One Last Job

by Anise Starre

I’d give her every last one of my minutes on Earth if it meant I’d never have to see or hear her like that again.

“Beautiful, passionate, stubborn women who don’t have a problem telling me what they really think about me.” She lifts a brow and hums. “That’s very specific.” “I know what I like.” She tries to hide her smile by spearing some chicken onto her fork and taking a bite. “Well, I hope you find her one of these days.” I wonder how long we’re going to pretend like I haven’t already.

I’ve developed an annoying new habit. Staring. Specifically, staring at Amber.

“And it’s quite small, and–” “Don’t do that.” Her brows furrow. “Don’t do what?” “Make yourself small.”

“You don’t have to do that around me, sweetheart.” I’m not going to dismiss you. I’m not going to make you feel like your wins don’t matter.

“I’m going to marry you one day, Amber.” He says it so simply, like it’s a given fact of life. The sky is blue, the Earth is round and, one day, Finn Hawthorne is going to marry me.

“And I’d never ask you to drop everything for me.”