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Arnold’s eyes crinkled with an amusement that confused her until he explained. “Oh, my dear Liza. You and I won’t have the opportunity to say anything Tuesday night. Johnnie is full speed ahead on the wedding plans, so please, for the love of all that’s holy, come armed with strong opinions on everything from flowers to color schemes to menus. Because apparently, my feelings regarding all those things are either wrong or too lukewarm. I’m counting on you to pick up my slack.”
After twenty-five years as partners, Arnold and Johnnie were finally tying the knot at a destination wedding in Hawaii, and Liza couldn’t be happier for them. Johnnie had grown up on the islands and most of his family—apparently as big as hers—still lived there.
“Yes, sir.” Liza gave him a salute. “Operation Groomzilla is underway. I’ll do my best to soothe the beast.”
“Got your plane ticket?” Arnold asked.
“Fully booked.” She was living for the trip, which was only about a month away. She’d been delighted six months earlier when they’d asked if she’d like to attend. Arnold had mentioned it one night over dinner, telling her they would understand if she couldn’t afford it, either financially or timewise. It hadn’t taken her five minutes—she’d needed to check her vacation leave at work—to accept.
The idea of a week soaking up the rays and drinking fruity cocktails in Hawaii rather than being stuck here, freezing her ass off—mid-February in Philly was relentless—sounded like bliss.
Now the trip had an added bonus because she was hoping the break from reality would be just what she needed to stop obsessing over Matt.
“So about these dark circles…” Arnold was like a dog with a bone.
“I’m just tired,” she lied. “Truly.”
Arnold didn’t look like he bought it, but he let her off the hook. At least, until he unwittingly changed the subject…to the same damn subject.
“I know that you and Matt Russo have a somewhat contentious relationship,” Arnold said.
Liza didn’t hold back whenever she and Matt butted heads, which meant she’d found herself bitching about him often to Johnnie and Arnold over drinks and dinner.
“We did. Do,” she quickly amended, not because she thought the past tense was wrong, but rather Arnold would be expecting the present tense.
“I hope his presence here at the Promise House won’t be an issue for you.”
“He really is coming back?”
Arnold smiled. “I will admit, I didn’t expect to see him after that initial visit. He’d emailed to request a tour, which I’d been perfectly happy to give. Then he asked what immediate needs we had, and I knew he meant financially.”
Liza gave him a crooked grin, perfectly aware of where this story was going. Arnold had roped her into volunteering in a similar fashion. After being promoted to director of the Initiative, she’d visited the Promise House intent on raising funds to help the teens living here. She’d asked almost the exact same question. What do you need?
And Arnold had answered, “You and as much time as you can spare for these kids.”
“And because you’re you, you roped him into volunteering.”
Arnold chuckled. “He wasn’t that hard to rope in, if you want the truth. I gave him his tour, told him what the kids needed more than anything was a positive male role model, someone willing to spend time with them. Then I threw him out there on the basketball court with Devonte and a few other kids. You should have seen him in his six-hundred-dollar Brunello Cucinelli dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, sweating his ass off.”
Liza laughed. “Oh my God. I would have paid good money to see that.”
“He thanked me for the tour and game when he left, and I figured I wouldn’t see him again. Didn’t expect him to show back up on New Year’s Eve, asking for every kid’s shoe size and their ‘sneaker wish list.’ He’s been going the extra mile since then, challenging Devonte to a rematch after every game.”
“Bet Devonte is loving that,” she added.
“I swear to God, that boy would sleep on that ratty old court using the ball as his pillow if I’d let him.”
Truer words were never spoken. Liza wished there weren’t always a million more pressing needs at the Promise House because she’d love to raise enough funds to renovate the “makeshift” gym. It was an old storage room with concrete floors and a dozen or so dented, folding metal chairs serving as bleachers. There wasn’t a damn thing regulation about the basketball court, the hoops hanging up on opposite ends of the space, the size of the room dictating the distance between. The hoops didn’t even have nets.
“As Devonte said, Matt’s promised to come back, and I have no reason to believe he won’t follow through on his commitment.” Arnold stood up and picked up an Amazon box from the edge of his desk. “This showed up this morning. No name, but I can figure out who sent it.” Reaching in, he pulled out two crisp white basketball nets.
Liza leaned back, trying to find something to say. When she did open her mouth, what fell out wasn’t what she’d intended at all.
“I slept with Matt Russo the night of the Snowflake Gala.” Liza held Arnold’s gaze, waiting for his stunned reaction.
She was sure he’d be shocked and probably even amused. Arnold had a wicked sense of humor, so finding out she’d had a one-night stand with her so-called arch nemesis felt like the kind of thing that would tickle his funny bone.
What she didn’t anticipate was his calm nod. “Good for you.”
