A T EIGHT-FIFTEEN AM on New Year’s Day, Emily was already late for a meeting with her agent, David. She attempted to breeze through the front doors of Seattle’s Grand Hyatt hotel. The non-fat latte clutched in one hand had other ideas. The lid popped off her coffee cup as she pried the door open, splashing foam and coffee over one leg of her pale-oyster colored wool trousers.

In the good old days of opera, something like this would call for a full-on diva meltdown. She allowed herself one angry “damn it,” and surveyed the damage with a sinking heart: A gigantic stain. The detergent pen in her handbag wouldn’t fix it. She hated looking like a mess. If she wasn’t nervous enough about this meeting already, walking in looking like she’d spent the night camping underneath the Alaskan Way Viaduct wasn’t helpful, either. She’d like a do-over.

If the rest of the year turned out like the first eight hours of it, she was not going to be happy.

The concierge flew across the lobby with a handful of tissues. “Let me help.” She wiped at Emily’s dripping hand. “I’m not sure what we can do about your pants.”

“It’s not like we have a lot of options there. I was due at a meeting fifteen minutes ago in your restaurant.” Emily reached out for the tissues, dabbed unsuccessfully at the coffee stain, and handed them back to the concierge. “If you could point me in the right direction, I’d appreciate it.”

“Follow me,” the concierge said.

David was the only customer in the restaurant. He got to his feet as Emily approached, looking impeccable as usual, and holding out his arms for a hug. She resisted the impulse to spill what was left in the cup on him. He wore dark dress slacks, a maroon lightweight knit sweater, and an air of invincibility. It would be nice if he had the decency to look somewhat disheveled on a holiday known primarily for football games and hangovers.

“What happened there?” he said, indicating the stain on Emily’s outfit.

“I had a dispute with a door, and the door won. How are you, David? Happy New Year.” She handed the offending paper cup to a server as she sat down at the table. “May I please have another non-fat latte? If there’s any of the non-spill type left, I’ll take one of those. Thank you so much.” She gave him a dazzling smile. He grinned at her in response.

“Right away, miss.” He indicated the two menus lying on the table. “I’ll be back to take your breakfast order.”

David sipped his coffee and reached out to pat Emily’s hand across the table. “I’m fine. Late night?”

“Hardly.” Emily’s New Year’s Eve date had been a handsome, funny, charming, and very successful local businessman she’d met after a recent performance. She did her best to join in the fun at the high-profile party on the top deck of the Space Needle, but her heart wasn’t in it. She couldn’t stop thinking about Brandon, or how badly she’d wanted him to be the man she kissed at midnight. She’d pleaded a terrible headache. The pain was actually eighteen inches lower. She was home in bed alone by 12:30. “Did you go out for the evening?” she said.

“I watched the fireworks, and I had some champagne. My girlfriend is in Chicago for the holidays.” David picked up his menu. “I have some news.”

She told herself to take deep breaths. Her career was booming. Her schedule was nearly booked for the next three years. He wouldn’t fly to Seattle to tell her about a cancellation. She draped a napkin over her stained pants and took a sip of water.

“I was wondering why you asked me for a meeting on a national holiday.”

David reached out, took the water glass from her hand, and put it back down on the table.

“The Met called me late yesterday afternoon. They’re presenting La Boheme early next month. The woman scheduled to sing Musette is struggling with some health issues. They need a cover who’s highly experienced with the role and can step in to sing it at a moment’s notice. Are you interested?”

She opened her mouth, shut it again, and opened it. She looked at him in shock. Heat rolled over her body like a wave. Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe she hadn’t heard him correctly. It was understandable. She’d worked for years to hear those words. It couldn’t be possible that attaining her biggest goal would be this easy.

A latte with a heart drawn into the foam was set down in front of her. She knew the server was talking to her, but she couldn’t respond. She heard David say, “Give us a minute.” David reached across the table and passed his hand in front of her face as his lips curved into a smile. “Emily. Talk to me.”

“Please tell me you told them yes.”

“Of course I did. Let’s have a toast.” He picked up his coffee cup. “Cheers. Happy New Year.”

T HE INITIAL EXCITEMENT Emily felt at the achievement of her biggest goal was swallowed up in the numbness that was her constant companion without Brandon. She wondered if he thought about her at all, if he missed her, too. Two weeks after her meeting with David, Emily found herself driving to Amy’s shop at lunchtime on a dreary January day, a take-out bag next to her on the car seat. Maybe a heart-to-heart with her sister might banish the blues.

Amy greeted her with a hug. “What’s in the bag?”

“Lunch,” Emily said. “I hope you still like turkey and Swiss on whole wheat.”

“Yeah. It’s good to see you.” Amy peered into her sister’s face. “Something’s wrong.”

Emily dropped the bag on the chest-high table in Amy’s work area and pulled up a stool. “Hopefully you have sodas. I forgot them.”

Amy was tapping away at the screen of her smart phone. “Pop. I’ll get some,” she said distractedly.

“Quit texting and get over here.”

“Hang on a minute. I have to answer this. It’s Brandon.”

The hair stood up on the back of Emily’s neck. Amy must have been sending him another message. She hadn’t looked up from the screen since Emily arrived. “Since when do you text with Brandon?” she asked, doing her best to sound uninterested. She was anything but. The green-eyed monster was clawing at her guts.

“He’s checked in a few times,” her sister said. “It’s friendly.” She glanced at the screen again. “He has tickets for this weekend’s game, but I already told him I can’t go.”

Amy stuck her phone back in her work apron pocket. It was all Emily could do to resist grabbing it away from her. If she gave any indicator of her fear, jealousy, and hurt, she was lost. She concentrated on pulling sandwiches, salad, and cookies out of the bag with trembling hands.

Amy grabbed three Diet Cokes out of her walk-in cooler and settled onto a stool across from Emily. “You’re jealous.”

Emily closed her eyes for a moment, fighting for composure. “That’s ridiculous. I’m fine. I’m too busy getting ready for New York to worry about what he’s doing.”

“He asks me what you’re up to,” Amy said. “He knows you’ll be singing at the Met on Super Bowl weekend. He’s happy for you.”

“That’s nice.”

“He says he’ll retire if the team goes to the Super Bowl. The NFC Championship Game is this Saturday. If they win, they’ll go. You’ll want to see it, Em.” Amy’s voice was soft. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider? I know you’ve worked so hard for this performance, but Brandon’s last game will happen once in a lifetime. Don’t you want to be there?”

“I have to be on the plane to New York on Saturday afternoon. I can’t cancel.” Her words sounded hollow to her own ears. It was eerie—a windup doll in designer clothes and French perfume kept parroting what she thought everyone else wanted to hear, but the words didn’t come from her heart. She remembered with a pang how many times she and Brandon discussed his retiring from the NFL. She said she’d be there, and he wouldn’t have to go through it alone. He must hate her.

“He won’t even know I’m there.”

Amy grabbed her sister’s forearm. “Yes, he will. Think it over.”

Emily shook her head, and broke off another piece of cookie. She could eat a thousand of them. It wouldn’t make her feel better.

O NE WEEK LATER, Emily felt her phone vibrate in her pocket as she walked into her hotel room for the evening. She clicked on a newly arrived text from Amy: Sharks are going to the Super Bowl. Are you sure?

E MILY GOT OUT of a cab at Lincoln Center, home of the Metropolitan Opera, in a driving rain. Standing outside the building was still a thrill. The dress rehearsal was tonight, and she would take the stage as Musette. The diva originally scheduled for the role was resting on doctor’s orders, in hopes she would be able to perform on opening night.

Dress rehearsal day was always a little stressful. She was early. The other principals had sung here before. To them, it was another work day. They went about their preparations in their dressing rooms. She could hear snatches of vocal warm-ups, the sound of a piano playing, and laughter emerging from someone’s dressing room further down the hall. She paused in front of the computer-generated nameplate outside of her own dressing room. Taking a picture of it with her phone was a little weird, but she did it anyway.

The guy playing Marcello stepped out of his dressing room and grinned at her. “I thought the paparazzi were out here again.”

A flush crawled up her neck. “Mom wanted a picture,” she quipped.

“Of course she does.”

He went back inside his dressing room, shut the door, and she walked into her own. Most of the colleagues she’d spent the past several days with were known to her from other productions over the years. She’d asked them about their families, caught up with industry gossip and their schedules, but she’d spent most of her time outside of rehearsals on her own. It offered time to think.

Maybe she needed a little less time to think, especially today. Even the sanctuary of music didn’t make her happy. The euphoria of performing before a live audience, feeling the music as well as singing it, wasn’t there. Maybe it was because she hadn’t actually stepped onto that stage in front of an audience yet. It would come.

E MILY STOOD IN the wings a few short hours later. Her pre-performance butterflies were worse than ever. She wondered if she’d lose her lunch. She glanced into the audience and noted a full house, most likely full of media and major Metropolitan Opera supporters. “You’ve done this a million times before,” she told herself. “Buck up.”

The diva singing Mimi reached out to squeeze Emily’s hand and smile. The conductor raised his baton to begin. On cue, she sailed onto the stage.

Emily was already sweating through her costume. The heavy stage makeup felt like a mask. The pins fastening the wig onto her head were stabbing into her skull. She knew from experience that all she had to do was step out there, open her mouth and sing the first note. The worst would be over. She closed her eyes and concentrated on taking deep breaths. Her self-soothing was so effective she almost missed her cue.

She’d flounced onto so many stages in her career as Musette, sung “ Quando me’n vo ” more times than she cared to count, and she reached inside herself for that little bit extra tonight. Her voice soared over the audience. She charmed and coaxed, flirted and played with her co-stars. As the most user-friendly and oft-performed opera, those in the audience had probably seen La Boheme scores of times before. She was determined they would remember her Musette.

The dress rehearsal went flawlessly. The ovations were deafening. She waited for the explosion of joy at that realization, but it didn’t come.

Emily walked out of the opera house when rehearsal was over, hailed a cab, and threw herself onto the seat. The sights of New York City whizzed past her window as she headed for her hotel room. She craned her neck to see while pulling her smart phone out of her handbag, and hit Amy’s number.

“Hey, weirdo.” Emily heard the smile in her sister’s voice. “Been mugged yet?”

“No.” She had to smile, too. “What’s happening?”

“Same shit, different day,” Amy assured her. “Just remember. Small business is the backbone of the American economy.” Emily let out a snort. “Oh, laugh all you want. Someone has to do this.”

“I’d like to send some flowers.”

“That depends. Are you paying for them?” Amy said. “Who’s getting them?”

“I’m wondering who might know where Brandon’s staying in Miami.”

Amy was silent for a few moments. “I could find out. What are we sending?”

Emily closed her eyes. “I have no idea. Maybe you could suggest something.”

“Screw the flowers.” Her sister’s voice was fierce. “What are you writing on the card?”

“How about ‘Good luck on Sunday’?”

Amy let out a long sigh. “How about, ‘I’m sorry. I still love you. I’m so proud of you. I will never doubt you again.’?”

The cab pulled up in front of the hotel Emily was staying at. She handed the fare over the seat, grabbed her bag, and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“Amy, let’s just go with ‘Good luck on Sunday.’”

“Fine.” Amy’s tone made it obvious her sister’s suggestion was anything but. “You’re making a huge mistake.”

Emily stepped into the revolving door at the hotel’s entrance. “I make lots of them, all the time. Let’s do this.” She thought for a moment. “I know he really likes wildflowers. Please charge my card.”

“I’ll make sure he gets them,” Amy said. “Are you excited to sing tomorrow?”

Emily was at the elevator banks. She knew she’d lose Amy if she stepped on, so she leaned against the surrounding wall. She swallowed hard. “No. I wish I was.” She rubbed her free hand over her face. “I have to go, Ame. Thank you so much. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up the phone.

B RANDON PUNCHED THE hotel pillow again and flipped onto his back. The digital clock radio at his bedside read 2:17 AM. He’d been glancing at it for the past three hours and seventeen minutes. He wondered if he’d be looking at it for the next four hours or so. His wake-up call was at seven AM. It was Super Bowl Sunday, otherwise known as the biggest day of his life.

He’d spent some time tonight reliving a kaleidoscope of images in his mind—his Pee Wee/middle school/high school/college football coaches’ motivational speeches. The day he got a recruitment visit from the only college he wanted to play for. The tears his mama cried when he packed his bags and went off to school. What it felt like to run out onto the field for the first time at LSU. More tears from his mama as he stood on-stage at Radio City Music Hall with the NFL commissioner as a first-round draft pick. Signing his first pro football contract, and signing a new one two years later. Of all his memories, though, the ones he replayed most in his whirling thoughts involved a curvy redhead he called Sugar.

He remembered the first time he saw her sweet, sleepy smile from the pillow next to him. The first time he held her hand. The first time he kissed her. She tasted so good, he went back for more. The first time he coaxed her out of her clothes. The first time he saw love for him in her eyes. He knew how much her career and her goals meant to her. When he’d needed her, though—and was too pigheaded to admit it—she was there. She’d dropped everything for him, and she’d done it more than once. He glanced over at the computer desk in the dimness of his hotel room. She sent flowers yesterday. He’d read the note a hundred times already.

Brandon, I’m so sorry. I love you. I’m so proud of you. I will never give up on us. XO

Amy didn’t answer his text asking for Emily’s information. If it wasn’t 2:17 AM in New York City, he would call every hotel in Manhattan till he found her. It was the most important day of his life, and the emptiest. She wasn’t here to share it with him.

E MILY’S STOMACH WAS in knots as she awoke Sunday morning. She lay in bed and wondered if Brandon was lying awake in his hotel room, too. This was the most important day of his life. Amy was right, and the realization was bitter: She should be there for him, watching him achieve his biggest dream. Flowers weren’t enough for something like this.

She forced herself out of bed, showered, and dressed in casual clothing. She threw herself into the backseat of another cab less than an hour later. She needed the quiet of her dressing room, the routine she’d been through so many times before.

The security guard on duty at the artists’ entrance grinned as she approached. “Miss Hamilton. Your performance isn’t for hours.”

She nodded. “I couldn’t wait.”

He pulled the door open for her. “Let me show you to your dressing room.” They walked down the silent, darkened hallway. He unlocked her dressing room door. “Break a leg, miss.”

Emily extended her hand to shake his. “Thank you so much.”

“The building is secured, but lock the door behind me,” he said. She heard his footsteps receding down the hallway.

She warmed up her voice. She pulled the makeup she needed out of her bag. She checked to make sure Musette’s full-skirted costume was complete. The wig Emily would wear sat on a form on another table. Her thoughts, though, were twelve hundred miles away. Those damn flowers, and that damn card. She had Amy write ‘Best of luck on Sunday’? “Lame,” she said to herself. “Totally lame.”

Maybe she should have told him how she really felt, but there wasn’t a flower enclosure card big enough for that. She remembered the sweet cards Brandon had written that came with all the flowers he’d ever sent her, and that was the best she could do?

Emily sank onto the couch against one wall, and wondered what she was doing there. For the first time in her life, she didn’t want to be where she was. She was alone on the biggest day of her career so far. She would spend the future alone, too, unless she took her courage in her hands and told Brandon what she’d known for months now: She loved him, and she always would.

Even if he didn’t love her, even if he sent her away, she would say what was in her heart. She’d screwed up horribly. She had to apologize, and this time she had to put the diva—and her temper—aside for a little while. The dream she’d been working toward for so many years didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was the rest of her life. If Brandon wasn’t in it, no matter what she attained in her career, she’d never be truly happy again.

She pulled the cell phone from her bag and hit David’s number.

“Hey, Emily.” She heard the smile in his voice. “Big day for you.” She could hear people chattering all around him in the background.

“David, I have to go to Miami. I’m going to Brandon’s game.” There was silence for a moment. “You’re still there, aren’t you?”

She heard David’s sigh. “Do you have a flight yet?”

“No. I thought I should call you first.”

“You don’t have a ticket for the game, either.”

“I’ll see if I can buy one from someone there. I’m sorry. I know this is completely unprofessional and I am really screwing—”

He interrupted her.

“Emily, I have been hoping you’d do something like this since I’ve known you. You need a life, not just a career.” He let that sink in for a moment. “I wish it hadn’t been the Met, but Alicia will go on. Will you come back for the performances later in the week?”

“If they’ll have me.” She took a shuddering breath. “Am I doing the right thing? What if I get there and I can’t get in? What if he doesn’t want to see me?”

“Get yourself to the airport, get on a flight, and go talk to him. I think he’ll want to see you. I will take care of things in New York. Call me when you get there.”

Emily reached out to grab her handbag. She had a change of clothes and everything else she needed after her performance in her backpack, so she didn’t need to go back to the hotel. She needed to get to Miami. She needed to see Brandon.

The cab ride took forever. She tipped the driver, she prayed, she did everything she could, but it still took forever. Finally she got to the airport. She bought a full-price ticket on a flight that was leaving in half an hour and ran to the security checkpoint. She ran through the concourse, backpack banging against her shoulder, and hurried to the gate. The waiting area was empty except for the gate agent, who was shutting the door to the Jetway.

“Please wait!” Emily cried out.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but the flight’s already late.”

“I have a ticket.”

“I can’t let you on. I’m so sorry. There’s another flight to Miami in four hours.”

“I have to be on this flight. Please .”

“I’m sorry.” He locked the door.

Emily tried to catch her breath. She’d missed the only chance she had to make it there before the game started.

She was dry-eyed, but shaking all over. Her heart pounded, her stomach rolled, and she broke out in a cold sweat. She barely resisted the impulse to fall to her knees and beg in front of someone who was, evidently, just doing his job. She had to get to Brandon. She couldn’t afford to rent a plane. Buying another last-minute, full-price ticket wasn’t an option. She couldn’t drive there in time.

She sank into one of the waiting area chairs and dropped her backpack onto the carpeting. She put her face in her hands and tried to think, tried to still the shaking that she couldn’t seem to control. On some level, she was amazed that, in an airport containing thousands of people, she was completely alone. She took deep breaths. She had to calm down, or she’d never figure out what to do.

The later flight wasn’t going to work. Brandon would be gone by the time she got to the stadium. He’d be somewhere with the rest of the team, celebrating or commiserating, and then he’d be out of reach. Emily wouldn’t see him. It was too late, and her heart was breaking.

She heard footsteps close by, and the rustle of clothing. Someone sat down in the chair next to her. A woman’s voice broke into Emily’s frantic, panicked thoughts.

“Ms. Hamilton?”

Emily looked up to see a dark-haired woman with kind eyes. She was wearing the airline’s uniform. “Yes?”

The plane hadn’t left yet. She could see it through the window. It was taunting her. It was something else she wanted desperately, but couldn’t have.

“Are you all right?” the woman asked.

Emily chewed on a lower lip as dry as the Sahara and tried to swallow. “I—I’ll be fine.” Sure she would. She wanted to scream in agony. She wanted to cry and beg. Anything. Most of all, she wished she hadn’t been so stubborn with Brandon.

“There’s a minor mechanical problem with the plane, so we have a short delay. I understand you were told you couldn’t board earlier.”

“Yes. Yes, I was.”

“Please come with me,” the woman said. She got to her feet. “May I see your boarding pass?”

Emily’s hands were shaking so hard from panic and adrenaline it was hard to unzip her backpack. She dug the boarding pass out and handed it to the woman.

The woman crossed the waiting area, unlocked the Jetway door, and beckoned to Emily. “Go ahead. They’re expecting you,” she said. It was like a mirage. Emily wondered if she’d vanish, but she walked to the doorway.

She gave Emily a comforting pat on the back. “I hope someone you love is on the other end.”

A few minutes later, Emily was in her seat. The flight attendant slipped her a few tissues before Emily belted herself in for takeoff. Emily didn’t know how she would get in to see Brandon. He’d be getting ready for the game. He’d be whisked out of there when it was over. It wasn’t like he had office hours. He probably wasn’t answering his phone. She could find out where the team was staying, but then she’d have to find his room. NFL teams locked down entire floors. It wasn’t like she could stroll up to the front desk to ask.

Emily settled back to wait some more. The pilot announced that due to the mechanical problem and resulting delay, those connecting to other flights would be delayed. She’d have to rent a car and drive like a bat out of hell to have any chance at all to be at the stadium before kickoff. Oddly enough, though, she was relaxed. It was out of her hands. She did her best, and the rest was not in her control. If this kept up, she’d join hands with the others in first class and recite the Serenity Prayer or something.

The people seated around her went back to working on their laptops, watching a movie on the individual DVD players the flight attendant handed out, or staring out the window. It was another Sunday afternoon flight for them. The minutes dragged by for her.

After what seemed like an eternity, the plane landed in Miami, taxiing to the gate. The best part of Emily’s planning was to bring her backpack. If she ran, maybe she would make it to the rental car desk before the stampede and get on the road.

The plane’s door opened, and she broke into a sprint as she rushed through the Jetway. She turned into the concourse leading to baggage claim and the car rental desk. She dodged people and their bags as she went. Running through any airport isn’t exactly effective, but she had ninety minutes to get to Miami Stadium and get a ticket before kickoff.

She was so absorbed in avoiding toddlers with pink rolling luggage and entire families of people who insisted on walking together that she didn’t pay much attention to anyone or anything around her. A hundred feet or so ahead, though, she glimpsed a tall, muscular man in dress clothes with a wild mop of blond curls, and her heart pounded.

It couldn’t be him. It also couldn’t be anyone else on the planet.

“Brandon!” Emily cried out, and a huge grin spread over his face. She darted around a woman with a double stroller and a businessman talking on his smart phone, and tried to speed up. It was like running through quicksand.

He pushed through the crowd of people surrounding him and broke into a run, too.

“Sugar,” he called out. He threw open his arms, and Emily ran into them. It was just like the movies, except it wasn’t perfect. It was all arms and legs. Her backpack went flying. She kissed his ear instead of his mouth, but finally, they made it work.

He pulled her up off the floor, swinging her around and around, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. She threaded her fingers into his hair. He was saying something in her ear, but she blurted out, “Baby, I’m so sorry. I wrote something so stupid on your card. I should have written something better. It was terrible. I—”

“What are you talking about?”

Emily wanted to pull him around her. She wanted to crawl inside of him. She had spent hours planning what she would say when she finally saw him, but now she forgot it all.

“I said ‘Best of luck.’ Best of luck. What the hell was that? I should have said I’m sorry. I should have said I love you. I should have said that I’m so proud of you, and that I wished I could be at your game, and that I’d never give up on us. I—oh, baby, I messed it all up. I—”

He cut her off. “So, you flew here from New York to tell me this.” He looked amused.

“I came here ... I came here to tell you that I love you, and I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you—”

“You did.” He lowered her to the floor, but didn’t let go. His fingers tangled in Emily’s hair. “I love you, too.”

She wrapped her arms even tighter around him—anything to get him closer. For the first time in months, she could breathe. She was warm. Joy bubbled through her veins like the finest champagne. “I should have trusted you. How could I do that to you?” Emily fisted her hand in his dress shirt. “Why are you here ? I was—”

He laid a finger over her mouth. “Amy texted me with your flight information. I said I’d meet you anytime, anyplace, and I’d accept your apology.” He cupped her cheek in one hand. Brushing her lips with his, he murmured, “God, I want more,” and sealed his mouth over hers. She pushed herself even closer to him, and she heard applause. He lifted his head.

They were surrounded by a semi-circle of passersby, who were smiling and clapping. She glanced around in surprise. All these people must have something else to do.

They heard a voice from the crowd. “Aren’t you Brandon McKenna of the Sharks? What are you doing here?”

“Damn Gatorade commercial. I can’t go anywhere,” Brandon murmured to Emily, and then said more loudly, “Had to pick up my girl.”

“You’re supposed to be at the stadium right now,” someone else called out.

Emily saw Brandon smile. “What do you think, sugar?” He picked up her backpack, looped it over his shoulder, and kept one arm around her. The knot of people still hadn’t dispersed, and most of them appeared to be listening intently to them. “Should we take in a football game?” His voice dropped a bit. “You blew off The Met for me?”

“I didn’t exactly blow them off ,” she said. “I—I needed to be here for you. Maybe I’ll get another chance, some other time.”

“What if there’s not another chance?” he asked.

Emily bit her lower lip. She had walked out on them. She’d gained the success she’d worked so hard for, but it was empty without Brandon there to see it, too. She turned her back on the growing crowd of bystanders and looked into his eyes.

“I was in New York on that stage. It meant nothing without you. That’s why I came here,” she said. “Let me do this for you.”

For the first time since they met, Brandon was speechless. He kissed her. Hard.

She reached up to stroke his scratchy cheek. “Let’s get the hell out of here.” A group of police officers had arrived and were trying to break up the crowd blocking the concourse around them. In the midst of hundreds of people, the only person she saw was Brandon.

Brandon rested his forehead against hers. “On one condition.”

“What might that be? We have to go.”

“We’re leaving right after the game’s over. We’re going to New York. I’m going to do whatever I can to make sure you’ll have that chance.” He rubbed his nose against hers. “Deal?”

She opened her mouth to argue with him. She told David she’d be back for the performances the rest of the week, but she was fairly sure those in charge would have made arrangements for another diva to sing the role instead. Walking out on a performance guaranteed it. Brandon had no idea about how operas were cast, how careers were built, how competitive roles were, but the fact he wanted to help ... Her heart melted.

“Deal.”

“I mean it, sugar.”

The police were still trying to get people moving through the concourse. Emily heard murmurs of “Sharks” and “Super Bowl” and “What’s he doing here, anyway?”

“Okay. Show’s over. Break it up. Let’s go.” The officers made shooing motions. One of them glanced over at Brandon and said, “I know you. Why are you here?”

Emily knew all these people were most likely in shock at seeing Brandon, but she wondered if they could have something read out over the public address system. She reached out and tugged on one of the officers’ sleeves. “We need some help.”

“I’m a little busy right now,” the officer said. He smiled at her, though.

“We have to get him to his game. He’s late. What can we do?”

Another police officer took Emily’s elbow.

“You can’t drive fast enough to get him there before it starts, but we can. Follow us.”