Catching my moment of surprise, Brook gives a lopsided grin. Rather than apologize for the scare, he holds out his hand. I hesitate only a second before I oblige. Before I can catch my bearings, I’m tugged into his arms.
I bury against the crook of his neck, and he pulls me tighter. This is nice. This is better than nice. It’s just what I needed to ease out the last bits of tension still lingering after the bath. When at last I feel more myself, I pull back and lean my cheek against his shoulder. “Is there really a pizza and Todd Northwood preview, or were you trying to get me out of the tub?”
Brook lets out a short laugh and squeezes me once more before releasing me. “There’s really a pizza and North preview. I wouldn’t lie to you about something so important.”
My own little Boy Scout. I’m truly blessed.
WADE IS GOING TO PROPOSE to Amelia tonight. Not that he had much of a choice after Saturday. We’d quietly discussed the whole situation during the first quarter of football on Sunday. At halftime, I’d sent him out to pick up the engagement ring, telling him he’d never be allowed to step foot in our apartment for football viewing again until he did. He was back halfway through the third quarter, ring in hand.
With a light Monday at the dealership behind us, we left early to do a final review of the plans for the proposal and go through his script a more few times. He picked up the girls after school, and they’re seated shoulder to shoulder at the kitchen table, coloring while we talk.
“Okay. I can do this,” Wade says for the tenth time. “Right?”
“Definitely.” I give him a brief hug of encouragement. It also serves to hide the tears forming in my eyes. “If you can’t remember what you planned, just speak from the heart.”
“And you’re sure you’re fine watching the girls?”
“Definitely.” As part of the newly revamped proposal plan, Brook and I will be taking care of the girls tonight while Wade and Amelia go out to dinner. Brook will be at practice for however long he is at practice, which means I’m actually the one watching Marley and Ellery. That’s easy enough. The girls love me. Now that I’m done with the planning and preparation for the craft fair, I have plenty of energy to show the girls a good time while they’re here tonight. It will have the added bonus of keeping me occupied. I’ll probably be a wreck most of the evening wondering how everything is going with Romeo.
A quick glance at the girls confirms that they’re still hard at work on their artwork. Brook and I watch his nieces and my nephew often enough that we keep a variety of coloring books aimed to pique just about any interest or whim our young charges could have. Okay, and sometimes, after one of us has had a particularly grueling day of work and just needs to unwind with some sort of mindless activity, Brook and I will break them out for an hour or so of grown-up coloring. That’s something we try to keep under wraps, though. If J.J. ever found out exactly how deep our nerd tendencies go, he’d never let us hear the end of it.
“You’re sure?”
“Go.” I practically push him out the door. “And good luck.” Once I’m sure he’s gone, I turn my attention back to my charges. “Who wants macaroni and cheese for dinner?”
An excited chorus of, “me” responds, and I reach for a pre-packaged box of noodles and cheese. I actually have an awesome recipe for homemade mac and cheese. Brook loves it, and I’ve already made it twice this year for the fantasy football crew. Despite the rave reviews from grown-ups, the one time I made it for the girls they’d spent the entire meal talking about how much they liked the kind from the box. Lesson learned, I suppose. Like I told Wade on his way out the door after dropping off the girls, less is more sometimes.
While I put a pot of water on to boil, I prepare some veggies and Boca chicken tenders to go along with the macaroni and cheese. Much as I want to please tonight’s diners, I can’t shake the semi-responsible adult who worries about not offering them a balanced meal full of nutrients.
Frankly, I’m being kinder to their little bodies than I have been to myself. I ate half a dozen mini-cupcakes for breakfast and lunch today. When I drove past a new bakery on my way to work, I couldn’t resist pulling over. Then, because I couldn’t decide which one I liked best, I’d gone ahead and ordered a sampler. While I’d promised myself I’d make them last the whole week, I hadn’t been able to stop myself once I started. Hopefully, I’ll be able to stomach a little real food—or as real as boxed mac and cheese is—tonight.
“Where’s Uncle Bwook?” Ellery asks, pushing aside the picture of a prince and princess she’s been working on for the past few minutes.
“He’s at practice,” Marley answers without tearing her eyes away from the menagerie of zoo animals on the sheet in front of her. “Duh, Ellery.”
“Don’t say duh.”
“You’re not my boss.”
“Mom says—”
“Mom isn’t here. I’m in charge.”
“Ha-paw!”
I set the plate of carrot sticks and celery on the table and gently change the subject. “What would you ladies like to do after dinner tonight?”
They bicker about whether or not we should watch a movie with popcorn or bake treats. I tell them we can do both, which settles them down quickly. Ha. Problem-solving is sometimes easier with kids than it is with grown-ups. At least baked goods work on them. I doubt I could mollify the Donaldsons with offers of brownies and butter on their popcorn.
Dinner passes relatively smoothly, too. There is one mini-meltdown when Marley takes the last faux chicken tender without offering it up to her little sister first. I smooth it over by letting Ellery pick out the movie we’ll watch after dinner. Again, problem solved. I have a knack for this. The peace continues while we mix up brownies and put them in the oven to enjoy during intermission.
I settle them in front of the movie while I do the dishes. I eye the clock. I wonder how everything is going with Wade and Amelia.
Another argument begins about something I haven’t figured out when Brook walks in through the front door. Forgetting their disagreement, the girls push away from the table and race to greet him. Blitz beats them by half a second. My stomach does a little tumble when Ellery leans up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek and Marley’s arms tighten around his neck.
“Hey, everyone. Looks like we have ourselves a party tonight,” Brook says, dropping to his knees to give the girls hugs. Blitz protests the lack of affection by wailing and pawing at Brook’s legs. Meeting my gaze over their heads, Brook lifts an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize we were having people over tonight.”
“Sorry,” I mouth, because I’ve only just realized I forgot to tell Brook they’d be over tonight.
“Wade and Mom are going out to dinner,” Marley explains.
“They’re on a date,” Ellery adds.
Brook darts a glance my way, and I nod confirming his suspicions. A mixture of relief and approval spreads across his face. “Well, that’s nice.”
“Do you and Ha-paw ever go on dates?” Ellery asks.
“Sometimes. But not as often as we should.” He pauses on his way to the bedroom. “Hi,” he murmurs, leaning in to give me a light kiss. The girls make smooching noises and smack their lips. His mouth curves against mine in a grin. “How was your day?”
I purse my lips to consider the most newsworthy development of my day. “I killed a dozen mini-cupcakes at work. I didn’t even offer a bite to any of the guys.”
“Nice.” He adjusts his hold so he can better see my face. “Anything exciting going on?”
Aside from worrying about arriving to a “closed forever” sign every time I arrive at the office? “Nothing new to report,” I answer, forcing a smile. “Business as usual.”
Brook plants a kiss on top of my head and holds me close. “Any updates from Wade or Amelia?”
I shake my head. “I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.” Regardless of whether or not it goes as planned, I have no doubt it will end with the result Wade wants: a yes. “Will
she be surprised after all the brouhaha?”
“Probably.” He lets out a sigh. “She’s been jumping to the wrong conclusions where men are concerned most of her life.”
“Oh yeah?” She’s told me a little about what happened with the girls’ father, but the worst thing she did was have babies with a man who wasn’t ready to settle down yet. Even that turned out for the best, because she ended up with Marley and Ellery, and their father is still in the picture enough to satisfy all parties involved. For now. “Are you sure this isn’t the overprotective brother sneaking out?”
He frowns. “I’m not overprotective.”
I raise an eyebrow, but say nothing.
“Okay, you’ve got me.” Releasing his hold on me, he leans back against the counter and shrugs. “Maybe a little. But I’m only protective when necessary.”
“How often is it necessary?”
His lip twitches. “Most of the time.”
I shake my head and chuckle. “You’re lucky neither of my brothers have decided to get macho man on you.”
“Your brothers love me.”
He makes a valid point. If Brook and I ever call it quits, my brothers would be torn about which side to take. And they’d only be tempted to take my side because I’m their sister and our parents would frown upon them picking someone outside the family.
My eye wanders back to the clock.
“Should we be worried?” I ask, voice low. “They’ve been gone a few hours. How long does it take to get engaged?”
“As long as it takes.” Brook brushes some stray hairs behind my ear. “You know Wade. He probably keeps chickening out at last minute. The words are on the tip of his tongue, and then he freezes.”
“You’re probably right.” I shake my head and give the counter a final swipe. “And he seemed like the most normal of you league guys. So level-headed. Except when it came to his fantasy team. He’s constantly fretting about his lineup and analyzing every player on his team and who they’re up against each week . . .”
“You’re right.” Brook takes the towel from my hands and hangs it to dry. “Totally normal.”
Blitz races toward the front door a few seconds before the knock comes. “That cat is amazing,” I muse. “If only we could train him to predict player injuries and major plays for our fantasy teams.”
“I’ll get right on that.” Brook gives a parting squeeze and heads for the door. “Let’s hope whoever it is hasn’t been crying.”
“Unless they’re happy tears,” I call after him. I mean it as a joke, but I can’t shake the little knot of worry in my stomach. I’m sure everything went according to the plan. That every tear shed tonight will be one of happiness. If something had gone wrong, Wade would have called. I’m sure of it. All the same, I take a moment to roll the tension out of my shoulders and draw a proper breath. Emotions contained, for now, I’m more ready for whatever awaits us on the other side of the door.
Amelia practically flies through the door, floating past her brother to find the girls. Standing in front of the TV, much to her daughters’ chagrin, she clears her throat. “Mommy has an announcement.”
“Mommy makes a better door than a window,” Marley mutters to Ellery. I smother a laugh. I may or may not have inadvertently taught her that phrase earlier tonight. I’m about to step in to turn off the TV, but am given pause when Amelia holds up her hand and flashes the engagement ring sparkling on her finger.
That’s apparently more than enough for the little girls to understand. Our apartment erupts with shrieks and laughter. Wade, who silently stepped into the room a moment ago, is engulfed in hugs and kisses all over his cheeks. Brook slips an arm around my shoulder. He’s too busy listening to his nieces’ excited chatter to catch Amelia mouthing a “thank you” to me. It takes all my willpower not to burst into tears.
Week Eight Recap: The End of an Era
My grandfather likes to retell the story of where he was when he heard about Pearl Harbor. My father remembers where he was the day the music died. Our generation has too many of our own senseless tragedies to choose from, but they have one thing in common. They’ve left us with an unforgettable memory that has changed us irreparably for the worse.
There’s little doubt that years from now, North’s Lady will be struck with flashbacks of the day her undefeated season and the dream of perfection died.
Yes, North’s Lady is still 7-1, which is nothing to complain about. Yes, she’s still basically a shoo-in for the playoffs—so long as she doesn’t lose the rest of the season. Will the victory still taste as sweet knowing that she let her guard down for a brief moment in week eight, when she let the opponent trample her?
Perhaps she’ll write this off as a moral victory. Maybe that should count for something, but it doesn’t take the sting out of seeing “L” next to her team name.
North’s Lady will rise again, probably next week. Until then, let us raise our glasses to the heavens and drink one for the memory, for the dream of what could have been.
To the dream.
Record: 7-1
Chapter Fifteen
THE POOR GUY WHO WRITES my weekly fantasy recaps is taking my week eight loss harder than I am. His dreams for my perfect season are dashed. It’s like someone told him that the Tooth Fairy isn’t real or that high fructose corn syrup, while delicious, is bad for him long-term. It happened, it wasn’t pleasant, but we have to move on with our lives somehow.
Besides, how can I be too brokenhearted about the loss when I’d planned it to happen this way all along? I purposefully drafted a team that was strong every week except week eight. I was always supposed to lose one game. I fulfilled my own destiny, which is more empowering than I would have imagined.
And . . . losing this week kind of rekindled the spark. Yeah, it was all part of my plan, which is predictable and boring, but it reminded me of what it’s like to fail. This week it was about the process. Without most of my key starters—with the exception of North, who still played—I had to do a lot of guessing when I set my lineup. Ultimately, some of my predictions failed, and so did I. Now I feel challenged to win again.
Oddly enough, it’s also freeing. The pressure of perfection is off the table. Now I can get back to doing my best rather than worrying about maintaining a streak.
As it turns out, the loss was exactly what I needed to jumpstart my creative-thinking.
I finally came up with the perfect plan to help Brook relax and have a good time after another grueling week of coaching high school football. Surprise of all surprises, the idea came from J.J. During some downtime at work on Friday afternoon, he’d mentioned an ’80s cover band that was playing at a dive bar in Lincoln.
“They’re over-the-top,” he’d assured me. “We’re talking hot pink leather pants, big bleached hair, and a set of pipes on the lead singer that can break glass.”
According to the band’s Facebook page, Soul On Fire is “vintage Bon Jovi meets Van Halen meets Mötley Crüe meets Poison meets Guns N’ Roses.” So basically, they’re like Brook’s workout playlist in human form—everything you could want in an ’80s cover band. And tonight, after the Nebraska game, Brook and I are going to meet the guys at the bar to check out their show. At least, that’s the plan, if I can get Brook to tear himself away from football long enough to tell him.
Between the game on TV and the playbook on his tablet, I’m up against a lot of distractions, maybe my biggest foes to date. I doubt even parading around in my underwear would be enough to steal his full attention at this point. (I’ve already tried that once this season. It didn’t work.) Especially not when Nebraska is playing a conference game and he’s preparing for a big game on Friday. He’s under a lot of pressure both as a fan and as a coach. That’s all the more reason for him to take a night off to relax. If he doesn’t, I’m afraid he might work himself into his first heart attack before he’s thirty.
On TV, the Nebraska offense lines up with thirty seconds left on the clock. They’re up by one
touchdown and have six yards to go on a third down. I watch Brook watch the Nebraska quarterback scramble out of the pocket to throw the football down field and into the waiting arms of a receiver. Brook drops his tablet as he jumps to his feet, clapping his hands.
“Atta boy.” His face breaks out in a grin. “Gotta love that kind of hustle. Did you see the footwork?”
I nod. “He did a great job keeping the play alive.”
A glint of interest lights Brook’s eyes, and for a moment, I’m optimistic my football talk might have broken through the barrier and caught his interest a few minutes ahead of schedule. Instead, after a fleeting smoldering stare, he turns his attention back to the screen.
I fight the impulse to pout. Pouting is hardly attractive, which would go against my entire plan to get Brook to loosen up. Not that this is all about seduction. Still, I haven’t given up on reinstating a certain part of our relationship just because I gave up on the sexy lingerie. But it’s been a while since we, well, you know. I bet I would have a better shot at getting a little something going on if he was more relaxed. I’m also sure I’ll feel a lot more relaxed if we can log some time between the sheets—or maybe on the kitchen floor or in the shower. Not that this should be all about me and my feelings, but I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, too. We need this.
The Huskers continue their fast-tempo drive down the field, managing the game clock well. With five seconds of game time and eleven yards to go, it will take one big play now or they’re heading to the locker room with only their six-point lead. In those final moments of game, I find my attention glued to Brook again rather than the TV. He taps his chin in deep thought. His eyes widen and his hand falls to his side as he jumps to his feet and shouts, “Go, go, go!”
I’m able to tear my eyes away in time to watch a Nebraska wide receiver cross into the end zone. Well, good for him.
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