Not My Romeo (The Game Changers #1)(66)

I give her a hug. “It’s fine, Mama.”

She nods, her eyes searching mine. “Good. I thought as much, but sometimes you’re hard to read. You hide stuff from me.”

Because she expects me to be the perfect little southern girl.

To follow along with what her idea of me should be.

I open the door and look back at her. “Don’t you dare invite Patrick to lunch again. Or I swear I’ll wear my tart costume from Halloween.”

I grin and shut the door before she can reply.



I come out of the meeting with Marcus onto the busy sidewalk in downtown Nashville. It’s nearly dark, and a soft rain has started, and of course, I have no umbrella.

My phone rings. Topher.

“How was it?” he asks.

“Good news: they loved my designs and would love for me to be part of their team. Bad news: still not a real job offer. They want an intern. A twenty-six-year-old gofer—without benefits. It’s crazy.” I hold the phone to my ear and walk briskly in the cold air, heading toward my car I parked about a block away.

“Well, the library is a drama zone. You just missed two toddlers scuffling over a dinosaur book. Slaps were exchanged. I thought two mamas were gonna come to blows over who started what. I just now got those two settled down, and a hundred more are begging for books. I just wanted to call and check in on you. I should have come with you.”

“Somebody needs to run the library. I should hire a part-timer.”

“Elle, you sound down.” I hear little voices coming through the phone. I picture him at the library, toddlers pulling on his Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt. “Don’t be. You’re going to figure it out.”

I sigh. “I wish I could go back in time and tell myself to get a degree in fashion.”

“You were born with that talent, Elle. Somebody is going to sit up and notice. Plus, you have the blog and the Instagram account—”

I snort. “Romeo has more followers on IG than I have.”

“Well, maybe put some lingerie on him. Jammies for Hammies.”

I laugh. “I love you.”

I come to a stop outside a small quaint bakery. My stomach howls as the scent of sugar and melted butter wafts from the door as someone exits.

“You got quiet on me,” Topher says. “Did you go in one of those fancy boutiques, the ones with the custom cowboy boots and leather jackets? I love those.” He lets out a wistful sigh.

“No, better.”

“Must be food. You’re at that Thai place we went for Michael’s birthday.”

“Warmer. Think sweet.” I eye the placard outside the store, reading the pies of the day.

“You’re at that little pie shop, aren’t you? The one on Second Avenue.” He pauses. “You’re close to the Breton Hotel—you know that?”

I ignore that. “And the special today is key lime, my favorite.” I can practically taste the tart mixed with buttery crust in my mouth. “It’s practically dinnertime, and this is what I want. Sugar.”

“Get off the phone with me, and go get you a slice. Bring home a whole pie. I’ll cook tonight, and we’ll split it after. Love you, Elle.”

I get off the phone and head inside the bakery. A long sigh comes from me. Sugar, make me happy.

I take a spot at one of the booths, settling my purse and garment bags with my lingerie on the seat next to me. I eye the bags, recalling my interview. Marcus, the CEO of Little Rose, met with me personally. He was incredibly nice and complimentary of my work, his eyes lighting up especially at an off-white set featuring tiny quotes from Romeo and Juliet. I’d found the silky fabric online when I’d first heard about the play.

The waitress, a young girl dressed in a white dress with ruffles on the hem and a soft-pink apron, sets down my slice of pie. I groan as the first taste hits my tongue. With a hot cup of coffee, I polish it off in record time, and when she comes to take my plate, I put in the order for the whole pie.

It’s not until I’m at the counter and she’s ringing me up at the cash register that I have a tiny freak-out. I can’t find my wallet. With customers waiting in line behind me, I scrounge around in my purse, digging and pushing everything to the side. It’s not here. Crap.

I rack my brain, slumping when I realize that when I got my wallet out to pay for my hair, I must have dropped it on the floor or maybe left it on Aunt Clara’s counter.

“Everything okay?” the checkout girl asks, eyeing me as if I might dash out the door without paying.

“No, fine. Just give me a minute. Let these other guys check out. I’ll be back.” I flash a smile and dash back to my booth, getting down on my knees and feeling around the edges of the seat just in case it dropped out when I sat down. Nothing. No wallet.

I get back up and take a seat. I could call Topher, but he’ll be closing up the library, and I hate to ask him to drive all the way into Nashville. Giselle might still be around the city, but I brush that aside. It’s Friday, and she probably has plans with Preston.

I pull out my phone and scroll until I find the contact I want. I’ve had his contact in my phone since I knew it was real, but I’ve never used it.

Here goes nothing. I send a text to Weatherman Wannabe.





Chapter 23

ELENA