AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Five years, and we’ve never been in the same place during our birthdays.” She digs in her purse and pulls out an envelope. “I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday.”
I take the envelope from her hand, but she holds it for a second, her head down, staring. From my view, that faded scar running through her brow catches my eye, and my free hand moves toward it, anticipating the touch.
Nova lifts her chin before I reach her. “Make an excuse for me, okay? Tell them I had a work emergency, and I’m sorry for running out on them.”
She’s reached the exit before I think of running after her again. Knowing Palmer, Mom, and Willa are waiting on my return, I rip into the envelope and remove a soft sheet of paper.No.A cocktail napkin. I unfold the white square with the logo for Mike’s on the bottom, and my lungs’ air capacity deflates at the sight of thin black lines outlining the profile of a couple in an embrace with clusters of squiggles over their heads.It’s our first kiss beneath the fireworks in Medora.The abstract drawing shouldn’t be so obvious, but I lived that moment. And I’ve re-lived it in my dreams a hundred times since.
She knows her face—her drawing—is on my arm.
And now I know she’s hurting, too.
thirty-one | nova
Sprintingaway from Caridad’s a month ago, I questioned if moving to Miami was a huge mistake. Such a stupidly woman thing to do—questioning her job and life choices because of a man. The feelings I harbored for Devin Hawthorne would not play a factor in my decisions. I would not run.
Did the idea of Devin eventually moving up to the majors and living in Miami entice me to come? Okay. Yes. I can’t deny that, but this is also an incredible opportunity I couldn’t pass up. No matter which state TSG is in. It just happened to be in the same city as a man I hoped to reconnect with someday.
As I slip my Audi intoParkand do a final make-up check in my visor mirror, I’m happy I didn’t listen to those deceptive whispers. The ones warning me how difficult it would be to be near Devin, whether that was five and a half hours drive away or not—because yes, I researched how far Jacksonville is from Miami—it’s the same state. Those fears came from the girl I used to be. The girl who didn’t want to deal with the fallout after what happened with Logan and Julia, the girl who didn’t push for answers when Devin went silent after Oregon. The girl who didn’t fight Anders about how he treated her, and the one who ran away from him when she realized she couldn’t deal with him. That girl—the old me—the good girl, the smart girl, the responsible girl, the dependable girl.
The funny thing is, I’m still all those things, but now I’m better. I’mmore. I’m the woman who doesn’t let a seasoned agent belittle her based on the equipment under her clothing. The woman who walks into million-dollar contract negotiations and goes to bat for her clients. And the woman who can watch the man she’s half in love with reach his goals night after night and be happy for him, even if he’s going home to someone else. Even if it’s the hardest thing she’s ever done.
Devin and I haven’t spoken since his birthday dinner. Not a text, nor call, and certainly not in person. Willa and Sharon contacted me once they returned to Vermont, Sharon to say how much she wished we’d had more time to talk and Willa to apologize for her part in forcing Devin and me face-to-face that night. I kept both phone calls short. I didn’t want to hear excuses for Devin’s behavior or be given a pep talk on waiting for him to come around. Instead, I called Mari and Mili, my new love life guide posts, and reached a freeing realization: Devin Hawthorne and I don’t belong together.
We just don’t. We’re two people who shared two highly emotional trips at highly emotional times in our lives that forced a false connection. My cousins and I have a way of over-romanticizing things—our parents’ love stories are too Hollywood-script-worthy to be real. Did Devin and I have a good time together?Yes.Are we attracted to each other?Obviously.Does he make my heart race?Of course.But so did Logan. So did Anders. Albeit to differing degrees. Hundreds of single, good-looking, successful men in Miami could fit the bill. One of them walks toward my car at this very moment with his easygoing smile and effortless clothing.
Does that mean I’m getting over Devin?No.
Dropping my key fob into my satin clutch, I’ve just pulled the handle when the door swings open, and a handsome face pops into view. “May I be of assistance, ma’am?”
“Hi, Shep.” I place my hand in his, allowing him to assist me from my vehicle. “Thank you.”
“Anyti—” His words cut off with a low whistle as I stand. “You look absolutely photographable.”
“Is that a compliment?” I chuckle, smoothing the creases in the blue floral jacquard minidress.
I wait with amusement as he eyeballs the length of my legs—my sun-bronzed legs, yay for Miami weather—grinning when he reaches my gaze and shrugs as if to say, “sue me” before he tucks my hand in the crook of his arm.
“I’m a professional photographer, Nova. Of course, it’s a compliment. I only photograph things that I think are beautiful, interesting, or have a story to tell.”
“Oh? And which one am I?”
Leaning closer, he brushes a kiss across my cheek. “I think you’re all three.”
“Smooth.” My fingers tighten on his forearm as the crowd thickens the closer we are to the front door. “So, tell me about this place. Leo was ticked he couldn’t fly out of Boston until tomorrow.”
“VIBE opened last year, and it’s nearly impossible to get into.”
“Ah. It’s an exclusive club.” I smirk. “So, basically, you need to be someone or know someone.”
He laughs as we walk up to the entrance and the doorman in a sleek black suit raises the velvet rope when he sees us. “Something like that.”
“And which are you?”
Lifting a modest shoulder with that devil may care smile, he leans in. “I guess I know someone.”
Now I know that’s not true. From what I’ve learned over the last month and a half of living here, Shep’s a sought-after photographer in both the local fashion scene and the sports industry. He’s done a ton of shoots for TSG athletes.
Neon purple, blue, and yellow lights shimmer on the dim dance floor, glass railings sectioning off VIP areas with modern leather couches. Music rebounds off the walls, thumping in my chest. Every inch of this place is crawling with intimidatingly beautiful women.
