On a Tuesday (One Week 1)

“That’s a given, Charlotte.” He held me even tighter. “That’s almost a waste of a condition.”

“Not to me,” I said softly. “And lastly—”

“Yes?”

“Kiss me before I change my mind.”

GRAYSON: ON A TUESDAY

Epilogue

Two years later

SUBJECT: THIS YEAR’S Champion/MVP.

Dear Grayson,

I hope you’re sitting at home on this amazing winter day and thinking hard about your past season. Yes, your team only lost three games, but you never made it to the Super-Bowl.

However, since I did and my team is currently taking to the streets in a victory parade, I thought I would be a terrible best friend if I didn’t share this moment with you via pictures. (They’re attached)

You’re very welcome for the twenty point defeat I handed you in the playoffs.

(I look forward to doing the same thing to your team next season)

The MVP this year,

Kyle

SUBJECT: RE: THIS YEAR’S Champion/MVP.

Dear Kyle,

I’m not sitting at home on this amazing winter day, and I am not thinking hard about my past season at all, as it’s now irrelevant. I’m sitting in my car waiting for you to finally get here so I can propose to my future wife.

Your fucking parade was last week. You had someone hand-deliver the oversized pictures for framing at Charlotte’s gallery. (I’m going to remember that shit next year) and I’m sure you’re responsible for the new billboard outside my window that reads, “I Beat Grayson Connors This Year.” Or, is that not your work?

Hurry up,

Grayson

CHARLOTTE: ON A TUESDAY

Epilogue

Two years later

I WRAPPED THE LAST of today’s canvas orders and made sure I’d signed my name on their boxes in bright, pink ink. Within the past two years, Rosy-gan Cafés & Galleries had become one of the top ten gallery collectives in the city. I’d gone from owning eight locations to sixteen, and my team was composed of some of the most talented artists in the world.

Our art was displayed in over twenty international hotels, and we were receiving design requests from corporate businesses by the hundreds. We also had a new, twenty-year contract with the National Football League to paint ten-foot portraits of each season’s MVP.

“Are you guys still open?” a soft voice called across the showroom.

I set down a box and headed downstairs. “No, we’re actually about to—Nadira?” I walked over and hugged her. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to buy some of your art.”

“You hate my art.”

She laughed. “No, I hated your last collection. I love everything else.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming into town?” I asked. “I could have made dinner reservations.”

“I’ll remember that next time.”

“Did you fly all the way here because you really think I won’t tell Grayson I’m pregnant?” I asked. “Because I’m going to do it tonight. I promise.”

She didn’t answer. She simply smiled and walked over to my work-in-progress.

Before I could ask her how long she’d be in town, my parents walked inside. Then Eric. Then Kyle.

What the...

“You all know the hours of my gallery.” I crossed my arms. “You all also know that I’m not done with your orders from this month, so if this is your sneaky way of banding together and forcing me to put your orders in front of my paying customers, then you have another thing coming.”

Nadira and Eric looked at each other and laughed. My parents shook their heads and gave me their typical, “Oh, Charlotte...”

“So, wait,” Kyle said. “If that was our intention tonight, does that mean it’s possible that I can get my MVP portrait sooner? Because, I mean, I can totally rethink my presence here and I’ve already cleared the space in my condo for the replica version.”

Nadira slapped the back of his head.

“Is it someone’s birthday, then?” I asked, glancing at the calendar on the wall. It was October sixteenth, a Tuesday—and that date didn’t apply to any of their birthdays or milestones.

They ignored my question and started talking amongst themselves, leaving me beyond confused.

I pulled out my phone to ask Grayson if I’d somehow forgotten about an important event, but he suddenly walked through the doors, making me lose my train of thought. It still amazed me that after all these years, he was still capable of making me blush at the very sight of him. That I never failed to feel a magnetic pull in his direction when he entered a room.

“Hey.” I walked over to him and kissed his lips. “Am I forgetting something? Why is everyone here?”

“Because they all know I was supposed to do this nine years ago.”

This? I turned around and looked at them, but they were now staring at me.

“Grayson, what—” I gasped when I turned around and saw him getting down on one knee. His ocean blue eyes were locked on mine, and he looked more nervous now than I’d ever seen him.

“Charlotte Taylor...” He grabbed my hand and kept his voice low. “The past two years have been the best two years of my life, and I know for a fact that the seven before never felt quite right because you weren’t in the picture.”