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lancerliterature · 3 months

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The Private Conference

(this lovely moodboard was created by @vintagedebutante ♥︎)

Pairing: President John F. Kennedy/Petite!Reader

Summary: As Cold War tensions rise, President John F. Kennedy calls one of his secretaries into the Oval Office to help him relax.

Word Count: 2.8k

Further Info: 18+, includes swearing and smut, specifically oral sex

A/N: happy Fourth of July, everyone!! i simply cannot think of a more patriotic way to celebrate than posting a fic about America’s hottest president. in this one, i tried to combine a few different requests, including one asking for the setting to be in the Oval Office, one asking for an angry/angsty Jack, and one asking for the reader to be on the petite side. i hope this fic at least somewhat does justice to those amazing ideas, and i hope you all have a wonderful, safe holiday! ♥︎

You froze for just a moment, almost like your shoe had caught on the carpet, when you stepped into the Oval Office and saw the President on the phone. This wasn’t uncommon—in fact, you’d estimate that at least half of all the “private conferences” you’d had with him since becoming his secretary had been interrupted, at some point, by a call. Typically, it didn’t put a damper on things (though you liked to groan and pout up at him whenever the phone rang, but that was only because you liked the way he would give your nose a playful, reprimanding pinch and tell you to “hush now, baby”). In all honesty, it made you feel oddly powerful, like a glamorous concubine of old, to sit with this big history book figure and listen while he discussed Castro and Khrushchev and all the other monumental responsibilities he carried on his wide, ex-Harvard-football-player shoulders.

On this particular afternoon, however, you immediately picked up on the fact that his call was putting him in a very bad mood. You knew tensions had been heating up with Cuba (you weren’t let in on any of the specifics, but you figured whatever threats Castro was making must’ve been pretty severe because, recently, you’d noticed your coworkers in the West Wing laughing less and pointlessly bustling around more), and you figured that was what the President’s call was about because you’d never seen him glower quite like he was now. His eyes were solid stone as he tracked you across the royal blue carpet; it was almost like he couldn’t truly see you through the dark film shadowing his gaze—he didn’t even offer you so much as a wink or a little throwaway smile.

As you came closer, you decided to test the waters and cast your usual finger-twiddling wave his way, but the only response you saw, and the only confirmation you got that he’d even registered your hello, was his eyebrows suddenly furrowing—drooping, almost—down his brow, as if your wave had actually stolen energy from him somehow. You quickly dropped your hand back to your side. The President was in serious need of some de-stressing today.

“Here’s the problem I have,” he was telling whoever was on the phone as you came up beside his looming Resolute Desk. “You can’t give me a definitive answer as to how long that’s gonna take.”

As he listened to the little voice (voices?) that jabbered away in response, he slowly swiveled in his chair to face you—and you supressed a delighted shiver. Since he was so tall (or maybe because you were so pitifully short), the two of you were exactly at eye-level whenever he sat down, and at this proximity, you swore you could feel the hot, agitated energy emanating off of him in thick, nerve-frying waves.

“Well, there’s no sense in you making any kind of official statement,” the President snapped abruptly, cutting the other man off (and making you flinch instinctively, which you normally would’ve been deeply embarrassed about after the fact, but the President hadn’t seemed to notice; at this point he was still looking more through you than at you), “until I can get up there and restore order.” You noticed then that his trademark East Coast accent sounded especially thick today, almost British. He pronounced “restore order” like ree-sto-ah oh–ah-dah, and he spit cigar smoke with every syllable.

Though the thought of turning around and leaving made your ribs clench around your heart with a yearning, almost schoolgirlish disappointment, you knew his needs ultimately came before yours. So, you started to mouth Should I come back later? as animatedly as your lips could manage, hoping you’d finally grab his attention enough to at least get a goodbye, when suddenly, his hand swung out to grab the skirt of your pencil dress and he pulled you, half-stumbling, between his large, knobby knees. Your hand flew to the edge of the desk so you wouldn’t trip over right into his chest (admittedly, if he was in a better mood, you probably wouldn’t have been so quick to catch yourself), and as you regained your bearings, you found yourself sucking in your cheeks to stave off a full-on beaming smile. You should’ve known better than to think John F. Kennedy was ever not in the mood, phone call be damned.

You were close enough to him now that, when you finished smoothing your rumpled skirt and looked up at him, you could smell the confused mix of cigar and minty toothpaste on his breath, and you could see the secret swirls of gray and green surging through the stormy blue of his eyes. He was definitely the most handsome man you’d ever been with—the combination of his boyishly-freckled, chronically-sunburnt cheeks with the square-shaped, no-nonsense masculinity of the rest of his face was undeniably endearing. During the quick half-second you two hung there staring at each other and his pupils (at last!) zeroed in on you and you alone, you felt a sudden sear of jealousy for the First Lady. It must be wonderful, you sighed inwardly, to be loved by a man so attractive. Sure, you were called in almost daily to the President’s office or the White House pool to help him “blow off some steam,” but you weren’t dumb enough to think that was love. You’d seen how he and his wife giggled like teenagers while they whispered in each others’ ears and how, whenever she spoke, he gazed down at her with eyes so soft and tender it made your heart hurt. The two of them simply sparkled. And though you liked to think you’d achieved a certain level of friendship with the President, he’d always made it clear, without ever having to say a word, that no one—not you or any other pretty young secretary, no matter how good you all got at giving blowjobs—could ever hope to reach the height of the First Lady’s pedestal in his mind.

As if to illustrate that very point, the President moved the receiver a few inches from his mouth and tore you from your thoughts with the very first words he’d spoken to you all afternoon, which were: “Don’t waste any time now, alright?” with a pointed glance down between his legs for emphasis. Then he added, “I’m having one hell of a day” and reached around to plant a firm pat on your butt.

And so, you began the familiar routine of stripping off your clothes and laying them neatly to the side—to ensure they’d stay wrinkle-free—until you were wearing nothing but your skin-colored stockings and the cross around your neck (for some depraved reason, the President liked it when you wore that necklace while you sucked him off).

You barely had time to kneel before he was clasping his hand around the side of your head and hooking his giant, hairy-knuckled thumb in your mouth to practically drag your face closer. Your throat tightened around a sharp intake of breath. Lord, he was impatient.

While you were in the middle of unzipping his slacks and pulling his penis out from the big bramble of hair beneath his belly, you suddenly jumped, startled once again as his voice sliced through the room, deeper this time and undercut with a predatory rumbling you could feel in your chest. “That fucker,” he snarled into the phone, which was now balanced between his shoulder and ear. “You oughta tell him he can stick that silly little ultimatum, if that’s what it is, right up his ass.”

Electricity sizzled up through your stomach. The President was going to be rough with you today, you could tell. You almost wanted to thank Castro personally for riling him up so much (you might’ve felt guilty for thinking something like that, but you were so confident the President would never let anything happen to his country that you truly didn’t see why Castro’s threats should be any cause for concern). Why the idea of the President taking his anger out on you was such a thrill, you weren’t sure. You were simply desperate for human touch as fast and hard as you could get it, you supposed—and in that way, if in no other, you thought you and the President were sort of kindred spirits.

You were practically leaning into his palm like a purring cat when he pulled his hand out of your mouth and ran it up over your cheek and back across your scalp to gather all of your hair into a makeshift ponytail. He was muttering into the receiver all the while (“Uh-huh. God, I know. Shit.”), his voice wet with saliva from the two or three painkillers he’d popped absentmindedly into his mouth.

Once your hair was all out of your face, you spit into your hand just like he’d once taught you to and gave the length of his gradually-stiffening cock a few long, indulgent strokes. But to your dismay, he gave absolutely no reaction. You watched, puffing your cheeks out with frustrated air, as he slowly set his cigar down in the ashtray and, like you weren’t even there, began tapping his pointer finger against his teeth like he always did when he was lost in thought—thought that clearly had nothing to do with you.

You didn’t waste any more time before bending over and wrapping your lips around him, eyes fixed frenetically on his face, and you swore your heart itself squealed with joy when, finally, his eyes flicked down to you, and he tilted the receiver away again to let out an appreciative, whistling breath.

You felt your hair tangle around his fingers as he moved his hand from the back of your head to the nape of your neck, and then, barely giving you enough time to adequately relax your throat, he pushed your head down with appalling strength, his tip jamming up into you with enough force to rub the insides of your cheeks raw. Your hands latched onto his knees.

“There we go,” the President said in a soft half-whisper-half-groan that made your inner thighs flush hot. “Atta girl.” Always the one to set the pace, he began moving you hastily up and down.

After working through the first eye-watering, throat-burning few seconds, you thought you were adjusting pretty well—until his hips made a sudden, violent twitch while he was buried to the hilt in your mouth (which was accompanied by a heaving grunt that could’ve been either from pain or pleasure, you weren’t sure), and you hacked a loud, wet cough that made the guy talking in his ear falter and go silent for a moment.

Your eyes fluttered wide. Had the President’s men heard you?

The President certainly seemed to think so, because he suddenly jerked you still halfway up his cock, which only served to send you into a fresh fit of choking, your whole body wracking with every cough. In an attempt to drown you out, the President leaned back in his chair and spoke louder into the phone. “Well, that bastard’s incompetent,” he said, patting his fingers against your cheek as if that would somehow shut you up. “I wouldn’t have him running, uh, a cathouse.” His wedding band burned cruelly against your skin.

Eventually, he oh-so-benevolently relented and lifted his hand from your neck, and you instantly whipped your head up—not so much to catch your breath (you were pretty sure you would’ve gotten ahold of your coughing fit without having to interrupt your “de-stressing” session if he’d have given you just a few more seconds) as to gauge whether or not you’d only made him angrier with all your noise. But to your relief, he was actually smirking now as he looked down at you, his lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh, completely unfazed by the men now clearing their throats and timidly resuming the conversation in his ear. That figures, you thought. The President probably wanted those men to hear you, deep-down. You knew him well enough by now to understand that he occasionally got off on the fact that his bodyguards and cabinet members were plainly aware of how many doe-eyed, obedient women—not just secretaries and interns but Hollywood starlets, too—he had giggling and dropping to their knees at the snap of his fingers.

At least you’d gotten him to smile, though—if not exactly in the way you’d hoped.

After a long pause, during which you were trying in vain to wipe away all the spit and pre-cum that had dribbled down your chin, the President said with an air of finality, “Alright, there really isn’t anything more to say here.” Say hee-ah. You froze mid-wipe and let out an excited gasp.

He responded by scooping a strong forearm under your armpit and hoisting you up onto his lap like you were nothing but a tiny doll, forcing you to clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle a squeak of surprise.

Leaning against his warm chest was like reclining into a giant sofa back as you settled onto his muscled leg. His penis, now only half-erect again, stirred plaintively against the inside of your thigh, seemingly sulky after having been abandoned.

“I’ve got my hands full over here.” The President was grinning widely at his own pun as he took to rubbing his free hand down your body, the width of his fingers splaying across the entirety of your stomach as he inched toward your clit with agonizing slowness. In retaliation, you reached back over his shoulder to grab a fistful of thick auburn hair.

“Call me back this evening with some good news, would you?” was the the last thing the President said before, in a blur, the receiver was slammed into its cradle and his hand was around your neck, his fingers were in your mouth, his hips were twitching up into your backside with an eager mind of their own. Suddenly, you could feel his heart thunking between your shoulder blades and your ear growing moist with heavy, animal-like breaths.

“God,” he groaned as he finally let his hand fall to your clit. “God-fucking-dammit. You drive me crazy, you know that? You dirty little girl.”

He started nibbling on your neck (he’d never actually kissed you—this hungry, barely-restrained biting, like a wolf chomping at its muzzle, was the closest he ever came) and cupping your breasts and tugging at your nipples with the same fiery-eyed ferocity you’d seen when he was on the phone. You and the other secretaries teasingly referred to this do-or-die passion of his as the famous red-blooded Kennedy “vigor” the press always talked about. Though what the press didn’t know, you and the girls always joked, was that this eager, youthful energy—this incessant, almost pathological need to dominate and conquer—extended far beyond just bull-headed political policies.

“They heard you,” the President was murmuring between his little bites. “God, they all heard you. That excites you, doesn’t it?”

Unwilling to admit how right he was, you instead smothered your face in his hot, pulsing neck to cover up a whimpering moan, and then you were twisting around to loosen his tie, unable to stop yourself—when a loud knock banged against the Oval Office doors.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” the President griped dramatically against your ear, making you laugh.

“I can come back later,” you said, more pleading with him than anything, whispering right into his mouth. You watched his eyes flick ravenously around your face as you wrapped your hand around his cock and added, with a small chuckle, “To finish you off.”

“That you will,” he said, “if you know what’s good for you.” Then he gave you that long-awaited wink and grin before wrapping his hands around your waist to stand you back up, and you were pleased to hear him groan softly at the loss of contact.

When you bent down with wobbly legs to pick up your clothes, he offered you his hand to hold and steady yourself on, and you felt yourself blushing at this perversely chivalrous gesture, even though he’d done similar things countless times before and was always unabashedly ogling your body as he did so.

“That knock means I’m going to have to head down to the Sit Room,” he told you then, wearily running his fingers through his perfectly-mussed hair while you tugged your blouse over your head, one hand still cradled in his. “But in about an hour, when I come back,” he continued, “I want you in here, naked and lying on that sofa over there.” He flung a finger towards the parlor area across the room.

You breathed a smiling sigh and shook your head, knowing you’d soon be in your office counting down the seconds. “Whatever you say, Mr. President.”

#john f kennedy #jfk #jfk x reader #jfk x you #john f kennedy x reader #smut #maria writes

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laurenairay · 1 year

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we’re lost and found - A. Beauvillier

Summary: “It’s always going to be you, Bells.”

One visit to Vancouver changes everything for the friendship of Anthony Beauvillier and Isabella Thornton.

A/N: This is my entry for @wyattjohnston‘s birthday bingo!! I really hope you enjoy this Demi – I cycled through various combinations and players before I was happy with the following for Beau: trade angst, friends to lovers, playlists as a love language, “it’s always going to be you”, the morning after the night before. I haven’t written a full fic for Beau before so this was a fun challenge! And yes, I fudged the last game in the Canucks schedule for creative licensing. Happy birthday my dear 💛

Title from Wings, by Birdy. Here is the final playlist mentioned in the story.

Words: 14k

Warnings: angst, miscommunication, sappy sweetness, idiots in love.

Thank you @cellythefloshie for being the most amazing beta and cheerleader while I was writing this!

“Cabin crew, prepare for landing. Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly be arriving in Vancouver. Please ensure all hand luggage is stowed, tray tables are folded away, and your seatbelts are fastened.”

Even as her stomach swooped with the slow descent of the airplane, Isabella couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. She’d been up since the crack of dawn. Her first flight from JFK airport leaving at 7am, and with the layover stop in Seattle lasting one and a half hours, she was more than ready to be done with travelling for the day. It wasn’t that Isabella disliked flying though – she just wanted to be on solid ground. This trip was to be a mixture of business and pleasure; her work wanted her to go to an industry conference to support a couple of the Sales guys giving speeches, her marketing role allowing her that first-hand experience; the conference was scheduled from Tuesday 11th April to Thursday 13th April, but she had decided to fly in on the Saturday before, also taking a vacation day either side of the conference, to extend her time in Vancouver.

Why? Because one of her closest friends had moved from New York to Vancouver only a couple of months ago, and she missed him more than words could describe. It seemed like he felt the same way, because the moment Isabella had mentioned the conference and that she was able to take a couple of vacation days around it, he’d immediately offered for her to stay at his apartment, giving them the time to catch-up, to spend the time together like they hadn’t been able to in so long.

There was no universe in which she would ever say no to Anthony Beauvillier.

So here she was, Saturday 8th April, ready to spend some time with one of the most important people in her life. Soon enough the plane landed and made its way to the gate, allowing everyone to exit. Thankfully Isabella’s suitcase arrived quickly and her journey through security was smooth, so in no time at all she was walking out into the arrivals hall, eyes scanning the crowd of people.

And then she spotted him.

The moment Anthony noticed her too, smile spreading wide across his face, it felt like a breath of fresh air. Finally. Isabella wasted no time in rushing over to him, dropping her suitcase to throw her arms over his shoulders, Anthony hugging her just as tightly too. It was all she could do to bury her face in his neck, breathing in that familiar cologne as well as the scent that was just Anthony himself while he buried his face in her long dark hair.

She’d missed him. She’d missed him so much. Talking to him over the phone just wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t even close to replacing what it felt like to see and hold him in person. After what felt like eternity and yet somehow not long enough, she let him go, dropping her arms from around his neck, taking a single step backwards to look him up and down.

“Damn, you look good Beau! West-Coast Canadian air clearly does wonders for you,” she grinned, hamming up the compliments to make him squirm just as she liked.

A familiar light flush dusted his cheeks as he shook his head fondly. “Says the New York fashionista gracing us with her presence.”

Her tanned cheeks flushed too at his compliment, but she just laughed and batted at his chest before picking up her suitcase from where it had fallen on the floor. Flattery would always work with her and he knew it.

“I missed you,” Anthony said suddenly, smiling softly as he took the suitcase without saying a word.

Such a sweetheart.

“I missed you too. 10 weeks without you and my life is poorer for it,” Isabella said with a dramatic sigh.

Anthony blushed heavily this time, ducking his gaze, making her smile as she laughed. So cute.

“I know I’m mainly here for work, really, but I’m looking forward to spending the rest of my time with you,” she said, threading her arm through his.

“Me too. You’re going to have a great time, I promise.”

She knew she would, even just by being in his company, but she didn’t need to say that out loud.

With her arm still linked with his, Anthony guided her back to where he’d parked his car, lifting her suitcase into the trunk like the gentleman he was.

“Thank you for the new playlist for my flight, by the way,” Isabella said, wiggling her phone to show what she meant as she got into the front passenger seat.

“No problem, Bells, you know that. It’s our thing, right? It’s not like I could let you travel out here for the first time without a new list to listen to,” Anthony shrugged, starting the engine.

From the small smile on his lips, she knew he was far from nonchalant. He was right too – making playlists for each other really was their thing. When she’d started hanging out with him and Mat and some of the other Isles boys, Isabella and Anthony had bonded over their shared love of music, sharing recommendations on Spotify almost immediately. Making playlists started with creating background music for parties held at their various apartments, but, for whatever reason, over time it grew into the two of them making playlists just for each other. She’d lost count of the number of playlists she’d made him for his long travels on the road, and the amount of study playlists he’d made for her were in the dozes over all her college years. Then there were birthdays, holidays, vacations abroad as a group, and just general ‘you seem down, let me cheer you up’ playlists.

Making playlists for each other was something that Isabella and Anthony had made into something that was just theirs, and she treasured it.

“I loved the Twenty One Pilots songs you chose,” she said, smiling.

“Catchy, right?” Anthony mused, “I wasn’t sure about those Bastille songs though.”

The vibes of these playlists of important, they both knew that. But like always, he’d nailed it.

“They were perfect. The whole list was great, I promise,” Isabella insisted.

This time, his pleased smile shone through. She loved that he loved putting together all these songs just for her – the same way that she loved doing it for him. Was it wrong to cherish something with him that was hers and hers alone?

The drive to Anthony’s apartment felt like it flew by as they continued to talk about the music they’d both been listening to lately, and soon enough she was walking through the front door of his apartment.

“We’ve got a couple of hours before I need to leave for the arena and then you’ll still have a few hours before you should leave to head down too, so plenty of time for you to settle into the guest room and unpack your stuff. I’ve got a fabric steamer if you need them for your conference clothes?” Anthony explained, locking the front door behind them.

The thought he put into everything was astounding.

“I probably will need to steam out some creases at some point,” she mused, thinking of the three blazers she’d packed, “But that can wait until Monday night. How about you give me a tour?”

There was no way she wanted to think about anything to do with work until she absolutely had to. The next couple of days were all about relaxing. Sure, Anthony would be flying out for two games in California tomorrow, but that just meant she wanted to make the most of the time she had with him.

As he showed her around the two-bed apartment, Isabella could admit that it was pretty sparse. At least compared to the apartment he had in New York – but he’d only been here just over two months, so she knew she couldn’t expect him to have fully settled in yet. She could only hope that he was going to give himself the chance to settle in properly, especially since the Canucks season was technically over.

Sure, they still had four games left to play, including tonight’s, but mathematically they were already out of the playoffs. Isabella could only imagine how that felt for him. It was something that they hadn’t really discussed, if she was being honest. The trade was a sensitive subject in their friendship group, and she hadn’t known how to ask how Anthony felt about it when the trade had first been announced. But she worried about him, being out here all by himself. How could she not?

At least there were elements of his personality in the apartment, a framed poster here, photos of his family there, silly polaroids of their friendship group in New York on the fridge with magnets. It was enough to settle the worst of her concerns, and by the time she’d dumped her bags in the spare bedroom he’d declared was hers for the week, she noticed that the edge of tension had melted away from him too.

“I know it’s not much yet but…”

“But nothing, Beau,” Isabella interrupted, smiling as she leant against the doorframe, “You’ve only been here a short while – you’ll make this a home in no time.”

“You think?” he asked, his hesitance obvious.

Well that wouldn’t do.

“I know. Now come on, feed me before you need to leave for the game,” she said firmly.

“That’s the Bells I know,” he snickered.

Isabella just laughed at the accuracy – he really did know her - before sticking out her tongue at him and making him laugh. There was the smile she loved.

Isabella took a quick shower while Anthony cooked them lunch, an easy healthy chicken stir fry, and all too soon it was time for him to leave her alone. While she felt a tiny sense of trepidation about being in a new city all by herself, she knew that she only had a little time to kill before she was going to see him again anyway, so she pushed it down as much as she could.

“You’ve got the phone numbers of people at the arena to call if there’s an emergency, right?” Anthony asked, pulling on his suit jacket.

“I can 99% guarantee you that there will be no emergencies in the two hours before I leave here too. But yes I have them – so go, Beau!” Isabella giggled.

He held up his hands in surrender but smiled down at her anyway, kissing her on the cheek before he walked out the door. Isabella sighed softly, fingers rising to brush over the same skin his lips had brushed, smiling fondly. That was a particular tradition she’d missed as well, the casual affection he’d always shown her. She didn’t know if it was a Québécois thing, or just an Anthony thing, but she’d missed it all the same. It was sweet, just like everything he did.

As she settled in on the sofa, she sent out a few text messages to let various people know she’d arrived safely; some of her friends at work, Mat, her mom. She’d fully intended on ignoring the replies, knowing nothing urgent would be coming through, but when she saw 5 notifications from Mat, she opened up their text thread out of curiosity.

From: Mat Bells! You made it! Beau has been buzzing all morning. Give him a kiss from me. After he’s kicked some Flames ass obvi.

This guy. Isabella rolled her eyes fondly, smiling at the energy she could read even in his words, before biting her bottom lip. Anthony had been buzzing? He hadn’t seemed that way to her – sure, he was happy to see her, all smiles and long hugs, but buzzing? Hm.

From: Isabella I’ll pass along your kiss, weirdo. He seemed pretty chill to me?

From: Mat That’s because he got all of his crazy energy out by texting me. You know he wants your trip to be amazing. You are going to his game tonight, right?

From: Isabella If you say so Barzy. I wouldn’t miss his game for the world.

Mat didn’t text back again, so Isabella just chalked down the strange exchange to him missing his friend too. Still…no. Barzy was being Barzy, and that’s all there was to it. The two hours after Anthony left flew by, Isabella just getting herself lost in a good book, and it wasn’t long before she was walking towards her seat in the arena. Along with leaving a new Canucks jersey (with his name on the back, of course) for her in the hall closet, Anthony had left her ticket at will call, which she picked up easily after the uber she took dropped her right out front. Just as she’d requested when he had asked, she was in the bottom tier but at the back – she didn’t want anything ostentatious – and with an overpriced beer in hand, she took her seat.

Right from the start, the game was a nail biter. She cheered at the top of her lungs as Pettersson and McWard scored for the Canucks with all the supporters around her. Only for her to be left wincing when Lindholm and Kadri scored for the Flames in the third period, on the edge of her seat as the game finished out at 2-2. She could see the frustration in the team’s faces, let alone in their body language, and the moment that the shootout started her heart was pounding in her chest.

As soon as Kuzmenko scored the winning goal, Isabella leapt to her feet yelling in celebration with the crowd around her, the biggest smile on her face as the team celebrated on the ice. What a way to end of the game.

There was no rush she’d ever felt like watching a hockey game live in person - and now she was lucky enough to go congratulate her friend face to face rather than over text. Arriving early ahead of her conference really had been such a good idea. Anthony had texted her the instructions for how to get down to the tunnel to wait for him, so she followed those after the stands had emptied out a bit, not wanting to fight through the crowd. At the very least it meant she didn’t have to wait as long in the tunnel by herself, and soon enough Anthony was walking out to meet her, shy smile on his face.

Shy? No, that wouldn’t do.

“Beau! Congratulations!” she said cheerfully, loudly enough to draw a bit of attention to them and to get that familiar blush she loved to see rising on his cheeks.

“You enjoyed it then?” he mused.

There was enough hesitance in his voice to let her know he needed her reassurance, and she wasted no time in hugging him tightly, smiling as he immediately hugged her back.

“I had the best time. Talk about a nail biter!” she laughed, pulling back just far enough to look up at his face, “You know I love watching you play.”

The rosiness of his cheeks let her know that her honesty had been the right thing to say.

“I’m just glad you’re here,” Anthony murmured, squeezing her slightly before letting his arms drop.

“Ooh, wait, there’s something I need to give you,” she said quickly, clutching at his hands.

Anthony froze slightly, but made the most interesting gasping noise as she leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed a big wet smacking kiss on his cheek.

“W-What?”

Isabella just grinned, letting go of him. “That is from Barzy.”

Anthony’s smile seemed to falter slightly before he huffed out a laugh. “Of course. That sounds like him. I’ll have to text him to say thanks.”

Isabella snickered. At least their mutual friend couldn’t say she didn’t pass along his message. That’s what friends were for!

“What’s the plan now then?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“It’s up to you, really. A few of the guys are going out for drinks if you wanted to go too? It’s not going to be a crazy one because we are flying out to LA tomorrow, but it might be fun for you to meet some of the team? But if you’re tired from travelling then we can absolutely just head back to my place,” he explained.

The hopeful look in his eyes made her smile. He really wanted her to meet his new team, didn’t he? He wanted her to like them – it was important to him, she could tell. So there was only one answer she could give.

“Let’s go out for a couple of drinks then! Maybe if jetlag finally hits we could leave early?” she suggested.

She had been awake since 3.30am after all, having left for the airport at 4am. Relaxing for a couple of hours ahead of the adrenaline of the game had helped keep her going, but she knew it would hit her at some point. But meeting his new team was important to Anthony, so she wanted to do what she could, even if it wasn’t her at 100%.

“Perfect. You just let me know whenever and we can head out,” he said firmly.

Such a sweetheart.

In the end, she lasted around two hours before she felt her social battery dipping into dangerously low levels, starting to space out of conversation even though she’d only had two vodka sodas, and in no time at all Anthony was guiding her through the front door of his apartment all over again. His teammates had been so sweet – at least the ones that she’d met tonight – and seeing the smile that all their interactions put on Anthony’s face filled her heart. Even after 10 weeks, it was clear that he’d found a good space for himself here, just as he deserved to and just as she’d hoped. Brock, Petey, Quinn, Thatcher, Travis and Ethan, along with their partners (those that had them) were all so friendly and welcoming, and she’d enjoyed telling stories about her time in New York with Anthony, as well as hearing how well he was settling into the team in Vancouver.

It had been everything she’d wanted for the first day of her visit – what more could she have asked for?

“Okay I’ve got cold bottles of water in the fridge or I picked up that brand of peppermint tea that you like,” Anthony said, breaking her out of her thoughts.

Peppermint tea?

“You don’t drink peppermint tea, Beau,” she frowned, “you bought it especially for me?”

“Well, yeah, Bells. Of course I did,” he shrugged, although a light blush hit his cheeks.

This guy.

“Peppermint tea would be great,” she said softly, still a little stunned that he went through the trouble for her.

What a perfect way to wind down. The two of them sat on the sofa while she drank her tea and he drank a bottle of water, talking about all the things Anthony wanted to buy for the apartment when he came back next season (a couple of throw rugs, art for the hallway walls, a new smoothie maker, and so on). It felt like they were back in New York, like no time had passed and nothing had changed, which only made her heart pang a little more when it was eventually time to go to bed. She was flagging, hard, and he had an early start tomorrow, as much as she didn’t want this little bubble to end.

“Good night, Bells,” Anthony murmured, leaning against the doorway to the spare bedroom.

“Good night, Beau,” she murmured back, not wanting to break the moment as those blue eyes caught with her own dark brown ones.

He smiled softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to the top of her head before he walked down the hallway to his own room, leaving her feeling like she was floating on air.

What a first day indeed.

“Wakey wakey eggs and bakey!”

Isabella groaned at the loud sound of her best friend’s voice, eyes blearily looking over to where he was standing in the open doorway.

“What?” she groaned, “What are you doing?”

“First of all, I tried knocking, like, three separate times. Second, I made eggs and bacon and toast, duh. Breakfast, remember? Before I fly out with the team?” he teased.

Oh fuck, yeah of course. How could she forget? Anthony took one look at the expression on her face and burst out laughing.

“There’s also coffee. Clearly you need some,” he snickered.

Rude. Accurate, but rude. Isabella flipped him the bird, making him laugh harder, but at least he left her alone to deal with her bedhead. Her natural curls were a pain in the mornings, especially without taking a shower to deal with them properly, so she just threw them up on top of her head into a loose bun while she headed to the bathroom. She’d already decided she would be straightening her hair for her conference, for ease through those long days, but for now this would have to do. It wasn’t like Anthony hadn’t seen her looking worse.

After quickly washing and dressing into leggings and an oversized sweater, Isabella headed out into the kitchen, wordlessly accepting the coffee mug that Anthony pressed into her hands with a smile. Mmm perfect.

“Thanks for this, Beau. You’re amazing,” she murmured happily.

Interestingly, the back of Anthony’s neck flushed red, his back turned to her as he plated up their food.

“It’s just coffee, Bells,” he said, shrugging.

No it wasn’t and he knew that.

“Okay, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and wholemeal toast, bon appétit.”

“Merci beaucoup.”

Anthony grinned at her attempt at French, Isabella just grinning back.

“So what are you going to do today and tomorrow? Your conference doesn’t start until Tuesday, right?” he asked, scooping up some eggs with his toast.

“I’m not going to do much, I won’t lie,” she mused, earning a grin, “I might take a walk around your neighbourhood today, maybe find a coffee shop or something? And then just a chilled night in, probably with take-out. Tomorrow though…hm, I probably need to do my nails before the conference so I’ll either pop out to buy some nail polish or I’ll book an appointment in a salon? If the weather is nice I might get lunch out, have a walk in downtown, see the sights? And I do want to get a bit of preparation work done before everything starts on Tuesday, ahead of watching your game against the Kings.”

She’d had enough time on her flights to plan at least a few things at least anyway. What? Isabella liked to be prepared.

“You don’t have to watch my game if you’re busy with work,” Anthony frowned.

What?

“Beau, in what world would I not watch one of your games?” she asked, confused.

“I just…I mean, I…”

He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck, only confusing her further.

“It’s hard enough that I don’t get to see you anymore. Watching your games is the closest thing I have,” she said, frowning.

The look that passed across his face could only be described as devastation. “Fuck, Bells, you can’t just say things like that,” he said softly.

“Why not? I mean it, Beau. You’re one of my best friends. I love watching you play, you know that,” she said simply.

Anthony smiled slightly at her, but it looked strained. “I know you are. And I appreciate that more than you know.”

“But?” she prompted.

He hesitated for a moment, before letting out a shaky laugh and shaking his head. “But it’s too early and neither of us have had enough caffeine,” he deflected.

Isabella narrowed her eyes but took a big gulp of her coffee in response, making him laugh and roll his eyes fondly.

“Never change Isabella Thornton,” he mused.

“Oh ouch, full name. Definitely too early for that,” she said, grimacing dramatically.

Anthony just laughed louder.

In the end, the rest of her Sunday was spent exactly as she described to him. After he left, giving her a long lingering hug in the hallway after leaving her a spare key, she did in fact wander around his neighbourhood, taking in the cutesy local park and little shops, spending a couple of hours in a coffee shop with the book she’d started reading the previous afternoon. It was a good way to spend a time, nice and chilled exactly how she liked her downtime.

Before he’d left too, Anthony had given her the rundown of his favourite local restaurants, including an amazing Thai place that she knew she had to try – so that night, before taking a shower to sort out her wayward hair, she placed a takeaway order. Isabella hadn’t been able to decide between the panang beef curry with jasmine rice and the tofu pad see ew, so in the end she’d ordered both. Whatever she didn’t eat, she would eat tomorrow after her first day at the conference finished, ahead of watching Anthony play against the Kings. It was just logical, right?

By the time she had her curls plopped up in an old t-shirt, ahead of straightening them when they were fully dry in the morning, the food had arrived. The smell of both dishes was heavenly – she’d have to thank Anthony for his recommendation for sure.

Her phone buzzed twice. Beau 💛. Speak of the devil.

From: Anthony Heading out to team dinner soon. Hope you didn’t get lost wandering around today?

Isabella barked out a laugh at the very idea of her just wandering around lost and not telling him, but found herself smiling anyway. He was concerned about her – so sweet, as always.

From: Isabella No I didn’t get lost. Thanks for checking though. Just ordered myself some take-out actually!

She included a selfie of her holding up one of the take-out boxes, pulling a ridiculous duck face pout to hopefully make him laugh. It was far from the first time the two of them had exchanged silly photos, and she doubted it would be the last. While she waited for a response, she forked some noodles into her mouth, clicking on the TV to find some entertainment for the rest of her evening.

Three buzzes.

From: Anthony The Thai place! Great choice! Kinda wish I was eating that with you rather than the steakhouse we’re heading too lol. You look very cute and comfy.

She found her cheeks heating up with a light blush at his last words, quickly shaking her head to rid herself of any ridiculous thought. He didn’t mean it like that. He just didn’t.

From: Isabella Thank you for recommending the place, it’s SO good. Nah you enjoy the steakhouse Beau!

She didn’t expect to hear back from him, not with the game starting so soon, but the simple ‘xxx’ he sent her made her whole body warm. This guy, seriously.

Isabella knew how lucky she was to have a friend like him in her life. Unapologetically kind and sweet, always had her back, never failed to make sure that she was happy. Anthony was one of a kind, a true gentleman, and the fact that their chance friendship had turned into such an important part of her life was something she cherished.

She’d still been in college when they’d met, a mutual friend dragging her along to a party, and ever since that first night they’d just clicked. It didn’t make sense, not really, their worlds having very little crossover. But Isabella knew back then that all of that didn’t matter, proven by the fact that they stayed closed when she graduated college, stopping going to 99% of the parties, and Anthony stayed up in the show, proving himself night after night.

And now she was here – in his home in Vancouver while he was away, curled up on his sofa with his blanket draped around her. If anyone had told her five years ago that this is where she would be, she probably would’ve laughed – in what dreams was she going to build such a strong friendship with a handsome young NHL player? But this was her reality, it did happen, and there was no way she was letting him drift away, especially now that he’d moved so far away.

Isabella sent Anthony a text before she turned herself in for an early night, knowing she’d need to be up early to give herself the time to straighten her hair properly in the morning. It took less than 30 seconds to get a response back from him, making her laugh softly at his eagerness as she slipped into the guest bed.

From: Anthony Sweet dreams! 💛

She tried not to think too hard about how the little heart gave her butterflies.

Monday passed quicker than Isabella thought it would. Just as she’d told him – just as she’d planned – she treated herself to a manicure in a salon downtown as well as treated herself to a lunch out near the Quayside Marina, going for a walk along the waterfront before she did some prep work for her conference. It was only last minute checks of the presentations she would be part of, but she knew it would allow her to sleep easier without the what-if anxiety playing on her mind.

Along with eating the remaining Thai take-out and taking the time to straighten her thick curls ahead of the conference the next day, Isabella also watched Anthony play against the Kings on his stupidly big TV. The 3-0 loss made her ache inside, especially with how dejected the team looked even through the screen, and the moment that he texted her to ask if he could call, she didn’t hesitate to call him first.

His patented Sad Beau face made her ache even more, and it was all she could do to try to comfort him. She hated when he looked as sad as he did after this loss, the wear and tear of the season bearing down on him, but she wasn’t going to miss the chance to at least attempt to make him feel better. If she could help just a little bit, ease that sadness, then she would – seeing him look all soft with his fluffy hair and glasses in his hotel room was motivation enough.

The sweet smile she managed to drag out of him by the time they said goodnight was everything she could’ve hoped for.

All too soon, Tuesday 11th rolled around, and Isabella walked into the hotel the conference was being held in with her work laptop and an air of confidence she only partially-felt. Usually she had no problem talking to people – give her a bar or a party or a restaurant or even a casual barbecue and she could chat away for hours. But when it mattered? When the opinions of the people she talked to about their impression of her would be a deciding factor in whether her company would get their business in the coming year? It was terrifying.

But she was dressed the part, wearing her grey bodycon dress and black blazer like armour, her hair pin straight and her make-up perfect, and that gave her the boost to be able to fake her she was feeling.

At least her two Sales colleagues couldn’t tell how nervous she was when the three of them set up the company booth. By the time they were finished setting up, people were still walking in, so Isabella volunteered to grab them all a coffee. She hadn’t had time for her usual caffeine intake before she’d left for the conference – something she was definitely going to make sure she did ahead of Day Two – so this was more of an excuse to be able to wake herself up properly, to make sure she stayed at her best on this opening day.

Just as she returned to the booth and passed out the requested coffee, her phone buzzed. Beau 💛

From: Anthony Good luck today! Kick some ass!

Oh how sweet. Even though he undoubtedly had a late night after playing the Kings yesterday and travelled to Anaheim today at some point too, he was thinking about her?

From: Isabella I will do my best to kick ass, metaphorically. Good luck to you too! And kick some actual ass yourself! I’ll be watching the game tonight at yours again.

From: Anthony 💛 💛 💛

Again, his response came through incredibly quickly, making her think he was just waiting for her to text him. Why would he do that? Surely he had better things to do than wait around for her to text him?

And why did he only text three hearts?

Isabella found herself completely lost in thoughts, overthinking everything he could mean and everything he likely didn’t mean, and everything in between. It wasn’t like her to overanalyse every interaction with Anthony, but maybe it was the Vancouver air, or the fact that they’d been separated for the longest time in years. She honestly didn’t know where it was coming from, and she hated how uncertain it all made her feel. What was he playing at? Why was he acting like this, now? Was she just reading too much into it?

“Uh, Isabella?”

A deep voice to her left broke her out of her spiral, and she jumped slightly at the hand awkwardly waving in front of her face.

“Sorry Jerry, the caffeine hasn’t kicked in yet,” she said, forcing a laugh, “What’s up?”

He just laughed, taking her lie without question. “We need to go set up for the presentation. We’re up first today, remember?”

“Of course, let me grab my laptop,” she nodded.

It was simple enough to set-up and get the presentation going, if she was being honest, just clicking through the presentation slides while he was talking on stage (and their other colleague was manning the booth), and it allowed her to drift along on auto-pilot, only needing to focus on his talk and the screen in front of her. Thankfully she only needed to give input on one question he was asked in the Q&A portion, and she found herself smiling as everything finished to a hearty applause, accepting Jerry’s subtle high-five with a laugh.

The rest of the conference went smoothly, Isabella mainly able to listen to the other speeches given and take notes to feed back to the executive board while her Sales colleagues focused on schmoozing other attendees. It was one of the perks of being a marketing team member at a conference – outside of the presentations, the pressure really was off her. And at least her two colleagues this time were decent guys, rather than some of the assholes she’d been paired with before, so she didn’t hesitate to accept joining them at the after-drinks. With the conference finishing at 3pm, she allowed herself a few hours to relax and drink a couple of cocktails, but as soon as it hit 6pm she was in an uber on the way back to Anthony’s apartment. There was no way she was going to miss his game, not even if she’d had one of the best cranberry martinis she’d ever drank.

By the time the game started at 7pm, Isabella was dressed in her pyjamas was a bowl of pasta in her lap, willing the team to have a better result than the night before. For Anthony’s sake, if nothing else. And what a game it was. The moment that the buzzer sounded, ending the game with a 3-2 win over the Ducks, Isabella’s face hurt from smiling, and she wasted no time in reaching for her phone and thumbing open her message thread with Anthony.

From: Isabella YESSSSSS! Go Canucks! I’m so proud of you Beau. What a great game. 3-2 baby! I know you’re probably going out for drinks or dinner or whatever with the team. But call me when you get back to your hotel?

Isabella lost track of time while she waited for him to respond, distracting herself with washing up all the things she’d used to make dinner as well as doing her night-time facecream routine, so by the time her phone buzzed with a video call request, she was sitting on her bed up against the pillows. The moment that his smiling face appeared on her screen, something settled in her chest that she didn’t realise she was holding onto. He already looked so much happier than when they spoke the night before, and she found herself sinking against the headboard with a smile of her own.

“Hello Beau,” Isabella said fondly, “That’s the smile I like to see.”

“Hey Bells. You like my smile?”

She blushed at his teasing words, but powered through. “You know I do. Happy Beau is much better than Sad Beau.”

“I wasn’t Sad Beau.”

“You were sad enough,” she mused.

He just huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.

“No-one else calls me out like you do.”

Her breath hitched in his throat at his words, making her hesitate slightly before answering. “Is that a good thing?”

“It’s a very good thing. You help remind me to keep the bad balanced with good, that there’s still positive things in my life even when everything feels like shit. I appreciate that more than you know.”

She resolutely ignored the butterflies flaring in her stomach, the smile spreading across her face again conveying more than enough.

“Well that’s what friends do, right?”

“Yeah. Friends. Exactly.”

The way his smile flickered at that must’ve been a technical glitch in the call, surely.

They continued to talk for nearly another hour, losing themselves in easy conversation as they always did, until Isabella noticed Anthony started yawning, even as subtle as he was attempting to be in hiding it behind his hand.

“Hey, Beau, I’ll let you get some sleep yeah?” she murmured.

“What? No, I’m fine, really.”

Isabella laughed softly, shaking her head with a fond smile. “You played an intense game today and you have an early flight tomorrow. Get your beauty rest.”

He smiled through the screen, eyes half-lidded with tiredness.

“Okay, if you insist. I’ll see you after your conference finishes, yeah?”

“Absolutely. I can’t wait,” she grinned.

“Me too. Goodnight, Bells.”

“Goodnight Beau.”

When the call ended, Isabella took a moment to indulge in the sweetness of his smile before shaking herself out of her silly thoughts. Was it so wrong to enjoy the way he looked at her sometimes? Surely not. Besides, he wouldn’t smile at her if he didn’t mean it – he’d said as such, how much he appreciated her. She could always work with that. With a b out of inspiration, Isabella grabbed her personal laptop and opened up spotify, ready to make Anthony a playlist for his flight home in the morning. He deserved to have his good mood continue, to arrive back with nothing but positivity in his veins. This was something she’d done dozens of times before, and it didn’t take her long to put together a list of songs nearly two hours long that would hopefully put a smile on his face. She put a few final touches to the playlist with Shake it off by Taylor Swift, Shut Up and Dance by WALK THE MOON, and Come on Eileen by Dexy’s Midnight Runners, finding herself smiling at the good mood she had curated. Done. Perfect.

From: Isabella Sleep well Beau. Looking forward to seeing you again tomorrow! I made you a playlist for the flight – positive vibes only.

From: Anthony You’re the best. See you tomorrow. 💛

Day Two of the conference – Wednesday 12th – found her dressed in a pretty lilac shift dress with a grey blazer of the top, another immaculate set of armour allowing her to get stuck into the networking that was happening in between all of the speeches and presentations. Isabella mostly let the Sales guys do their thing, but she was able to contribute a bit more with people who approached their company booth, supporting the discussions by using examples of the campaigns she’d personally ran. At least, she felt confident enough with the approving nods and the handshakes exchanged with potential clients. Anthony’s flight had landed mid-morning, right on schedule, and he'd very sweetly messaged her the moment he arrived home. So instead of attending drinks again when the conference finished, she headed straight back to Anthony’s apartment. She didn’t feel bad skipping out of the social time, mainly because it mattered more for the Sales guys to be there, but also because she desperately wanted to spend her limited time with Anthony while she still could.

“Bells!”

Anthony’s happy shout combined with the way he rushed over to her and lifted her up in his arms, spinning her around seconds after she shut the front door behind her let her know she’d made the right decision.

“Anyone would think you were happy to see me, Beau,” she giggled, clutching at him tightly.

Anthony just grinned, shrugging apologetically as he lowered her back down to the floor, although his cheeks had a light flush to them.

“Of course I’m happy to see you. It felt weird knowing you were finally in Vancouver but I wasn’t actually there myself,” he said simply.

Yeah she could understand that.

“I missed you too,” she murmured, shrugging off her blazer and hanging it up on the coatrack.

Isabella raised an eyebrow as Anthony’s ran over her formal lilac dress, taking her in like he’d never seen her before.

“I suppose it’s not the clothes you’re used to, hm?” she mused.

Strangely, her words made him jump slightly, as if she broke him out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“The dress?” she teased, “I know I don’t usually wear them this formal, but come on it’s not that bad.”

“No, uh, not bad at all. Definitely not used to you wearing them,” he said quickly, nodding as he blushed a little heavier, “You look great though.”

“Thanks Beau,” she grinned.

What a sweetheart. Even if he was still blushing.

“Thanks for the playlist by the way. It really helped me get through the flight this morning,” Anthony said, heading towards the kitchen.

Isabella followed him with a smile, that smile widening as he wordlessly handed her a cold bottle of water from the fridge, nudging him with her shoulder in thanks.

“It was the least I could do. Besides, the good vibes in the songs gave me good vibes too,” she shrugged.

“Great vibes – especially that last song,” he grinned.

“Come on Eileen is a classic for a reason,” she said seriously, making him laugh just like she knew it would.

They talked about day two of her conference as they chose what take-out to order for dinner – they settled on Vietnamese, including summer rolls, beef brisket phở, and tiger prawn curry noodles, settling on the sofa while they waited for it to arrive. It was only then that the conversation took a heavier turn, as Anthony suddenly looked exhausted down to his bones, and not just physically.

“What’s going through your head? What’s wrong?” Isabella asked softly, resting her hand on his forearm briefly to capture his attention.

“I feel like I failed this year,” Anthony said quietly.

What?

“I’m sorry, what?” Isabella asked, confused.

“The team didn’t make the playoffs. The season is over and I just…I failed, right? The Canucks haven’t made the playoffs for the 8th year in a row and the Islanders did make it, so clearly they were right to trade me, and I just…I don’t know what to do.”

His rant flew from his mouth faster than she had ever heard him speak before, and the sadness entrenching every word made her heart ache in the worst way. He really felt like this? Like he was a failure? How long had he been hiding his self-deprecating emotions like this?

“You did not fail. You are not a failure. You’re just one guy, Beau,” she said firmly. “You didn’t ask for this trade, not in the slightest, and you’ve made a good solid start for yourself here. The Canucks needed you and you gave them a boost of course, but it is so not on you. Do you think Petey and Brock and Quinn and literally everyone else feel like you let them down?”

“No,” he admitted softly.

“Then don’t let yourself feel like that. Yeah, it sucks. Not making the playoffs is everything you didn’t want to happen. But you guys are way too talented for it not to build up for next season. You are far too talented, Anthony Beauvillier, and it will work out,” she finished.

“Ouch, full name,” he said with a weak smile.

She just batted his shoulder lightly with a hand, pursing her lips. “I mean it, okay? You worked hard and this year it just didn’t work out. I have full faith that things will click for you next year.”

Anthony hesitated for a second, before letting out a shaky sigh.

“I might just have to let your faith be the only faith for a little while,” he said softly.

Her frown softened to a gentle smile, and she squeezed the shoulder that she batted only moments before.

“If that’s what you need, then that’s fine. My faith in you isn’t going anywhere. You have one final game to play, right? So you go out there and you show them what you’ve got. Show yourself. I’ll be watching with imaginary pompoms,” she mused.

“Can I get you real pompoms? Maybe a cheerleader skirt too?” he grinned.

That was the Anthony she knew.

“You are pushing your luck. Keep that in your dreams,” she snickered.

Interestingly, he blushed furiously at her words, making her laugh. What a reaction.

It didn’t take much longer for their Vietnamese take-out to arrive and they settled as easily as ever next to each other on the sofa, sharing all the dishes in a way that felt so effortless, a reminder of the life they led back in New York. Anthony switched on an old favourite action movie while they were eating, just something to play in the background while they ate and talked and enjoyed each other’s company, and Isabella didn’t hesitate to seamlessly transition that into cuddling on the sofa when the take-out boxes were empty.

She did ignore the butterflies in her stomach flaring up as his thumb brushed her bare shoulder though. No, tonight was about Anthony, giving him comfort, not about her ridiculous notions.

The last day of her conference, Day Three – Thursday 13th – started with Anthony joining her for coffee and breakfast. She knew he had no real reason to get up early with her, but she appreciated the sweet gesture nonetheless. As she caught an uber over to the hotel conference hall, her mind was reeling from the sleepy smiles he sent her way, even more so with the soft parting kiss he pressed to her cheek as she said goodbye to him.

Why now? Why were all the feelings she’d fought so hard to bury surfacing out now?

But Isabella didn’t have time to get lost in her thoughts. She wouldn’t let herself – couldn’t let herself. No, all she allowed herself to do was to brush her shaky hands down her navy blue sheath dress and matching navy blazer as she walked into the hotel before she threw up her confident walls, greeting her colleagues with a practiced smile.

She already knew that the last day of the conference would be mostly final presentations and speeches, so she let them consume her, taking notes as diligently as she was able to be able to report back to her bosses. It was a blessing in disguise really, letting her work monopolise her mind, and she found herself swept up in the last rounds of networking with a genuine smile on her face. In all honesty, the conference had been a success – her Sales colleagues had garnered all of the business and attention they were meant to, and her contributions had been smooth and fruitful. That didn’t mean she stayed around for the final night of drinks though.

No, when the conference talks finished at 3pm, she caught an uber straight back to Anthony’s apartment, ready to go to the final Canucks game tonight. The game started at 7pm so she had more than enough time to shower, eat a little something while she dried her natural curls, and change into comfy jeans and Anthony’s jersey. He was already at the arena by the time she’d arrived back at his after packing up the company stand, so she caught an uber down to the game again.

Same as last time, he had left her a ticket at will call. She had asked for a ticket in the stands rather than in the box. It was just the atmosphere she wanted to surrounded by, the sight of him upclose being a welcome bonus. By the time she was heading down to her seat with an overpriced beer in her hand, it was time for warmups, and as she watched the Canucks skate out to excited cheers, she found her seat right by the glass.

Of course, of course he got her glass-side seats. Isabella rolled her eyes softly but found herself smiling anyway. Anthony always was so thoughtful, and this evening was no different. She caught his eyes as he skated past her and she waved enthusiastically at him, ignoring the looks from people around her as he happily waved back. Let them be jealous. They didn’t share the friendship the two of them had so she didn’t care what people thought of the interaction. She did snicker quietly as she noticed the obvious teasing his teammates gave him when he skated back over to them though. Bless his heart and his rosy cheeks too.

The game was a nail biter, even more so than the other three games she’d watched this week had been. For each Canucks goal she jumped up out of her seat cheering, high fiving everyone around her. For every Coyotes goal, she winced and listened to the boos around her. By the time the third period ended 4-4 ahead of going into OT, she felt like she was in an emotional wringer. This was the last Canucks game of the season; she knew how much it meant to Anthony let alone the rest of the team, so when the buzzer sounded it was all she could do to keep breathing, hoping for a miracle.

And praise Garland for his game winning goal only 1.19 into the OT, hats flying onto the ice to mark his hattrick as the arena erupted in cheers and shouts for the 5-4 win. Isabella’s hands were stinging from clapping by the time the stands started to empty, her cheeks aching from smiling, but she didn’t hesitate to go down to the tunnel like she had that first night, waiting for Anthony to be finished.

As soon as he walked out to meet her, she squealed, making him laugh as he swooped her up in a hug.

“Ahhh Beau! I’m so happy for you! Such an amazing assist!” she said, when he’d put her back down.

Anthony’s assist on Garland’s power play goal was the Canucks second goal of the game, the first of Garland’s three, and she was so proud of him for ending his season so well.

“Felt good to contribute in our last game, I will admit,” Anthony said a little sheepishly.

“See, I told you! Positive thinking!” Isabella grinned.

He just laughed, making her smile soften. He really was so cute, especially when his happiness was shining through like this.

“Most of the team are heading out for drinks again tonight, especially with the win in this last game of the season. Do you want to go?” Anthony asked her, smiling softly.

Like she’d want to be anywhere else.

“Absolutely,” she nodded, “I even brought a leather jacket with me to wear over this tank top instead of the jersey.”

“Oh perfect, I’ll put your jersey in my car before we catch ubers to the bar then, so you don’t have to carry it around,” he said, smiling.

So thoughtful.

The booths reserved in the bar were full of players, various family members, wives and girlfriends, so Isabella didn’t feel like the odd one out for the celebration of the end of their season. That didn’t mean she moved far away from Anthony though. All night they were side-by-side, and Anthony seemed oblivious to the looks he was getting from his teammates where he had his arm round her waist, where he was murmuring in her ear. With the way the drinks were flowing, Isabella didn’t care enough to say anything, to correct their assumptions, letting herself slip to a level that she usually wouldn’t with alcohol. She wasn’t drunkdrunkdrunk, not by any means, but she was far merrier than she usually allowed herself to get, clinging to Anthony in a way that she always had refused herself.

The music blared, shots were pounded back, laughter filled their group, and all throughout Anthony held her tight, his hands possessive in a way they had never been before. He held her closer than he ever had as they swayed on the dancefloor, bodies pressed close, the energy between them crackling. She let herself pretend that it was the heat of the bar not his intense eyes that had her flushed and giddy. The vodka mixers allowed her to pretend anyway, and by the time that Anthony mentioned making a move back home, much later than she thought they would, her mind was a happy haze of BeauBeauBeau. Nothing else mattered, not the knowing winks or the giggles, not the way her feet were aching, not the way she leant heavily on him as they made their way out of the bar to the waiting uber.

They were still leaning against each other as they stumbled out of the taxi at his apartment building, Isabella giggling as she waved goodbye to their driver. Anthony helped hold her up in the elevator, using the wall to prop himself up, Isabella just snuggling into his broad chest with a happy drunken sigh. This was perfect. Did he always smell this good? Was he always this warm?

They slowly made their way to his front door, Anthony holding her close in a way that wasn’t helping them walk in a straight line. Isabella just stayed clutching at him, letting him guide her, humming quietly to herself as she smiled up at him, especially as he smiled widely down at her, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. He struggled to open the front door, making her giggle like she had done getting out of the taxi, and he pressed his finger to her lips in an exaggerated shush, only making her laugh harder. This was bliss, this was heated happiness, this was…her stumbling into the doorframe and falling forward. She slammed into his chest, Anthony somehow holding her upright as he closed the door behind her, his body swaying as he tried to hold them both up.

Isabella clutched as his arms – so strong, so firm – looking up at him with wide eyes, only then noticing how close they were standing. How close he was holding her. Had they ever been this close before? Had his eyes always been that blue?

She jerked out of her thoughts as he pressed his lips to hers.

Isabella moaned softly before she could stop herself, Anthony quickly pulling away, lips red. Wow. Wow. So that was what it was like to kiss him? As she looked back up into his beautiful eyes, some of the fog in her head cleared, only to be replaced by how good that felt. She had to do it again. She had to know what it felt like to kiss him again.

It seemed like Anthony felt the same way, because one of his hands flew up to cup her head as he pushed her back against the door, a loud gasp tearing from her throat just before he took her lips in a kiss once more. There it was. This, right here. She melted into his embrace, clutching as his shirt with her hands as she hungrily kissed him back, Anthony moaning into her mouth before he slid his tongue past her lips. Her head spun as she lost herself in his kisses, her body lighting up with an electricity she hadn’t felt in a long time as their bodies surged together, moaning again as his free hand slid over her ass and squeezed. Never had she felt like this with a first kiss. Never had she wanted this much.

Then Anthony broke the kiss, barely pulling away, just enough so she could blearily see that he was panting as hard as she was.

“Do you want to…?”

“Yes.”

It was her pounding headache that woke her up, paired with the start of rolling nausea. All Isabella could do for longer than she could tell was breathe in and out slowly, measured breaths careful enough to not set off a run to the bathroom that she didn’t really want to do. She knew she drank more than she usually would last night; not enough to be obliterated, no, but these were the consequences that always reminded her why she had her alcohol limits. Her head feeling like it was going to crack in two, her stomach clenching over and over, her bare body clammy and chilled in the early morning air.

Wait, what?

Bare body. She was naked? What?

The moment that her mind processed the new information, the end of the evening caught up with her, reminding her exactly what had happened. Clutching hands, clashing lips, heated breath, stinging bites, pleasure like she’d never felt before. Anthony filling her, surrounding her, moaning out her name as she cried out his. Fuck.

Oh fuck what had she done? Tears stung at her eyes, clouding her gaze as she slowly glanced over her shoulder, carefully so as not to make her nausea worse…and there he was, just as naked as she was. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She clasped a hand over her mouth to muffle any sounds that might escape her, glad she’d done so as the arm she hadn’t noticed draped over her waist tightened slightly with her minor movement.

She’d ruined everything. Everything. How could she have been so stupid to give in to her desires for him? How could anything ever be the same again between them?

Tears finally trickled down her cheeks as Anthony huffed a breath that ruffled her curls, his legs shifting enough to slot one of them between hers. As she cried, biting her bottom lip to muffle her quiet sobs, her headache came back with full force, throbbing like nothing she’d ever felt before. It was all Isabella could do to close her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep, hoping that when she woke up again that all of this would disappear. A stupid aimless hope, she knew that, but it was all she could cling to.

She drifted in and out of sleep as the hours went on, head pounding and swimming enough that she couldn’t wake herself up fully let alone move, but by the time that the midday sun filtered through the curtains she knew she couldn’t avoid getting out of bed anymore.

Just as she was gathering the courage to remove his arm from her waist, that arm tightened again, pulling her roughly back against his bare body, making her gasp loud enough for Anthony to flinch -and quickly shoot back across the bed as he woke up in alarm.

“Shit. Shit, Bells…”

Isabella let out a shaky breath before sitting upright, clutching the bedsheets to her chest in a poor attempt at modesty.

“Hi Beau,” she said with a watery smile.

She knew her smile looked as fake as it felt by the way that Anthony’s face fell. He ran a hand through his hair, looking at a loss for words, so she stayed silent too. There was nothing she could say to make this situation better, she knew that. And it wasn’t like she even knew what to say either. Everything she had worked so hard to prevent, the loss of their friendship being the main part, was for nothing. This was the beginning of the end – and by the way he wouldn’t look at her, she felt it in her bones as a certainty.

“I…”

She cut herself off, swallowing heavily to stop the lump rising in her throat as Anthony closed his eyes briefly. Fuck. Fuck.

“I’m going to shower. And pack all my stuff,” she eventually managed to say.

That, at least, made Anthony finally look over at her.

“What?”

She cleared her throat, willing herself not to cry at the intensity in his beautiful blue eyes.

“I fly home tomorrow, and I haven’t packed yet. There’s only this afternoon left to do it, and seeing as I have to be at the airport by 6.30am, I really don’t want to be packing last minute tomorrow morning,” she said as calmly as she could.

“Bells, wait, please,” he murmured.

She forced a polite smile on her face, hating that he winced when he saw it, hating that it was necessary to make her feel even a little bit of normality.

“And I think I’ll book a taxi to take me to the airport too, as it’s early,” she finished.

Rather than Anthony taking her, as they’d agreed previously. Before this clusterfuck ending of their friendship.

“No,” he said sharply.

“What?” she said, bland masking failing a little.

“I’ll still drive you to the airport,” he said.

Why? Why would he want to do that?

“You don’t have to,” she said, voice cracking.

“I want to,” Anthony said, shaking his head, “Please, Bells.”

The desperation in his voice made her heart ache as much as it confused her. Why was he so insistent? Why did he want to do this?

“Sure.”

The relief in Anthony’s eyes only confused her more.

Friday was possibly the most awkward day she’d ever spent in Anthony’s company. Isabella had managed to make it through her shower with shaky legs, eventually sliding down the wall to huddle on the shower floor, the sound of the shower muffling her crying enough for Anthony to leave her in peace as he caught an uber back to the arena to collect his car. Even when he arrived back, he still left her alone to pack all her things scattered around the guest room, which she somehow managed to stretch out into taking two hours. The rest of the day had been spent avoiding him as much as possible, sitting at opposite ends of the sofa while they ate pizza that night, neither one of them wanting to cook for obvious reasons, and she had claimed an early night for her early start the next day.

But it had taken so long for her to fall asleep, her mind not shutting off, overthinking every little interaction the two of them had that day, so by the time her alarm went off at 5am she was even more exhausted than the day before. Still, she knew she couldn’t delay the inevitable, and got up to leave Anthony for what she feared would be the last time.

Because that was where this was heading, wasn’t it? Everything between them – their friendship, their closeness, all that they shared – had been ruined the moment she stepped into his bedroom in an alcohol-fuelled lust haze. Neither of them had made the step forward yesterday to do anything about their dwindling friendship, and now…now it was too late.

Her flight from Vancouver was due to leave at 8.35am, with her due to land in LaGuardia at 8pm, having one stop for connecting flight in Denver for 1.45hrs. Her company had booked flights for the cheapest options available; the timings and airports weren’t her choice at all, but in this moment, the early flight was some kind of blessing.

Unsurprisingly, their drive to airport was quiet. Isabella didn’t even have a coffee mug to distract herself with, not wanting the caffeine in this jittery body before she ate something a little later, so the time in the car with him felt like it dragged. That aching feeling only dragged out when Anthony paid $5.00 for the parkade and walked her to the main departures doors.

“So I guess this is goodbye,” Anthony murmured, handing her the suitcase he wheeled over from the car for her.

Why did that hurt so much more than she thought it would?

“I guess so,” she said softly, clutching at her handbag like it was a lifeline.

Without warning, Anthony stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. Isabella couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped her throat, and she found herself hugging him back just as tightly, burying her face in the crook of his neck, trying not to tremble at the close contact. She could feel his face pressing into her curls, his breathing shaky like he was trying not to cry, and she desperately willed herself not to cry either when tears stung her eyes. This wasn’t fair. How had everything boiled down to this, after all their years of friendship? How was everything over?

She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t cling onto him when she knew that any moment she would have to let him go for real. So, Isabella found the strength to unclench her hands from his shirt, taking the step backwards that she didn’t want to take. Hundreds of words flew around her head, everything she wanted to say to him that she didn’t know how to voice. And it looked like he wanted to say something too, lips parting and hand raising towards her…until his hand dropped back to his side and he took a proper step backwards, clearing his throat.

A little bit of her died inside at the misery in his eyes.

Was this really goodbye forever?

“Have a safe flight. Let me know when you land?” Anthony said softly.

“It won’t be for nearly 9 hours,” she said, hesitating.

“I don’t care,” he said immediately, “Please?”

She just sighed, nodding. “Yeah, of course Beau.”

He smiled in response, but it just looked sad to her. As sad as the emptiness in his eyes. But before she could say anything to change his expression even the slightest bit, a big shuttle bus pulled up and a group of loud people stepped out, ruining the last chance. Their last chance?

It was all Isabella could to do smile sadly at him as she walked into the airport.

Her flight was restless – she was too awake to sleep but too caught up in her thoughts to read a book or watch a movie. If she was being honest with herself, she couldn’t even remember what she ate. If she ate. All she was able to do, as if punishing herself further, was to put her headphones over her ears to drown the world out and listen to the playlist he had made her for her original flight out, silently crying the whole time.

Her seatmate hadn’t noticed the way she was falling apart next to her.

Eventually she had to face reality as her plane landed in LaGuardia. It would do no good for her heart if she didn’t text Anthony as he’d asked her to, so she pulled out her phone as she waited for the plane to start disembarking.

From: Isabella Hey, just landed.

It was short and to the point, but it was all she could manage while she felt like a dried-out husk. Somehow, tears stung at her eyes when he immediately messaged back, like he was waiting for her in a way that made no sense.

From: Anthony Thank you for letting me know. I hope your flight was okay.

Was that concern? Was that politeness? She couldn’t figure it out in her exhausted state so she just exited out of their conversation and put her phone away. That was a problem for another day. All she could manage right now was standing up out of her seat and shuffling off the plane. Everything else could wait for tomorrow. It would have to.

Seven days. Seven days passed without a word from Anthony. This was the longest they’d ever gone without speaking, the time stretching out like an impossible chasm. She knew she could’ve responded to his message after her flight, but she hadn’t known what to say, and a couple of days later it felt too late to respond to that particular thread of conversation. But Anthony hadn’t contacted her again either. Maybe it really had been politeness, his comment on her journey, but if it wasn’t then she didn’t really know what to think.

All she knew was that the longer she didn’t text him and the longer that he didn’t text her, she felt like her fragile heart was crumbling, and she didn’t know how to salvage any of it – if anything could be salvaged at all.

Her body ached, the loss of contact with him feeling like a missing limb. She hadn’t felt heartbreak like this before, not with any ex-boyfriends, and this time it was all her fault anyway. Maybe she deserved to feel this empty, this aching. It was all she could do to trudge forward on auto-pilot, trying to get back into her routine as a desperate attempt to cling onto some form of normality. By the time Saturday 22nd rolled around though, she was done. Without work to distract her like it had all week, Isabella knew she needed to get out of her apartment or she would go insane from her overbearing thoughts. So she decided to treat herself to lunch out at a secluded café she hadn’t been to in a while, allowing the walk to clear her foggy thoughts, and by the time her sandwich was in front of her she felt a little more human.

“Bells?”

Isabella looked up sharply, breath hitching at the man standing in front of her.

Mat.

She hadn’t forgotten that this was the café that she, Anthony, and Mat used to all go to together. That did make sense why she hadn’t been there since he left New York though.

“Hey, Barzy, fancy bumping into you here,” she said warmly.

Mat just smiled as she stood up from her seat, wasting no time in giving her a big hug, making her laugh as she hugged him back. Clearly he had the same thoughts as her, getting out for a little while, especially considering he’d just had a run of playoff games against Carolina on Monday 17th, Wednesday 19th, and Friday 21st.

“I know we’ve texted back and forth a lot but I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since Beau got traded,” she said, smiling softly as he sat down opposite her.

But the moment that his smile turned sympathetic, she knew.

“He told you?” she murmured, smile falling.

He bit his bottom lip, hesitating, but that only made her feel worse.

“Barzy please, did he tell you what happened in Vancouver?” she whispered harshly.

Mat huffed out a sign before nodding “He did.”

She immediately felt sick, physically and mentally, her whole body seizing - but Mat quickly shook his head at whatever her face was doing.

“Bells, no, only because he’s freaking out that he’s ruined everything,” Mat insisted.

“Ruined everything?” she asked quietly, her voice catching in her throat as she tried to breathe.

“Look, I don’t know the details. And I sure as hell don’t really want to know them, that’s between you two,” Mat said firmly.

She couldn’t help but laugh softly at the dramatic grimace on his face, and Mat’s expression softened.

“He’s in a real mess, Bells. I’ve never seen him like this before,” Mat said, smiling sadly, “Did he ruin everything?”

He was in a mess? Just as much as she was?

“No, no he hasn’t,” she said with a sad smile, “I thought I did.”

“Man, you two are as bad as each other. I thought your trip to Vancouver would’ve sorted that out finally,” Mat sighed.

What? Sorted what out?

“What?” she managed to choke out.

Mat just shook his head fondly. “Everyone saw the way you two look at each other. We all thought you’d get together, although I’m pretty sure some of the rookies thought you were already dating.”

Well that was something she thought she’d never hear. What the hell?

“I just…he’s one of my best friends, you know? You’re my friend too - and you’re good for him. I want things to be back to normal between you two,” Mat said, smiling sadly.

If that didn’t break her heart even further, she didn’t know what would.

“I don’t know if they can ever go back to normal,” she admitted, hating the words as honest as they were, eyes stinging slightly, “But I don’t want to lose him. I just don’t know what to do.”

He pursed his lips, nodding as he fell silent for a moment. It was all she could do to sip at her coffee, especially as it looked like her friend was thinking hard.

“Do you like him?” Mat asked suddenly.

“W-What?”

“Do you like him? As more than a friend?”

She choked out a laugh, glancing up at the ceiling, trying to fight the tears that sprang to her eyes again. What kind of question was that? Of course she did. She’d never denied it, not that anyone had ever asked her. Anthony was her person, one of the only people in her life that she truly trusted. Of course she liked him. Hell, she was already falling in love with him at this point, she could admit that much to herself. And if Mat’s words held any truth…maybe he was falling for her too?

“Yeah. Yeah, I do like him. More than I probably should for someone who’s never heard from his lips how he feels about me,” she eventually admitted.

Mat’s face split into a smile. “Leave this with me.”

What?

“Barzy…” she warned.

“No, I’m serious, leave it with me. Do you trust me?” Mat said firmly.

“Yeah, you know I do,” Isabella said without hesitation.

Because she did. There wasn’t a malicious bone in Mat Barzal’s body, especially when it came to his friends, and Isabella was fortunate to count herself as one of them. But what did he mean?

“Then let me talk to him, okay? This will all work out, Bells,” Mat said seriously, “You’ll see.”

Hope was dangerous for her fragile heart. But here Mat was, dangling it down on a silver string.

“I really hope you’re right, Barzy,” she sighed.

He just grinned. A thousand girls would kill to have that beaming smile sent their way, but all she could think about was his blue-eyed friend on the other side of Canada.

“I’d better go – got the 4th game in our playoffs series tomorrow. But don’t be a stranger,” Mat said, standing up from his eat.

“I won’t. I’m rooting for you guys against the Canes,” she said, smiling despite the whirling of her emotions.

“Damn right you are,” he grinned.

There was the Mat she knew.

A few days more days passed without a word from Mat, or from…anyone else. She knew that Mat was busy, obviously having watched his 4th playoff game on Sunday. She’d even texted him after his 5-2 loss against the Canes, getting nothing but a crying face back which was more than she could’ve hoped for from him in this intense time. But nothing else, and she tried not to let that hope flicker away. She wouldn’t let herself get invested, not until she knew anything for sure. She couldn’t, otherwise she didn’t know if she would survive.

It took until Tuesday 25th for Isabella to wake up with a text from Anthony.

Her hands shook as she flicked open their neglected message thread, eyes stinging as she scanned his words.

From: Anthony I’m sorry that I haven’t texted you. I’m guessing you haven’t texted me either for the same reasons. I hate that everything’s gotten so awkward and distant between us but talking with Barzy yesterday gave me hope. Will you please listen to this playlist? we’re lost and found.

Isabella had already planned on working from home today but this would’ve pushed her to anyway. He’d actually messaged her. There was still hope? Anthony hadn’t given up on them after all. He’d made her a new playlist? And from the sounds of it, if he’d talked to Barzy like Barzy said he would, this was going to be something that was either going to break her heart for good or give her more hope than she knew what to do with.

Rather than opening the link on her phone, she opened up her personal laptop, clicking on the playlist we’re lost and found when Spotify was open, and quickly clicked play.

“Sunlight comes creepin' in, Illuminates our skin, We watched the day go by, Stories of all we did, It made me think of you, It made me think of you.”

As the lyrics to Birdy’s Wings filled the room, Isabella could do nothing to stop the tears from springing to her eyes. This song was one of her current favourites, he knew this. And if he’d remembered that…what else had he included in the playlist? She quickly scrolled through the rest of the list, eyes scanning every song, every choice he made, aching pangs starting in her chest at his selections.

Wings – Birdy Never Let Me Go – Florence + The Machine Hold You – Nina Nesbitt, Kodaline Wherever You Will Go – Charlene Soraia Teach Me How to Be Loved – Rebecca Ferguson Set Me on Fire – Bella Ferraro Kiss Me – Jason Walker Yours – Ella Henderson Still into You – Paramore Adore You – Harry Styles Tongue Tied – Take Me To Your Best Friends House Slow Hands – Niall Horan I Choose You – Sara Bareilles Lover – Taylor Swift Lover Of Mine – 5 Seconds of Summer this is how you fall in love – Jason Zucker, Chelsea Cutler Falling Like The Stars – James Arthur A Thousand Years – Christina Perri Take Me To Church – Hozier Next To Me – Emeli Sandé I Won’t Give Up – Jason Mraz When You Love Someone – James TW

She felt like she wasn’t breathing, couldn’t breathe, the long curated-collection sending her thoughts scrambling. Did he really feel…? Was he really saying…? Why was he only saying this now, when everything had become so fraught between them?

“If I could, then I would, I’d go wherever you will go.”

The Charlene Soraia cover, another favourite. Fuck, he really had put so much effort into this, hadn’t he? The thoughts, the emotions, everything that he was feeling he had put into this playlist. Playlists were their thing, and the fact that he’d made something like this for her, to show her how he felt…it was everything. She let the music wash over her, tears pouring down her cheeks as she let her heart truly feel what it wanted to feel for the first time, soaking in all of the emotion that he’d poured into this playlist. This was him, and this was her, and it was them. What more could she say?

“But with you I’ve learned how to let it out, Now my heart is ready to burst, Cause I feel like I’m ready for love, And I want to be your everything and more.”

Ella Henderson’s voice continued to spill out from her laptop speakers, but Isabella couldn’t take anymore. She had to speak to him. She had to know…she had to…fuck, she needed to hear his voice. And it only took three rings for him to answer.

“Hey, Bells.”

She sniffled as a couple of tears trickled down her cheeks, closing her eyes at the sound of his voice. “Hey, Beau.”

They fell silent for a moment, just listening to each other breathe, before Anthony eventually cleared his throat.

“You’re listening to the playlist then? I can hear Ella singing in the background.”

He knew it that well, that he could recognise a faint song? How many times had he listened to these songs before he sent them over?

“Yeah. Yeah I am. I have to know…Beau, why did you create this? Why these songs?” she murmured, eyes finally opening, staring at the list in front of her.

He huffed out a laugh, sighing softly.

“It’s always going to be you, Bells. There’s no-one else for me.”

The sound that tore out of her throat barely felt human, and her free hand quickly flew up to cover her mouth, a distraught sound coming through the phone as Anthony heard her.

“Hey, talk to me, please?”

She took a shaky breath, willing herself to stay calm, to keep herself together, and she nodded to herself, steeling her nerves.

“There’s no-one else for you?” she murmured.

“There hasn’t been for a long time.”

The smile that tugged at her lips felt traitorous somehow, her mind not believing his words. He’s liked her for a long time? How was this real? As if he could sense her warring thoughts, Anthony sighed.

“I don’t know what to say to make you believe me. Please, just listen to the songs. They show everything that I can’t over the phone. Music has always spoken for us before, right? So I’m trying to let it speak for me now.”

He was right. Music had always been the thing that connected them, that said everything they didn’t need to say. Except this time, she needed him to say something – and here he was, translating himself in a way that spoke to them both.

“You really feel this way about me?” she said softly, her voice filled with wonder.

“I really do. And I’m hoping, from everything Barzy said and the fact that you haven’t hung up on my yet, that you feel this way for me too?”

Right, because she hadn’t actually said anything that was on her mind. It was all him. Just like always.

“Yeah, Beau, I do. I like you so much,” she said, choking out a laugh, “I just…didn’t think you would ever feel the same for me. The last week has been torture.”

“I’m so sorry. I am so unbelievably sorry for ever making you feel like you aren’t the most important person in my life.”

She choked out a sob this time, her body thrumming, her heart aching, Anthony just making soft reassuring noises through the speaker until she was able to compose herself once more.

“I’ve got locker clear out tomorrow, and then…then I’m thinking about coming to New York for a few weeks. I think we should talk, really talk, face to face. We both deserve that much.”

“Yeah, you’re right. And I’d like that,” she said, a little shyly.

With further tentative plans for Isabella to join him in Quebec after he spent some time with her in New York, she ended the call, her heart full and her cheeks aching with smiling, tacky with happy tears.

Maybe she didn’t know what tomorrow would hold. Or next month. Or even when Anthony was back in Vancouver all over again. But she knew that what she felt for him was worth trying for. And wasn’t that all that mattered anyway? Anthony Beauvillier was falling in love with her just like she was falling in love with him, and she couldn’t wait to see where this journey would take her, especially with him by her side.

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