Page 12 of It Happened on a Sunday

“I know that. I do . Which is exactly what I did.” I take another fortifying sip of coffee before giving her a rundown of the conversation and how I handled it. By the time I get to how I told Vittoria to grab a few cookies for the road, Pauline is relaxed again, for real this time.

“That’s my girl,” she says with a proud grin. “Though you still haven’t told me who all this fuss is about .”

I sigh. She’s going to get it out of me either way. “He’s a football guy. The quarterback for the Twisters.”

“Sly Sylvester?” She leans back in her seat, throwing a hand over the back of the couch as her eyes narrow thoughtfully. “My, my, my. He is a pretty one. How interesting .”

“What’s interesting about it?” I ask. What does Pauline know about Sly that I don’t?

But she just smiles, a little like a cat who got all the cream and not just three seconds’ worth. “I think you’re the only one who can answer that question, baby.”

“We met for ten minutes, Pauline.” I make sure my voice sounds a lot more bored than I currently feel. “Maybe fifteen. He has a cool grandma, and that’s about it.”

I don’t mention the way his dark-brown eyes pop into my head at the most inopportune times or the melody I heard when we first touched. And I sure as hell don’t tell her I asked for his phone number, then freaked out so much I never used it.

I start to change the subject, but before I can, there’s a knock on the door, followed by Marco, my head of security, poking his head in. “Sorry to interrupt, Sloane, but there’s a delivery for you.”

More flowers. Fantastic. As much as I appreciate being surrounded by beautiful blooms, getting inundated with gifts from people who want something from me kinda sucks. And it’s not great for the environment, either, considering I almost always have to leave them behind.

“You can put them over there with the others,” I tell him, waving to the pile of flowers sent by the hotel, minor celebrities trying to get last-minute tickets, and Lord knows who else.

I gave up looking at the cards years ago—they never say anything that matters.

Bryan usually rounds them up at each tour stop and sends a thank-you note without bothering me with any of it.

Well aware of how I feel about floral arrangements, Marco grins. “Actually, it’s not flowers this time.”

“Well, if it’s a gift basket, you know the drill. Take what you want and set the rest aside for the food pantry.”

His smile is nearly as big as the rest of him now, which is definitely saying something. His brown eyes are all but dancing when he says, “It’s not that, either.”

“If you’re this excited about it, I’m not sure I even want to know.”

“Well, I do! Don’t just stand in the doorway.” Pauline commands the room with a wave of her hand. “Come over here so we can get a look at it.”

“My pleasure,” he replies as he comes in and drops a small cooler on the coffee table in front of us. “Why don’t you check out the card first?” He holds it out to me, and though his face is carefully blank, the amused look in his eye keeps me on red alert.

What the hell is this going to be?

The fact that I don’t know the answer to that question has me staring apprehensively at the card for several seconds before Pauline takes things into her own hands.

“For God’s sake!” she exclaims, all but ripping it from Marco’s hands herself.

My trepidation only grows when she starts smiling as soon as she sees what’s written on it. “My, my, my.”

“My, my, my what ?” I demand, curiosity getting the better of me as I lean over to read it myself. Despite my best efforts, my breath hitches at the words printed inside.

Everything good comes on a sundae…

Sly

I read it over a few times before I can stop myself, and my heart goes from stuttering to beating overtime the same way it did that night when he lingered in the doorway, all calm and quiet, like a challenge I didn’t know how to meet.

I take a breath to ground myself, and that damn melody comes crashing back, even louder than before. Only this time, a flash of lyrics comes with it.

It happened on a Sunday.

I reach for my book before I can forget and scribble the lyrics down next to those same two bars. Then I turn my attention back to playing it cool.

Why is Sly sending me presents? And what exactly do I want to do about it?

Nothing , the responsible side of my brain tells me. I want to do nothing about it. I can’t.

A harmless picture with Sly in the background turned a reporter rabid today. I can’t imagine what would happen if people found out he was sending me sweet nothings.

Just the thought has a chill skating down my spine. Instinctively, I drop the card and sit back as far away from the cooler as I can get. “Whatever it is, you two can have it. Take the card, too.”

Marco’s smile disappears. “Are you sure? His number’s on the back.”

I don’t tell him that I already have his number. I just say, “Yes, I’m very—”

“Hell no, she’s not sure!” Pauline says, snatching the card from the table before Marco can touch it.

“What’s wrong with you? Turning down a gift before you’ve even looked inside.

” She tsks her favorite tsk at me. “Whatever’s in that cooler, we’re eating it.

” Famous last words , I think, but bite my tongue and lean in anyway.

With that, she pulls the lid off the box to reveal a large, white carton.

Pauline gasps and lets out a whoop that’s downright girlish as she picks it up to get a better look at the logo on the side. “Sugar Factory!”

“Sugar Factory? I don’t even know what that is,” I tell her, mystified.

“It’s an ice cream parlor right off the strip,” she explains, reaching for the lid. “Well, not just an ice cream place. It’s the ice cream place—an old-fashioned parlor with world-famous milkshakes and sundaes.”

“Ice cream? He sent me ice cream?” Even I can hear the wistful sound in my voice. Ice cream sundaes are pretty much my favorite food in the world.

Apparently, I’m not the only one. For a second, Pauline looks like a little kid again, her eyes alight in a way I’ve never seen them.

“Why are you just standing around talking when we should be digging in before it melts? I’ve been dying to try one of their sundaes, and it’s a hundred and ten degrees outside right now. ”

“Open it up.”

Pauline does, to reveal the largest, most fantastical sundae I have ever seen. Twenty scoops of ice cream—each one a different flavor—covered in chocolate syrup and caramel and what has to be an entire pint of whipped cream.

And then there are the toppings. Cherries, bananas, fresh strawberries, crumbled brownies, and crushed chocolate chip cookies. M&M’s and tiny peanut butter cups. Not to mention more sprinkles than I’ve ever seen on any one food item in my life.

I have no idea how many people he thought were going to be eating this, but I have to admit, it’s the most original present I’ve ever received.

“And you were just going to give this away!” Pauline cries, reaching for the packet of spoons they’ve included. “Along with the man who sent it.”

She hands me a spoon.

I stare at it for a second, not sure what to do. I’ve spent so long denying myself everything and everyone that makes me happy, the idea of just recklessly grabbing onto this sundae—onto Sly’s gift—turns everything inside me hot and cold.

At least until Pauline says, “It’s ice cream, Sloane, not a ring. Just take a bite.”

I don’t know why that statement turns my palms clammy. She’s right. It’s just ice cream. It doesn’t have to mean anything more. I reach out and take the spoon she offers.

“About damn time,” she tells me as we dig in.

We laugh like kids as we divvy up the sundae into bowls and down the entire thing with the help of Bryan, Marco, and another member of my security team, G.

When we’re finished, the others melt away while Pauline slides Sly’s card across the table to me.

I eye it like I would a venomous snake about to strike. “What do you expect me to do with that?”

“Maybe thank the boy for his thoughtful gift?”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” I shove the card back at her.

She looks from it to me for a second before snuggling into the couch with a shrug. “You know, a gentleman being interested in you doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

“It may not be a bad thing, but me being interested in this gentleman would definitely be a mistake. For the both of us.”

She watches me with a softness in her eyes that makes me itchy. “How can you be so sure about that?”

“I thought that was obvious. A third super-famous guy at the top of his game is definitely not the charm—not for me.” No matter what I said to Olivia a few days ago.

I hate that I’m mirroring that reporter’s words, but…she did have a point.

“Sloane, baby, you aren’t the same girl you were with Hayden. And you’re definitely not the young woman you were with Jarrod. What’s the point of all the therapy you’ve done if you can’t use it to move on?”

Because she’s one of the few people on the planet whose touch comforts me, I don’t move away when she reaches out to run a comforting hand over my hair.

“You were forged in fire, Sloane, though God knows I wish you didn’t have to be.

You’re more than strong enough to take what you want. And what you deserve.”

What I want? Her smooth voice reverberates inside my head, and for one traitorous second, all I can see is the reflection of myself in the depths of Sly’s eyes.

I want to argue with Pauline. To tell her she doesn’t understand. But the truth is, she does. And I think maybe Sly does, too. Because he didn’t just look at me. He saw me. Not the spectacle, not the scandal. Just…me.

And I haven’t stopped thinking about him since.

“I don’t—” I start, not even sure what I want to say.

But then another knock sounds at the door, and Marco pokes his head back in. “Just got the word. Your car to the venue is downstairs.”

I nod. “I’ll be ready in two minutes.”

Once the door closes behind him again, I turn back to the woman who has been my mentor, my friend, and, for all intents and purposes, my mother for the last ten years. “It’s not that I think I don’t deserve him. It’s that I don’t want him.”

To prove it to her—and myself—I grab the card Sly sent and rip it into quarters before tossing the remnants in my empty coffee cup to be thrown away.

But even as I do it, even as I head into the bedroom to grab my shoes and purse, I’m aware that this is the first time I’ve lied to Pauline.

Or if not lied, then at least not been completely honest. Because the truth is that I don’t know if I want Sly.

I just know that I can’t have him, and that isn’t the same thing at all.