Page 167 of The Not-So-Neutral Zone
She sees him and then beyond him to Brody. “Brody Kane. I should’ve known you’d be here. Saw that Jumbotron kiss—very smooth.”
“Thanks.” Brody gestures to me. “Everly, this is Chloe. Chloe, Everly Hart.”
Standing to shake her hand, I say, “I love your books. The one about the cold-case detective—I stayed up all night reading it.”
“Thank you.” She seems genuinely pleased. “That’s always nice to hear.”
Milo gestures toward a table in the corner. “We should let you two finish your date. Everly and I have a series to discuss.”
I sink back into my seat, staring at Brody as they walk away.
“You know Milo Brooks,” I say slowly.
“I know Milo Brooks.” He’s suddenly very interested in his cookie.
“My publisher.”
“So it would seem.”
I blink at him, still reeling from the shock. “How? How on earth do you know Milo Brooks?”
Brody smirks, shrugs a little. “He’s my cousin.”
“Brody.”
He looks up. “If you must know, I called him. A few weeks ago.”
My heart stops. “You what?”
“During the thirty days. I called him and told him you were incredibly talented and he was getting a bargain, that he should reconsider his offer.” The words come out in a rush.
I’m staring at him. Tears forming.
“You did that? While we weren’t even speaking?”
“I wanted you to have your dream. Even if—” He stops. Swallows. “Even if you ended up hating me. Are you mad?” he asks, looking genuinely worried.
“No.” I reach across the table, take both his hands. “Thank you. For coming to my rescue.”
His face softens. “Always.”
The word hangs between us—a callback to Barcelona, to the beginning, to when he was just a stranger being kind.
Someone approaches our table—a young woman with her phone.
“Excuse me, are you two the couple from the game tonight?”
I look at Brody. He looks at me.
“That’s us,” I say.
“Could I get a photo?”
We stand. Pose together. Brody’s arm around my shoulders, both of us smiling.
We leave together eventually—hand in hand, walking out into the cold Minneapolis night. Past the vintage photos on the walls. Past the other customers, who smile at us with knowing expressions. Past Milo and Everly, who wave as we go.
Outside, the air is crisp and clear. Stars are trying to break through the city lights. We walk slowly, not in any rush. My hand in his, our breath forming clouds in the cold air.
“I love you,” he says. Simple. Clear. Real.
“I love you too,” I say.
Then he leans over, kisses me. Soft and sweet and tasting like chocolate and caramel and promises.
Because sometimes, the best stories start with a lie and end with the truth.
