golden Gate Bridge.

Well, that’s a better thing to think about than folds.

Asher and I step into the restaurant’s private dining room, greeted by a long, elegantly set table filled with flickering candlelight and soft conversation. The board members of Total Teamwork are already seated, with Soraya at the head of the table, her usual poised and warm smile in place.

“Mr. and Mrs. Callahan, right on time,” she says, standing to greet us. “Glad you could make it.”

I flash a smile, hoping it hides my nerves. How do actors do this acting thing? “Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, hoping that sounds like wife-speak.

Soraya introduces us to the rest of the board members, who nod in greeting. There’s Terrence, the retired football coach with a booming laugh; Lydia, sharp and no-nonsense, known for her commitment to charity; and Marcus, a laid-back sports psychologist. My brother, Beckett, and his wife, Reina, are also here along with Soraya’s partner, Aram.

We take our seats, and the conversation flows easily—sports, the upcoming family picnic in the park, anecdotes about the others’ work with kids. Soraya pipes up, saying they need to push the picnic out by a few more weeks due to a scheduling conflict with the park. “No problem,” Asher says. “I don’t have a game that day, so the new date works just fine.” He turns to me. “And you?”

I’m flattered to even be asked, but yes, of course it works for me. He’s staying married to me for the mural job, which will go for at least a couple more weeks after that so that’s all good.

The conversation shifts to tales of past glory and present. Asher’s in his element, flashing that easy charm of his. But it’s more than charm—there’s real passion behind it, and watching and listening to their conversation eases my mind.

After we order, my pulse settles more.

I’ve got this. I know the marriage script we wrote the other day. We’ve been friends for years, made a marriage pact for fun at my brother’s wedding, and once we were in Vegas, we just knew it was what we wanted—getting hitched.

I’m ready for their relationship questions if they ask them, and just as appetizers arrive, Terrence leans forward with a grin as if on cue. “So, newlyweds, huh? Have you planned your honeymoon yet? Or are you two still in work mode?”

My stomach drops. Honeymoon? We didn’t script that part. I glance at Asher, hoping he’ll take the lead.

“We’ve been pretty busy,” Asher says smoothly, “but we’ve talked about a few places.”

“Bali,” I blurt out, nodding as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Or maybe the Maldives. Something tropical.”

“Oh, tropical,” Lydia says, raising an approving eyebrow. “Nice choice.”

“I’d love to go to Bali someday,” Aram chimes in.

“I think we all would,” Lydia says. “Will you head over when the season ends?”

Thank you, Lydia, for giving us an easy out. “Yes, April should be nice,” I say.

Asher clears his throat, shooting me a skeptical look. “April?”

Shit. What’s wrong with April?

Beckett laughs. “Maeve, did you forget The Cup is in June? ”

My cheeks flush. “I’m a terrible hockey wife. Of course, it won’t be until June.”

Asher turns to me with a smile. “And besides, I think we should go to Paris. I have a feeling that’s where you really want to go.”

My stomach flips. He remembered what I said about ring shopping in Paris. My fantasy. “I suppose I would.”

“Good thing we asked,” Terrence says with a chuckle. “Gotta help you get to know your wife, Asher.”

Asher doesn’t miss a beat. “I know my wife. She picked the Maldives for me. I like the tropics, being from Canada and all. But she likes Paris, and what my wife wants…she gets.”

A shiver slides down my chest. I’m a little turned on from Asher’s words. But that seems to be my new norm these days.

“Words to live by,” Marcus says, lifting his glass of wine. We all do the same. Then Marcus glances at Beckett. “And now you’ve got a brother.”

That’s when the wine goes right out my nose. I grab my napkin, dabbing at the mess, mortified. I almost wish I’d said “labia” instead.

“Right,” I sputter. “Beckett has a brother now.”

Open mouth—insert nude heel because that’s not a weird thing to say at all.

Reina cuts in, saving me. “And that’s really what Total Teamwork is about, right? Everyone supporting each other.”

Relief washes over me, but it’s short-lived because right as I set down the glass, Lydia leans in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And how’s domestic life? Figured out who does what around the house yet? That’s the real challenge of marriage. ”

I freeze. We don’t even live together. How do I answer this? Asher tenses beside me, but I jump in, keeping my tone light and teasing. “We’re still negotiating that. Asher’s convinced his method of folding towels is superior, but I’m not so sure.”

Asher raises an eyebrow, clearly playing along. “Because you fold them into origami swans.”

Oh, great. He just had to say that. “What can I say? I like birds.”

Then Marcus, of all people, grins and picks up his napkin. “I love napkin origami. Can you show us?”

Wait. What? My heart stutters. Show them? Here? I throw Asher a wide-eyed look that very clearly says, I’m going to kill you.

My brother chuckles under his breath, and Reina looks away, hiding a smile. Meanwhile, Asher’s just sitting there with that charming smile, seeming oblivious to the situation he’s put me in. “They look like swans to me,” he says, not helping at all.

I clench my jaw but manage a smile. “Give me a second. I need to powder my nose.”

I hustle to the restroom, where I pull out my phone and quickly look up napkin origami on YouTube. Of course, the swan is ridiculously complicated. I opt for a fan, then a frog, then a bird—fuck it. I’m an artist. Where there’s a will—or YouTube—there’s a way.

I return to the table, grab my napkin, and fold the hell out of it, setting it down with panache. “Asher calls them swans, but really, he’s just blinded by his love for me. They’re fans,” I say, patting his shoulder. “Next stop—swans.”

Asher stares at the napkin in awe, lips parted. “You have many talents,” he says, his voice low. “You can fold the towels anytime.”

I study the napkin a beat longer. It’s not a bad fan at all. I can’t believe I pulled that off.

Marcus raises his glass. “Impressive,” he says with an approving nod. “You’re full of surprises, Maeve.”

“Thank you,” I say, relaxing into the compliment, proud of my improv skills.

Asher leans in and drops a kiss on my cheek, his lips lingering for just a second longer than necessary. Under the table, his hand finds mine, giving it a light squeeze. It’s subtle, but the warmth of the gesture feels like reassurance—maybe even something more.

And I can’t wait to tell Everly that Asher said “folds” and it wasn’t filthy.

When dinner is over, I’m relieved Asher and I pulled that off. We head outside with the rest of the board, and I turn to Asher, smile politely at the group, and say, “Well, I should head out. The next bus comes in a few minutes.”

The words have barely left my mouth when I catch the strange looks from Lydia, Terrence, and Marcus. Lydia’s brow furrows slightly, and Terrence’s booming laugh is replaced with a confused blink. Marcus tilts his head, his curiosity almost palpable.

“Catch the bus?” Lydia asks, as if the idea is completely foreign.

I freeze. Oh no. They think we live together. As married couples do. My stomach flips in panic.

Before I can sputter out an awkward explanation, Asher smoothly steps in. “Honey,” he says with a grin, sliding his arm around my waist. “You’re still getting used to living with me. It’s adorable. ”

He loops an arm around my waist, says goodbye, then steers me toward his car, opening the passenger door like a perfect gentleman. “I was going to drive you home anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He turns to me. “Don’t be. You were amazing. You saved me with that swan fan.”

“And you saved me with the ride,” I say.

“We saved each other,” he says, then backs up and cruises toward my home in Hayes Valley, and the whole time I’m wondering what it would be like if we were really going to his place.