Well Played (Well Met #2)(16)

Finally, Mom cleared her throat and held up the bowl of popcorn. “Want to watch a movie before bed?”

I did. I really did, but I shook my head. “I joined this book club, and I need to read this before next Thursday.” I pulled the Depressing World War II Book out of my bag and waved it at her.

She took it from my hand and frowned at the cover. “Hmm.” She flipped it over and read the back before handing it back to me. “You need to be in a better book club. That looks depressing.”

“You’re not wrong.” I sighed. “Emily said she’s picking out more fun books for the store’s book club. Maybe I should just join that one instead.”

Mom shrugged. “You could do both, you know. But let me know if you do the fun one. I’d be up for that.”

“You got it.” I looked at the book once more, then at the bowl of popcorn Mom still held. I tossed the book to the table. “Screw it. Let’s watch a movie.” Who needed a life, when you could spend your evenings watching rom-coms with your mother?

Oh, God, I needed a life.

After the movie I left through the kitchen on my way to the garage and the stairs to my apartment, stopping to grab my laptop and my backpack from where I’d left them on the table. Upstairs and in bed, I opened my laptop and Mom’s twenty-dollar bill fluttered out from inside it.

“Dammit, Mom.” I sighed. But I folded the bill and stuck it under my phone. I started to reread the email I’d composed at my parents’ kitchen table, but it made my skin prickle. Should I be telling him all this? In my experience, people didn’t want to hear this kind of stuff. They wanted Fun Stacey. The cheerleader, the one who commented with heart-eyes emojis on the pics of your children, the one who was eager to help pick out bridesmaid dresses. These days I was more comfortable sharing a duet on karaoke night at Jackson’s than sharing my innermost thoughts. And I was really bad at karaoke.

But he’d asked, hadn’t he? I hit Send before I could change my mind. Maybe I was sharing too much information and he wouldn’t like this Stacey. But there was only one way to find out.



* * *



? ? ?

Turned out Dex was a TMI kind of guy.

I got ready for bed, and as I went to move my laptop, the screen sprang to life, and there was an email waiting for me.


To: Stacey Lindholm

From: Dex MacLean

Date: September 4, 9:52 p.m.

Subject: Re: Re: Re: My Real Name


I’m so sorry about what you’ve been through with your mom, but for what it’s worth, I would have done the same thing. I mean, you’re talking to a guy who travels with family year-round. Family’s important, and when the chips are down there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for mine. Sounds like you’re the same way.

That said, you make a good point about small towns and overprotective moms. I guess I can’t blame you there. But I can’t blame your mom either. Can you? Not that I’m taking her side, but you said it yourself: Miracle Baby. I take it you’re an only child too? That makes it worse, I’d think. With siblings you have someone else to blame shit on.

Oh, and too bad, Anastasia. You can’t give me a name that feels like music in my mouth and not expect me to revel in it. The name fits you.



I closed my laptop with a snap and pushed it away from me as though it had burned me. I sucked in a breath and it tasted like sweet relief; had I forgotten to breathe those last few moments, reading that my name felt like music? Who was this guy? How could this be the same person who hadn’t even said goodbye at the end of Faire this season?

Benedick crawled into my lap, his front feet kneading the blankets that had been warmed by the laptop. I stroked one hand down his back, over and over, absorbing his purr and letting it calm me. When I closed my eyes those words were imprinted on the backs of my eyelids . . . a name that feels like music in my mouth . . . but the more that Benedick snuggled into me and I scritched behind his ears, the easier I could breathe.

“Well,” I finally said to the cat, “I said I needed a life. Maybe that’s what’s happening now.”



* * *



? ? ?

The next morning I woke with that phrase in my head again—a name that feels like music in my mouth—and I suppressed a delicious shiver. Overnight my thoughts regarding Dex had apparently untangled themselves just fine, and I couldn’t keep a silly grin off my face as I got ready for work.

At least at work I wouldn’t be tempted to check my phone every fifteen seconds; personal cell phones weren’t allowed, so I kept mine zipped up in my bag during the day. I itched to talk to someone about this, about the incredibly hot guy who missed me, but as friendly as I was with my coworkers, I wasn’t friends with any of them on any kind of personal level. We were grab-lunch-together friends. Go-to-happy-hour friends, at most. Not dissect-every-bit-of-your-new-potential-love-life friends.

It was a slow morning, and by ten I was already perusing the deli menu, wondering if it was too soon to order lunch. The Reuben on the menu made me think of Emily; that was her favorite. She was probably the closest thing I had to a bestie, a real bestie, these days. She’d asked me to be her bridesmaid, right? So she at least saw me as more than a happy hour and Ren Faire friend. Maybe Emily would want to hear about this new development. Did a couple emails that made me tingle count as a love life worth sharing with your bestie?