Chapter Eight
I’m going out with Maxime on Valentine’s Day.
I AM GOING OUT WITH MAXIME ON VALENTINE’S DAY!
Yes, I’m shouting at myself in my head, but this is a shout-worthy sentence, even if I have to do it mentally.
I run up the stairs to my apartment, my body humming with excitement about Maxime’s invitation. He’s going to pick me up tomorrow night around seven. I make a plan as I thrust the key into the lock and enter my apartment. I need to find a date-appropriate outfit. Do I have anything suitable? I haven’t been on a date since Is It Love? last spring.
A date.
I’m going on a date.
On Valentine’s Day.
With Maxime Laurent.
I close the door behind me and exhale.
I can’t decide if this is a sign. I first laid eyes on a man on the other side of the Atlantic, and he has now re-entered my life. Does that mean this is meant to be? Or have I learned nothing from Is It Love? Am I setting myself up for another romance that might end with my heart being ripped apart and scattered into the winds?
I doff my winter gear, setting my boots beside the door and hanging up my coat in the closet. I move over to the sofa, drop down to the floor, and find my sweet kittens huddled together, staring back at me with wide eyes.
“Hi, sweethearts,” I say gently, smiling at them. “Mommy is home for the night. Remember Maxime? He asked me to be his date on Valentine’s Day. I’m so happy I could yell, but that would scare you, wouldn’t it?”
I spy the bag of treats Maxime was using and dump some out on the floor. Natasha immediately moves closer, ready to partake in my equalizer, but Boris is not having it.
“You’re a smart one, Boris,” I say, pushing a treat toward him. “You don’t trust easily, do you?”
Maybe Boris is here as my reminder to be careful with Maxime, I think. Have dinner. Have fun. But don’t go full-on thinking romance and potential for love after one date.
Or five dates.
Or even the twentieth date.
I need to be guarded until my judgment is clear. Like Boris, I’ll approach Maxime with caution. Once I feel safe, I’ll make decisions about where things should go, if we go anywhere after this first date.
I will, however, allow myself to be excited. Nobody was ever hurt by looking forward to an evening out.
Especially if that evening includes eating New Mexican food with a sexy, sophisticated, European hockey player.
I have to share this news with someone other than the kittens. I get back up and grab my phone. I know JoJo is at work—and most likely in a development lab working on a new recipe—but even if she can’t respond right away, I have to tell her.
I’ll message her and Sierra in our Connectivity group chat.
I open up the chat box where the three of us talk almost daily. I sink down on the sofa and begin typing:
Me: Okay, stand back. Brace yourselves. I’m going out with Maxime tomorrow. He saw my pics online yesterday, we began chatting, and we met up for a cup of coffee. Then he asked me to go to dinner. I said yes, but don’t worry, I’m going to be very cautious. It’s dinner. JUST DINNER.
Then I hit send.
Within seconds, my phone goes off.
JoJo: WHAT?!?!?
Sierra: OMG BEST NEWS EVER!
Me: Aren’t you two supposed to be working?
JoJo: AHHH! I am so excited! Maxime is a GREAT GUY!
I burst out laughing, as JoJo has inserted a GIF from The Golden Girls into our conversation that shows Bea Arthur saying, “I can dig it.”
Sierra: I can multitask while writing a report. So can JoJo. BUT I AM DYING!
Sierra: We need ALL the details.
JoJo: ALL OF THEM. Come to Denver on Friday night for drinks and dinner. Mandatory girls’ night out!!!
I’m grinning as I read the comments. I message back:
Me: Girls’ night out, yes. But don’t expect me to have much to report. We are having DINNER. That’s it.
I chew the inside of my lower lip.
I wonder if Maxime will try to kiss me.
No. He won’t.
We’re both cautious people, and I have a feeling he’s been as burned by his past as I have. It would make more sense if he didn’t kiss me.
But what if he does kiss me?
I might self-combust.
JoJo: Maxime never asks ANYONE out. I’ve been with Cade since September. Not one girl has been on the scene. In fact, no girl has been on the scene since he’s been with the team, and that is going on three years now.
I’m fixated on JoJo’s comment. Not one girl? Nobody?
Maxime has held back, just like I have. I needed someone exceptional to even think about dating; apparently, it’s been the same for him, too.
Sierra: Except for you, Skye. That night you were at our apartment, the second he walked in and recognized you, nobody else existed. Now you’re in the same town, and he’s going for it AAAHHHH! It’s like one of those second chance romances I love! Except it’s REALITY!
JoJo: I know you’re being cautious, and if anyone gets that, it’s me. However, Skye, I promise you, without a doubt, Maxime is a GOOD man. There’s a reason he was named one of the alternate captains this year. He’s respected by his teammates. He’s steady. He leads on and off the ice. He is worth taking a chance on.
I read JoJo’s words over and over, taking them to heart. JoJo has had her heart broken in the past, just like I did, and she was hesitant to follow her heart with Cade.
But JoJo did follow her heart and found love as a result.
I finish up our conversation, teasing them to get back to work and to come up with something fabulous for me to taste test.
I draw a deep breath of air.
Maybe something wonderful will happen between chips and salsa and dessert.
I exhale. I need to do something other than sit around and feel like an eager teen waiting for her crush to show up for their date tomorrow night. I check my emails, noting one from Charlotte, who chided me for looking like a desperate mess who was seeking solace in donuts and cats instead of America’s Sweetheart yesterday in public. For good measure, she attached several tabloid pictures of my embarrassing moment.
Anger flickers over me as I read her words. I begin to type back that I’m far from desperate. I’m a real-life woman who doesn’t always want to wear makeup. I can eat the occasional donut and wear sweatpants if I want. If she doesn’t want to represent a real woman, she doesn’t have to.
I abruptly stop typing. My mom would tell me to sit on it for twenty-four hours. I click out of the email, sighing deeply, and sink back against my white sofa cushions as I click through the rest of my messages. I stop when I see another one from Charlotte, this time regarding the book opportunity:
From: [email protected]
Date: February 13th
Subject: Book proposal
Skye, you need to make a decision on this. I’ve held the publisher off as long as I can. I think we can come up with a way to make everyone happy. I know you refuse to write a tell-all book, and I respect your sweet, not-wanting-to-upset-anyone nature, but surely you can find a way to talk about your time on the show in a way that is comfortable to you yet entertaining for the public. You’re already helping so many women like yourself, those who have been dealt the cruel blow of a broken heart. Think of how many more we can reach with a book. I propose a life guide, with just a few, tiny personal stories thrown in.
Skye, you also need to think like a businesswoman. This will bring you not only an advance, but I’ll negotiate a top-rate for royalties. Plus, we can discuss an audiobook, international rights, a book tour, and speaking engagements. This can catapult you out of Colorado and into a reporting career in a big market. Don’t let sweetness stand in your way. You can find a way to be both.
Best,
Charlotte
I put my phone down and think for a moment. I know she’s right about this being a tremendous opportunity, but I’m wrestling with it. I know the publishing house is going to want the stories from Is It Love?—the juicier the better—and I refuse to do that. I’m not going to talk bad about the other girls in the house or Tom, even though he is a wanker. I’m not going to dive into the details of our relationship for the masses to read, even if our romance played out on TV and my silence now screams of hypocrisy.
I’m not a hypocrite if I refuse to gossip and provide details that nobody else needs to know, I think stubbornly.
The idea of writing a book does appeal to me, though. I could share some things I’ve learned and maybe help people. A book would give me far greater reach than my blog. I could talk about transitioning from a university student to a reality TV star to a working woman. I can share what it’s like to show your real self to the world after being on an unreal TV experience.
It might be worth it.
But I’m starting this new TV job on Monday, so when will I have time to write a book? When will I learn how to write a book? On top of that, I still have my Instagram and blog and responsibilities as a social influencer.
My mom’s twenty-four-hour rule comes to mind. I’ll answer Charlotte tomorrow after I’ve had a chance to think about it. I know my dad, the TV executive, would tell me to seize every opportunity that comes my way. He would insist that you never say no in this business and the fact that there is still an interest in me after my repeated no’s is nothing short of a miracle.
However, there is one thing that has come my way and caught my interest, and that is one thing I do want to think about right now.
Maxime Laurent.
Our date tomorrow night cannot come fast enough.