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“You prefer me calling you ‘girlfriend’ instead?”
“Anything. You can call me anything you like.”
I press a kiss to her forehead then guide her head back down, nestling against me. “Okay, baby.”
We spend a long time cuddling in bed, and she teaches me about how baseballs were originally made by cobblers, weighs the pros and cons of different methods to keep avocados from browning, and all the while, I simply soak it in.
The warmth and softness of her body, the calming tone of her voice, the newfound certainty in our relationship. It’s all exactly what I needed, so I feel a lot better by the time I have to ready myself for the gala.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to help you with your speech?” she asks after we’ve dressed.
At the door, I wrap my arm around her. “No. You’ve sort of inspired me, so I’m gonna write it quickly before I get dressed.”
“You have everything? The pocket square for your suit?”
“Yeah.” With the help of a stylist, Millie had narrowed my suit choices down to three options, so I chose from there, and she was very excited about the pocket square.
“And you’ll be okay. Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
“There’s no reason for you to be there. It’s going to be terrible.”
She rubs at her knuckle, considers me for a few seconds. “But if I go, maybe you won’t think it’s terrible.”
“I’m not even staying the entire time. I’m going, saying my two lines, and leaving.”
“You have two lines?”
“Joke, Mills.”
She nods, unimpressed, and I cough out a laugh. I love her so much, the words almost fall from my tongue. Instead, I pull her in for one last kiss and send her off, though the stiffness in her shoulders doesn’t escape my notice, and I promise her, “I’ll text you as soon as I’m done. Maybe I could come over after?”
That makes her brighten. “Yeah. Okay.”
As much as I want to be with Millie, I don’t want her to be around tonight. Not after the idea of my speech came to me as I basked in her shine. Now that I know what love and safety feel like, I’m not willing to pretend anymore. If Millie can be open and honest, so can I.
CHAPTER 24
MILLIE
It’s a little after seven when my phone rings, and I answer with a smile. “You’re done already? Must have been a short speech.”
“I didn’t give it yet,” Austin says without pause. “I forgot it. I need you to come here. Can you stop at my place to grab it? I left it on the counter.”
“Come to the convention center?”
“Yeah.” He lowers his voice. “Please, Millie, as fast as you can. I’m supposed to be onstage at eight.”
I’m already standing. “Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I hang up and toss my phone down, telling Mom and Noah, “Austin needs me to go to the gala. He forgot his speech at home.”
“Well, you can’t go like that.” Mom points to the steps. “I have the navy dress in the back of my closet. It should fit you. Put your hair back.” She starts to stand. “Do you need help?”
“No, no, I got it.” I’m off, racing up the stairs to find her dress that she’s had for a long time. Wears it for every special occasion, and I strip down, slipping it on right there in her bedroom before checking myself out in the mirror. It’s not a perfect fit, but it’ll do. A soft fabric that has a hidden zipper in the back and small keyhole opening at the top with a button. It’s plain but sophisticated, sleeveless with a high neckline and slight flare at the knee. Deciding it’s the only thing I have to work with, I hop across the hall to the bathroom and slick back my hair with some water so I can twist it into a low bun, using bobby pins to keep it in place then add on a quick face of makeup, enough so it appears like I have eyelashes, eyebrows, and color to my cheeks. After finding suitable shoes and a purse, I drop a kiss on Noah’s head and Mom’s cheek. She reassures me that they’ll be fine alone for a few hours and to enjoy myself.
Rush-hour traffic has abated, but it still takes me longer than I’d like to drive to his condo building, where I double-park and hightail it inside, waving a wild hand to the doorman about needing to grab something quick for Austin. Like he said, I find the loose paper on the kitchen counter, and it’s covered in slanted writing that is less and less legible the farther down the paper, with lots of crossed-out words, as if he wrote it in a hurry or in an emotional state. I assume a little bit of both.
The same way I read it, in a hurry and a hurricane of emotion.
