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“Oh,” she mutters, “I guess I didn’t think about that. All of this is so new to me.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here to prevent you from doing stupid things.”
“I love you, Shawn.” Ella drags her nails along my skin until our fingers meet, her speech somewhat slurred. “Thank you. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I love you, too. How about we go upstairs, so I can show you how much I love you in the shower? I need to get this drink off me and you out of these wet clothes.”
With our hands interlocked, I guide her toward the elevator bank and go up to our room. I keep my promise and show her how much I love her until the sun comes up. When Ella falls asleep, naked and with her head on my chest, I shut my eyes and remind myself how lucky I am to have found my Cinderella.
Ella
Graduation, the day we had both waited for, came in the blink of an eye.
One hundred days was all it had taken for me to fall head over heels in love with Shawn Finch. All I’d ever wanted was one kiss. How did I get this lucky? I had never considered myself someone who had any luck. But in those days, I found the inner strength I’d always known was inside me, found the love of my life, the love of a lost relative, and now, I’m so close to reclaiming my family fortune.
To say that I am proud of Shawn for pulling up his grades to B’s and C’s so that we could graduate together is an understatement. I was beyond thrilled to stare out into the crowded auditorium and wave to Mrs. F, as the Dean handed me my diploma. With our names being so close together—Finch and Fitzgerald—he’d barely made it to the end of the stage before it was my turn to hold up the paper and blow Shawn a kiss, just as he had done to me.
He even screamed, I love you, Ella Fitzgerald, professing his love to me in front of everyone in Finch fashion. I had expected nothing less from him. His adorable gesture made me blush, my cheeks turning ten shades of red. But I did something uncharacteristic and yelled it back. It felt like we were in an 80’s movie where the guy makes a grand gesture at the end to win back the girl. But he already had me. Shawn had me long before he knew I was his mystery girl.
Now, we’re sharing another monumental moment together—the NFL draft. Shawn lucked out that the event is in Philly this year, and at the Philadelphia Museum of Art, of all places. I hope they call his name and that he gets to look out into the audience and stare down from the stage placed at the top of the steps that Rocky Balboa had made famous. Shawn was excited about the location since he comes here sometimes to jog up the stairs as part of his workout routine and is a big fan of the movies.
Sitting at the end of the aisle with Coach Davenport and his mom, Shawn rests his arms on his thighs and looks past Grace to wink at me. I return the gesture with a smile, and his attention falls back to the stage. His coach had practically fought me for the seat next to him. Seeing as how this man had a lot to do with Shawn getting to this point, I had no objections. He earned the right to sit here and cheer him on along with the rest of us.
Neither of us has much of family, but Mrs. F came to represent the Fitzgerald clan. Grace, Finch’s super sweet mother, is on my other side, biting down on her bottom lip. She has her hands folded in front of her on her lap. Her legs shake my chair from all the nervous energy that runs through her body.
I’m just as anxious. For most of his life, Finch dreamed of playing professional football. I want this for him so much that my stomach knots when I consider the possibility of this not going as planned. Not that I have any doubt in my man’s abilities, but I’m also a glass half empty kind of girl after everything that has happened to me.
Shawn’s teammates, Bash and Clay, had their names called on Thursday in the first round. We are three days into this process, in the seventh round and down to the wire. My stomach turns at the thought of him missing out this year. They just announced the player chosen tenth, lessening Finch’s chances the more we go.
Stay positive, I tell myself, chewing the inside of my cheek.
“He’ll make it,” Mrs. F says to me, clutching my wrist. “I have a good feeling this time. Don’t worry, my dear.”
“How can I not?” I whisper my words so that no one overhears our conversation. “I keep thinking about what will happen if this doesn’t work out for him.”
“You
should listen to Shawn for once and stop overthinking.”
“Not you, too,” I deadpan with a smile.
“What can I say? We know what is best for you.”
Two more picks come and go, and I am sweating bullets. I see the worry on Shawn’s face, even though he’s doing his best to keep calm. He slacked off for most of his junior and senior year. Between his bad grades and less than stellar performances, he wasn’t even sure he had a place with the Senators at one time, let alone the NFL. Luckily, Bash’s dad had some pull with the school, and his Coach helped him get back in shape. And, of course, I helped with his grades.
When they announce the twelfth pick, my heart pounds out of my chest. We shoot up from our chairs and scream, the sound of my voice sending a tremor down my spine.
“You did it, baby,” Grace yells to her son, wrestling with Coach Davenport to hug Shawn.
I can see where Shawn gets some of his better qualities. Grace is funny, loud, full of so much energy and love for her son.
Tori wasn’t joking about their relationship either. Shawn and his mom together is the cutest thing I have ever seen. Where he’s tall and muscular, she’s skinny and petite. He hooks his arm around each of us, pulling his mom and me into his chest like a bear, sucking the life from my chest in the process. My mom had always said that a man who loves his mother would treat his woman like a queen. Despite my dad going against his family to marry my mom, that love for his mom was always there. I can see the same love in Shawn’s eyes when he looks down at Grace.
My bottom lids well up with tears, and I gasp for air..
Our entire group moves into the aisle.
Shawn hooks his arms around his mom and me and plants a kiss on each our foreheads. “My girls. Thank you for everything. I love you both.” He looks as though he’s trying not to cry, so I do it for him.
