June
Paulie stood in the bathroom of her fancy Boston hotel bathroom, staring into the mirror. Paulette Atherton stared back.
She hated her. Hated her hair sedately pinned up. Hated the subtle, tastefully applied makeup. The delicate straps of the slip waiting to be covered by the summery, yet elegant, dress perfect for a June brunch at the country club.
Her parents would be there. Sam had informed her they’d be sharing a table because it was long past time for reconciliation. What he didn’t seem to understand was the utter lack of possibility she could reconcile who she was with who they wanted her to be.
After four months of getting along pretty damn well in her world, the time had come to take a tentative step back into his world. He’d been making some noise about it for a while and then a fairly low-key charity brunch had come up and he’d caught her during a soft moment and…here she was. Paulette Atherton.
She loathed everything about it. And she wasn’t stupid. He’d talk her into accompanying more and more often. When the job in New Hampshire was done, it wouldn’t make any sense for him to commute. He’d try to talk her into moving to Boston. Eventually she’d grow to hate him as much as she did the image of herself in the mirror.
Screw him. Screw all of them.
She may as well shoot it all down in a big ball of flames now rather than wait until they were any more invested than they already were. It would still hurt, but it would hurt even more once the love word entered the equation. Out loud, anyway.
After dumping her hair-product bag on the vanity, Paulie unpinned her hair and did it up her way—red and as big as an ’80’s cheerleader’s. Then she moved on to the rest of her. Heavy on the eyeliner. Her favorite faded jeans and broken-in sneakers. Black tank top with an oversized, fraying-at-the-cuffs Boston Bruins jersey.
This was the real Paulie and if Sam didn’t like it, he could just kiss her ass.
Okay, probably not a visual she needed in her head at the moment, she mused, slipping on big gold hoop earrings. Then she dumped the contents of the fancy purse and did what she always did—slid her license and her credit card into the back pocket of her jeans and stuck her keys in the front pocket just as they notified her the car service had arrived.
The country club dining room fell silent when Paulie walked in, but she’d been ready for that. She was also ready for the silent outrage robbing the color from her mother’s face and the way her father’s lips thinned. No joy at being reunited with the daughter they hadn’t seen in almost six years. Just the same old judgment and disappointment.
What surprised her was the look on Sam’s face. Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth and crinkled his eyes. And the way he looked at her as she walked to the table was anything but disapproving.
“Paulette Lillian Atherton, what do you think you’re doing?” her mother hissed when she sat down in the empty chair.
“It’s Paulie Reed now, Mother.” She sat in the chair Sam pulled out for her, though she didn’t expect to be in it long. “This is me. It’s who I am and you’re free to take it or leave it.”
“Everybody’s staring.”
“So?”
Her father leaned across the table so he could keep his voice low. “How could you do this to Sam? Embarrass him in front of his friends and colleagues like this?”
“Actually, Richard,” Sam broke in. “I’m not embarrassed by Paulie at all. I’m sorry you think I should be.”
Paulie was as stunned as her parents. Her father wasn’t lying. The place was full of people who were important to Sam either professionally or personally, but he didn’t look the least bit upset his date had shown up looking like a late-‘80s sports groupie.
“Look at her,” her mother argued. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised they even let her through the door.”
That had taken some fast-talking actually, in the form of a half-ass lie about a luggage issue and needing her father’s credit card to buy herself some new clothes. Only the Atherton last name and the fact they were used to seeing young women in desperate need for Daddy’s plastic got her inside.
A foot nudged hers and Paulie looked at Sam. He winked and rubbed his ankle against hers. “It could be worse. Could be a Canadiens jersey.”
“You’re a disgrace,” her father told her. Sadly, not for the first time.
Sam pushed back his chair and stood, holding out his hand to Paulie. “Richard, Mrs. Atherton, if you’ll excuse us, we’ll be leaving now.”
Her parents started sputtering and were heading toward scraping and bowing, but Sam put his hand on Paulie’s back and steered her out the door and down the walk, where he handed the valet his ticket.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered after a few minutes. “I shouldn’t have done that.”