Page 31 of Pick Me
The text from my mom was a blurry close-up of her, my dad, and Wes with their faces pushed together and beaming.
Package delivered. Wish you were here!
I had a feeling I’d be getting a few dozen more photos as the visit progressed, as well as a FaceTime call. I threw my phone
to the far end of the futon, because I wasn’t even supposed to have it within reach thanks to my word count goal.
For the wrong book, as usual.
Einar and Zandria needed to kiss. They wanted it (even though they would never admit it, even to themselves), I wanted it, and I was convinced my future slow-burn readers would want it. I’d paused the story in the perfect spot during
the Hamptons weekend, with the two of them locked in a fight about Zandria’s risky behavior and Einar’s tendency to be overprotective
of her. It should’ve been a home-run chapter to write—I’d been waiting for it since I introduced them to each other—but my
fingers wouldn’t budge.
I was sitting on the very futon I needed to be outfitting with clean sheets for my brother’s visit, determined to at least start the scene.
Meredith had an appointment to check out the potential studio space the red dress Hamptons woman had told her about, so I could work uninterrupted.
I’d already nailed the cowboy chapter where Austin and Abby outlined the parameters of their fake relationship since her pregnancy was starting to show, which gave me free rein to focus my energy on the story I really wanted to tell.
But I was stuck.
Rather than obsess about it, I decided to focus on cleaning the apartment. It was Friday afternoon, which meant my inbox was
a wasteland of nothingness, but I checked again before I started tidying up.
The last thing I expected was a reply from my agent, Celeste, about The Archer’s Paradox .
The “flight” part of my fight-or-flight response won, and I jumped off the futon to pace circles around my apartment. It was
close to 90 degrees outside and our window air conditioner was straining to maintain a not-so-cool 80, but I suddenly craved
a hoodie. I talked myself through the various options contained in the email as I stress-walked.
A rave.
A “not feeling it, so sorry.”
An “I’ll get back to you soon.”
Part of me wanted to wait until my visit with Wes was over before seeing what Celeste thought, but I knew I’d wind up distracted
until I had a read on how she felt. I dropped back onto the futon with a shaky breath and grabbed my laptop. If the news was
bad, Wes could console me. If it was good, we’d celebrate.
Celeste was only a few years older than me, and she was a newer agent without any hits in her client list. When she fangirled, you knew it, and based on the number of exclamation points in her email, she loved the idea of Einar and Zandria as much as I did.
My eyes swam as I tried to read through her message. The final line? “Send me those pages immediately !”
Yeah, I was about to have the best weekend ever.
Wes was easy to spot in a crowd, even in Manhattan. He’d always had an aura around him that made people take note, long before
he was a semi-famous footballer. He had a way of walking through the world that telegraphed confidence and kindness. He was almost intimidatingly good-looking, but he was so quick to smile that it defused any nerves. He had his
father’s ebony skin and thick eyebrows and our mom’s beautiful smile. Wes turned heads because of his good looks and also
because his face regularly appeared on TV screens around the world.
Here in New York, it was probably due to the former. Sure, he was occasionally recognized, but when he visited he tended to
bank on the fact that Barnham wasn’t as popular as Chelsea or Manchester, so he could skip his usual cap and glasses incognito
act. I peered into the Saturday morning crowds streaming through Penn Station, trying to spot him before he saw me, so I could
hug him into submission. We were meeting in front of Hudson News, and of course Speak Softly was displayed front and center. I snapped a selfie with it to send to Nia.
Someday, I vowed to myself, The Archer’s Paradox would be on the marquee display table next to the rest of the bestsellers. I stared at the books, trying to visualize mine
nestled among them, willing it to be.
Someone reached past me to grab a book in the center of the table. It was an obnoxious, “you’re in my way” lean that pushed into my personal space. I frowned and moved to the side, shooting the guy a glare.
“Wes!”
I crashed into him as he laughed at my obliviousness.
“Took you long enough,” he said as he squeezed me tightly. “I’ve been standing here for like five minutes.”
I always forgot just how far away England was until we were back together again. We’d learned to ignore the fact that we didn’t
connect as often or as deeply as we used to, but whenever I saw my brother in person, I was reminded how much I missed being
part of his everyday life. I held him for a long time before I pulled away.
I stared at him like I couldn’t believe he was really standing in front of me.
I frowned and pointed at his upper lip. “Hold up. A mustache ? Seriously?”
“You don’t like it?”
I shook my head. “Sorry, not a fan.”
“Just having some off-season fun,” he replied as he smoothed it with his thumb and pointer finger. “It’ll be gone soon.”
Of course, on Wes it looked amazing. He was dressed like he’d traveled from Maryland on the Orient Express and not Amtrak,
in a black blazer, black linen button-down, perfectly tailored white pants that were somehow spotless despite the public transportation,
no socks, and horse bit loafers. He’d always been stylish, but he usually opted for hybrid workout pants and T-shirts when
he knew he wasn’t on display. Wes was clearly in his fashionista era.
“If I’d known we were catwalking, I would’ve dressed accordingly,” I said, nodding to his outfit.
I’d gone for jean shorts and a sleeveless white T-shirt.
“Stop, you look great,” he chided. He reached over to tweak my bicep. “Fit, even.”
“‘Fit’ in the UK slang way, or ‘fit’ like I’ve been working out?” I tossed my hair and preened.
“Both, actually.” Wes glanced around the claustrophobic station, his expression worried. “Hey, before we get going, there’s
something I need to tell you.”
A lump preemptively formed in my throat.
“What?” I demanded. “Is it Mom and Dad? Are they okay?”
“Yeah, they’re fine.” He nodded. “Great and annoying, like always. It’s, uh, about me.”
He squinted into the distance like he was looking for something. I glanced over my shoulder to follow his gaze and saw a group
of girls dressed alike in sparkly clothes, obviously in town for a concert at Madison Square Garden later.
“Tell me. You’re freaking me out.”
His eyes bounced between me and the shifting crowds.
“I met someone.”
It was the least traumatic thing he could’ve revealed to me.
“Wes! That’s amazing. I can’t wait to hear all about her.” I paused. He seemed unusually fidgety, so I made room for an unexpected
confession. “Or him.”
He finally managed to focus on me, laughing. “I met a woman ,” he clarified. “And I fell in love. And I’d like you to meet her.”
Wes was getting more jittery by the second, but then again, he’d always been a serial dater. Telling me that he’d found the
one was a huge deal.
“Oh my god, of course I want to meet her,” I exclaimed. “Let’s get out of here and talk about it over lunch. I picked this great—”
A stunning, dark-haired woman materialized out of the crowd beside Wes. She clasped his arm and smiled shyly at me.
I froze as I pieced together what was happening.
“Brooke, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Claudia Esparza.”
“Hi,” she said, beaming at me. “I’m so happy to meet you.”
The chaos around us faded to ambient noise as I stood there dumbstruck, glancing at the world’s most beautiful pairing with
my mouth hanging open.
“ Fiancée ?” I squeaked out, still frozen in place.
They laughed in unison, and I was faced with two sets of perfect, blindingly white teeth.
“I told him that he needed to let you know before we arrived, but he wanted to double-surprise you.” Claudia chastised him
with a fake punch to his side.
I cataloged her quickly. British accent with a hint of something else. Skin so perfect that it looked filtered. Tall but still
a few inches shorter than Wes. A bob that would make anyone else look like Lord Farquaad. And eyes so filled with love for
my brother that I didn’t even question the mechanics of how this speed-run engagement came to be.
I barreled into her, hugging her tightly enough to make her laugh. “Fiancée!”
“Oh, good,” she said softly as we embraced. “I’m a hugger too.”
“You smell like apricots,” I said as we pulled apart, because I wasn’t sure how else to express my amazement at the goddess
my brother had scored.
“And you are stunning,” she said, still gripping my arms. She beamed at Wes. “I see the resemblance.”
I grabbed her hand. “The ring! Oh my god, it’s incredible.”
It was a dream of a thing, a gleaming, nearly dime-sized diamond on a silvery band.
“It’s good, right?” Wes boasted.
Claudia giggled.
“Beyond,” I said, bringing it closer to my eyes to admire it.
The ring on my surprise sister-in-law-to-be woke me up to a logistical issue.
“Wait a minute... the two of you... in my shitty little apartment? You should get a hotel!”
“ Ab solutely not,” Claudia said with authority, glancing at Wes for backup. “We agreed that since this is a whirlwind introduction,
we should sop up every last second of togetherness. It’ll be like a kid sleepover. I have five siblings. I’m used to waiting
in line for the loo.” She paused to frown. “As long as your roommate doesn’t mind.”
“God no, Meredith is very much a ‘more the merrier’ type of person. Plus she’s closing at work tonight, so she won’t be home
until late.”
“We should stop by and annoy her after dinner,” Wes suggested.
I knew Meredith would love the chance to study the clan while she mixed cocktails.
“Well, this changes my agenda for the day,” I said, my heart sinking a little at the realization. “I guess we’re skipping
pickleball?”
“Fuck no,” Wes said adamantly. “You playing a sport is huge . I need to see it with my own eyes. And Claudia plays with me all the time; she’s really good.”
“I’m merely decent,” she added. “But I do love it.”
“Don’t you guys want to tour the city?” I pushed. “Claudia, have you been to New York before?”
“Oh, I lived in New York when I first started out,” she said with a smile. “No need to cart us to the Empire State Building or Macy’s.
Being here feels like coming home.”
“Claudia’s a model,” Wes explained, as if it weren’t obvious by her lush, otherworldly features and willowy build.
“Of course you are.” I beamed at her.
Wes eyeballed a man cradling pantyhose stuffed with what looked like birdseed ambling past us. “Can we get out of here? I’m
verging on overload.”
“Yup, I just need to send a quick text,” I said as I pulled out my phone.
So far, we were on track for our game at CPA this afternoon, but I wanted to let Owen know that we no longer needed a fourth.
Claudia joining us felt like a leveling of the matchup, unless she was a sniper being modest about her skills.
But now it felt like a double date.
I was so busy obsessing about the optics that I didn’t notice the little boy working his way over to Wes until my brother
was kneeling to chat with him.
“You know me from the video game? Is that so?” I heard Wes gently ask the boy. He looked up at the man accompanying the child
to acknowledge him with a smile, then shifted his attention back. “Do the two of you play FIFA together?”
The boy bobbed his head eagerly, finally breaking into a smile.
It had only taken about ten minutes for one of the many video game–obsessed kids to identify my brother from his avatar player
status.
But I had a feeling that little gamer boys wouldn’t be the only ones fanning out over my brother.