5. Resending the Memo

5

Resending the Memo

Hayley

I barely slept last night. Even my long-awaited epic battle scene didn't take my mind off Maxime, and I hate him for spoiling those pages for me. I've been anticipating this scene for days now, even stopped reading the day before yesterday to save that big moment for later. And trust me, it was hard to put the book down. But as I turned the page and started reading, all I could think about was cocky Maxime Beaumont and his stupid comment about making me fall for him. As if .

Why is he even interested? While I walk up to my closet, I reluctantly glance in the mirror. As always, I don't like what I see. Everything just looks off. Square jaw, muscular shoulders and chest, strong thighs and calves. My mom's right. I really do take after my dad.

My heart twists painfully at the thought. As much as I wish I didn't inherit his body type, I miss my dad every day. Things would be different if he was still here, I know it. My mom wouldn't be so worried all the time, and I'd have someone in my corner. My dad was the ultimate cheerleader. Always encouraging me and my ventures, whether it was opening a lemonade stand in our posh neighborhood or joining the soccer team while my mom pushed me to do ballet. Oh, and he would love my pink hair as much as I do. I can almost see my mom and him arguing about it in my head.

But I'm not naive. Even if I love my short, funky hairstyle, it's far from the perfect, glossy locks I see on the covers of magazines. Far from what guys are into. And just like my hair, there's nothing feminine about my body. Or attractive.

Frankly, I look more like someone who could be on Maxime's team than on his arm.

Not that I'm interested. I'm not. But I can't help but wonder. Why ?

Now that I think about it, he's probably not really interested either. It's just another game to him. He's a flirt, I can tell.

Opening the closet door to shield myself from my reflection, I pull on a black hoodie that says "In My Bookish Era" along with a pair of jeans before joining the girls in the living room.

We eat breakfast together, and despite my lack of sleep, I participate in the usual bookish talk that makes up the familiar rhythm of our mornings.

Even if we read different subgenres—historical and romcoms for Alice, dark romance and romantic suspense for Emma—we all read contemporary romance on top of our usual fare, and we've been reading the same one, End Game by Larissa Sampson. We debate whether that third-act breakup was necessary. And as Emma and Alice both make extremely compelling—and lively—arguments, I pause to appreciate this simple but equally exceptional moment.

Never would I have imagined that this would be my life one day.

If you'd told me I'd be having these novel-centered conversations in my apartment that's located above a bookstore, which I own with two girls I met online, I'd have said you spend too much time in fictional worlds. Or that you're delusional.

Alice didn't even live in the same country as me until a few months ago, and Emma lived in a small town lost somewhere in South Dakota. Nothing could have predicted that we'd meet up and become instant friends. Without Instagram, none of this would have happened. I'm sure of that. And while Emma and Alice are my best friends, they're not the only deep connections I've made on the social app. I could name at least ten other girls who I chat with several times a week. This little corner of the Internet has turned my existence into an exciting life filled with friendships, not to mention a Tbr list higher than the Empire State Building.

"You're awfully quiet," Emma says, her dark-blue eyes assessing me as she eats a spoonful of cereal. "You're usually vocal about third-act breakups, and by vocal, I mean you hate them."

A laugh bubbles out of me. She's not wrong. I'm not usually a fan, though some of my favorite books include them. It all depends on the execution. "Actually, I kind of liked it here."

Alice clasps her hands together. " Merci . It was necessary, right? "

"Totally. The story wouldn't have had the same payout without it. We needed them to take some time apart, and I really wanted to see the groveling on his end."

Emma sighs. "Yeah, I suppose. But I don't know. It felt like too much added drama."

"Funny that you're the one asking for less drama," Alice jokes, and we all laugh. Emma is the drama queen of our group. I guess it makes sense when dark romance is your jam.

"Oh, speaking of drama," I say, wiping a cereal crumb from my mouth. "Did you see that Velvet Kisses is getting adapted into a movie?"

"What?" Emma squeals.

" Non! "

I nod. "Melissa Fortner shared the news on her Instagram last night. Stumbled on it when I wasn't able to sleep."

"Why weren't you sleeping?" Emma asks, a smile forming at the corner of her lips.

"If you'd witnessed a hardcore battle involving a dragon shifter, you wouldn't get much sleep either."

She eyes me suspiciously.

"So, what about the movie?" Alice waves her hands in the air. "Are we excited or not? "

"Meh," Emma says. "Velvet Kisses is one of my favorite books ever, and it's not even in my main subgenre, so that's saying something. I just know they're going to ruin it. Look at what they did with You & Me. We were thrilled when the news came out, and they went and spoiled everything for us."

"Yeah," I sigh. "I've given up on movie adaptations. I get that they're amazing deals for authors, and they help with discoverability, but watching the movie after reading the book isn't an upgrade at all."

"And the actors never look the way I envisioned the characters," Alice says, shaking her head.

"Exactly. I'd like to keep Diego Loma as sexy and brooding as he is in my dreams, thank you very much," Emma says, attempting to cheer with her cereal bowl and making a mess in the process.

With a laugh, I raise my coffee mug. "I'll drink to that."

After breakfast, we go down to the store and let Mr. Darcy out for his morning walk. Soon after, the guys arrive in a whirlwind of bodies. Right on time, just like yesterday.

"Nash!" Maxime greets me with a bright smile when he enters. "So good to see you again. Did you miss me?" He plants his hands on my shoulders, and I both want to jerk them away and pull him toward me.

I do neither, smirking instead. "Not even a little bit."

Chuckles ripple around the room, some louder than others.

Maxime shakes his head. "Not even ten a.m., and she's already broken my heart."

"All right," Caleb Hawthorne says, clapping his hands. "While this is all very entertaining, albeit a little embarrassing, we have work to do. We have a full day ahead of us, so let's make the most of it. We don't have much time left before preseason starts, and we don't want to let these ladies do all the heavy lifting on their own, now do we?"

"No!" they all say in army-like synchrony.

"All right." Caleb nods. "I brought my dad's van with me. It's parked at the end of the street. Today, we'll start by clearing the patio. I had a look yesterday, and it's a mess out there. I'll take everything to the dump during lunch break. Once we're done there, we'll go back to painting. The walls look good, so it should only need that second coat."

Everyone voices their agreement and gets to work. It's as if a human wave just washed over the patio. Emma, Alice, and I take a few steps back, afraid to be swallowed by it. The patio is pretty cramped, so they can't all fit at once anyway.

The guys are now filing out of the patio one by one with various objects that were left there from previous owners: a rusty bicycle that's bent out of shape, an old, moldy fridge, a couple of car tires, and a few items I can't even identify.

"Does that work for you?" Caleb asks, taking his gloves off as he pauses next to us.

"Oh, yeah. Absolutely," Alice says. "It's perfect."

"So, tomorrow we can start building the shelves?" I venture. That's the part I'm most anxious about. The huge floor-to-ceiling shelving units will be gorgeous, but they seem impossible to put together. And we also have those dreamy bookshelf ladders for each wall section.

"Yes, that's the plan," Caleb says. "The books arrive the day after tomorrow, right?"

Emma grimaces. "Yeah."

I bite the inside of my cheek. "Will that be enough time?"

"I think so. It won't take that long, trust me."

"There's also the desk, display tables, and all the backroom shelves to put together."

He scratches his head. "Yeah. We'll see. We might need an extra half day to do the rest. Worst-case scenario, we'll store the books in a corner of the room until we're done with the shelves."

"Thank you again, so much," Alice says.

I nod. "Yes, really. And we can shelve everything ourselves. That's the fun part."

"What's the fun part, Nash?" Maxime interrupts, a goofy smile on his face. "Hanging out with me? Yeah, I couldn't agree more." He keeps moving, his biceps bulging as he carries a large wooden board.

I roll my eyes, and Caleb just shakes his head. "We'll help until everything is done. We also have to put up the sign out front. But there's twenty-six of us, so I'm not worried. We'll make it work."

"Thanks," we all say before he puts his gloves back on and heads to the patio.

The entire morning passes like that, and the three of us don't do much, only carrying the lighter stuff. We order pizza for lunch, and the whole crew eats scattered across the room and the now-empty patio.

As soon as I sit down, I expect Maxime to claim the spot next to me, but he doesn't. It's both a disappointment and a relief. Maybe he finally got the memo?

Or maybe I was the one who missed the memo. Because I can't help but steal glances at him. He's sitting with some of his teammates at the other end of the room near the front door, looking even more delicious than yesterday. What is it with men and tousled hair? That always does it for me.

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. But when loud laughter erupts from their corner, my eyes are drawn back to them. I can't make out what they're saying, but I can tell James Adler is teasing Maxime about something. Then, Aaron Miles ruffles Max's hair, and Caleb slaps his back loudly. It looks like typical teammate behavior—or what I imagine it to be—but the fake smile plastered on Maxime's face tells me he's not completely enjoying the teasing. Maybe it has something to do with him being new to the team? I must admit, it's a nice change of pace seeing him like that—not so cocky and confident. Underneath the shell of this larger-than-life, arrogant hockey star, there's a real human being hiding, and I wish I'd have a chance to meet him.

Finishing my soda in one go, I grab a large trash bag to start collecting everyone's cups and paper plates when an imposing fifty-something man with a beard enters the store. Just like most of the guys here, he's wearing a NY Raptors T-shirt and cap.

"Hard at work, I see." His voice booms between the walls .

"Coach Martin," some of the guys say, jumping to their feet.

"It's break time," Caleb says, hands on his hips. "But we're right on schedule."

"Good, good," the coach says, his eyes traveling around the room. When they land on us, he smiles. "Hi, nice to meet you. I'm Lars Martin, their coach." Striding toward us, he shakes our hands, and the guys take their painting positions—same as yesterday.

"Are they treating you well?" Lars asks.

Alice beams. "Oh, yes. They're fantastic."

"Incredibly helpful," I add. "Thank you for allowing them to help us. We really appreciate it."

"Of course. We always try to give back to the community, and my daughter loves reading too. Maybe she'll become a customer."

"How fun," I say. "Tell her to stop by anytime. We'll give her the friends-and-family discount."

He nods curtly. "Will do. I have to get going, but enjoy the rest of your day, and good luck."

Once he leaves, some of the guys head out to work on the patio—it needs a good power wash and a fresh coat of paint—while the rest of the team and us girls return to our positions from yesterday, which means I'm back in the far right corner next to Maxime .

"Nice of you to join me, Nash," he says, not even turning around to look at me. Do we have a Mad-Eye Moody situation where he has eyes in the back of his head or something?

I pick up my roller and dip it in the white paint. "Sorry. I had to give your performance review to your coach."

His head snaps toward me. "Aw. Did you tell him I was irresistible and incredibly charming?"

"More like insufferable."

He just laughs as he rolls the paint in neat lines on the wall. "So, how was that epic fantasy battle last night? Did the dragon win? Or were you too busy thinking about me instead of reading? I know I'm far more entertaining."

I shake my head, my cheeks burning. The only thing that springs to my mind when I think of that battle is Maxime's face plaguing my thoughts as I tossed and turned in my bed.

Stop blushing , I mentally order my cheeks. The last thing I need is for Maxime to see my face go red. He'll assume he's right and that I'm blushing because of him. Really, I'm blushing from the shame of not enjoying that epic scene, that's all . . . I think. "It was fantastic. And yes, he won."

His eyes sparkle as he looks at me. "I'm sure it was. "

"What did you do last night?" I ask, trying to shift the conversation away from how I spent mine.

"Went out for drinks with some of the guys."

A pang of jealousy stirs in my chest as I imagine Maxime surrounded by gorgeous girls who are giggling at his bad flirting attempts, their hands all over him. "Oh," I manage to say.

He scratches his head. "We played some pool. Nothing fancy. Unlike your epic battle," he says with a forced chuckle that's so uncharacteristic of him. "Anyway, speaking of bars, when are we going on a date, Nash? It's long overdue, don't you think?"

His quick recovery draws a hearty laugh from me as I dip my roller into the paint again. I shake my head, trying to clear away the butterflies that have filled the space in my belly. "That's never going to happen, Beaumont."

Someone needs to send that memo to the butterflies. ASAP.