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“I would.”
This was the moment that I would normally say something about how she was only saying that because we’d been intimate, because her body was flooded with hormones that made her want to be close to me.
Suddenly, though, those words didn’t come. What’s more, I didn’t want to believe they were true.
The announcement over the speakers interrupted what I’d been about to say, announcing that the doors were opening in five minutes.
“Go on,” Maggie said. “Be your jaded alter ego. I probably won’t be able to talk to you before your exhibition. So, break a leg, I guess? I don’t know what to say to a radio host before a call.”
“Say you’ll meet me for dinner after this infernal day is over.”
“Dinner?” she asked, eyes bright and hopeful.
“Dinner. Dancing. A leisurely walk through the bookstore… whatever you want.”
Her smile was playful.
“Even the romance section?”
“We do need the sequel to that one we were reading on the road trip. The hero’s grumpy brother is returning from war with a scarred face. You just know he has some prim and proper Englishwoman who has never seen him before and is quite distressed to find herself married to a deformed husband.”
“Did you look that up?”
“Is that really the plot?” I asked, a laugh caught at the back of my throat.
“It is.” She beamed at me.
“Well, you just know it’s going to be a strong hate-to-love where he bristles at her disgust, only to learn to accept his new self through her growing love for him.”
“You’re a little too good at this.” She paused, her smile faltering, her face going unsure. “Are you just trying to appease me, or are you actually interested?”
“Against everything I believe and know about myself… I am actually interested.”
“Then it’s a date!”
Her smile made my heart crack open just so all that light could spill inside.
“Now go,” she demanded, nodding at my table.
I did as I was told as the crowd spilled into the convention like a tide breaking through barriers.
My gaze was on her, though, as she quickly stashed the boxes beneath the table, then fiddled with the merch until she got everything just right.
Only then did she move out, snapping pictures she would likely post on the station’s social media.
None of them, I noted, had her face in them.
Which was a shame.
Because what a face it was.
Besides, she pretty much ran KPRN.
She deserved to represent it.
But she seemed content to be behind the scenes, smiling at everyone who came up to purchase items, checking in on the talent at our respective tables, restocking merch as it got low.
At one point, she held up the case that had been the home to at least two hundred of the bookmarks she’d insisted on, dumping it over to show me how empty it was, then sticking her tongue out at me for a second.
