“Wait—” What? I felt like I was being slapped awake from a trance.

“I’ll text him to meet us at the airport.” Janie pulled out her cell phone, which she was still getting used to, and began to tap the screen.

“This is madness.” I shook my head. “He’s probably taping his show, how am I ever going to get past security?” I shook my head again. After four days of moping and waiting I couldn’t quite follow the conversation, couldn’t quite believe the swiftness with which my knitting group had decided my future.

“We’ll worry about that later.” Marie, and everyone else, had already started packing up their knitting bags.

Fiona reached for my hand, squeezed it. “Go to him, Elizabeth. Go to him and tell him you want to marry him, that you can’t live without him.”

“Right now, I feel like I can’t even breathe without him.”

“Good.” She winked at me. “Men love that kind of stuff.”

~*~

The next hour was a blur.

I had to hand it to Quinn, though. The man had mad skills and was, honestly, a bit of a badass. The plane was ready and waiting to depart by the time we all arrived. Quinn gave us an overview of the plan—his plan—as soon as we were buckled up.

There would be a limo waiting for us at the airport. It would drive us directly to where Nico filmed his show; I would have one hour to find, talk to, and resolve things with Nico before I had to be back in the car on the way to the airport to make it back for Angelica’s infusion and my 11:00 p.m. shift at the hospital.

At one point Sandra asked, “What about security? Nico’s security? How do we get pass them?”

Quinn’s mouth hooked to the side, he raised a single eyebrow, and he pinned her with his steady icicle gaze. “I am security,” he said.

I think everyone—but me—swooned a little, even Fiona. I rolled my eyes and scoff-snorted.

Typical Quinn.

Everything was going according to plan except me. I was freezing up with anxiety. I played the words I would say to him over and over in my head, working through the moves like a chess game, continually changed them. In my mind the conversation ended in disaster each time, with him wanting space or telling me I was too late.

I realized there were a million ways he could reject me and only one way to accept me. The odds were not in my favor.

I was also feeling a little ridiculous. I could just wait till he returned from New York in a week, have this conversation with him then. But part of me felt like it would be too late; if I waited then he might not believe me, he might force us into relationship limbo because he was afraid of pushing me.

Waiting would be rationale and reasonable and completely suffocating.

We pulled up to the giant skyscraper that held Nico’s studio. My fingers were talons, gripping the leather bench. I glanced around the car—Janie, Quinn, Kat, Marie, Sandra, Ashley, Fiona—they were all watching me, waiting for me to move.

“Go get him,” Fiona whispered on my left.

“We’ll run interference!” Sandra smiled; it was a big, goofy grin followed by two thumbs up.

I almost choked.

“Let’s go.” Quinn exited the car first then pointed to me. “You. Out. Now.”

I released an unsteady breath and allowed my friends to push me from the car. They filed out soon after. Quinn was already walking, and I jogged to keep up with him. I shook my hands, opening and closing my fingers. My heart was racing. There was no turning back now.

He led us past a pair of armed guards then through a back door then a series of hallways. We sounded like a disorganized army or gang, clomping through the sterile passage. Quinn stopped at an elevator; we took it to the fortieth floor; we exited.

I was lost in my own head and allowed myself to be guided through the maze. We stopped while Quinn engaged in a discussion with a tall, intimidating-looking man wearing a black suit. Another man walked up in a flannel shirt, he had a large headset—the double headphone kind—strapped to his ears. He was shaking his head.

Quinn pointed to me. The man glanced at me, frowned, then shook his head. I stepped forward so I could hear the conversation.

“I can’t let you on the set, it’s a live taping and the audience is full.”

“When my people called they said Mr. Moretti would be free until eight.” Quinn’s voice was deadpan.

“The schedule had to change, one of our guests had a conflict. I’m sorry, but we can’t let anyone out or in for the next ninety minutes. I’ll be able to take you backstage where you can wait till the show is over.”

My heart dropped to my feet, and I wanted to scream, “Oh the humanity!” But felt, obviously, that use of the phrase would likely be inappropriate and an overreaction by a hormonal and irrationally in-love female.

I could feel Quinn gathering his scariness around him like a weapon. He stood a little taller, his eyes grew a little colder—if possible—and his air became a bit more menacing. I held out hope that he would be able to bully us into the studio, and I’d find a way to talk to Nico, get him alone.

Meanwhile Mr. Headphones glanced at me again, did a double take and a once-over—obviously absorbing my scrubs, braid, lack of makeup, smudges under my eyes. “Wait a minute, are you . . .” He crossed his arms. “Aren’t you Elizabeth Finney, Nico’s doctor lady?”

I nodded, unable to stem the verbal geyser that spewed forth. “Listen, I just need five minutes. Five minutes. I need to talk to him, now. Right. Now. But it’s okay if you can’t make that happen. And it can’t wait, it’s an emergency. Well, not a real emergency, just an emergency to me. I know I’m acting like a crazy person but I’ve flown in from Chicago and I can’t believe I’m asking you to interrupt his show and it’s very selfish of me and unprofessional so I completely understand if you have to say no—no pressure or worries—but I have to see him or else . . . or else . . . or else I might die, not actually die just die a little, everyday, on the inside knowing I could have done something, but didn’t. Which will likely make me die sooner—but it won’t be your fault, but in a way I guess it would be.”

I wondered if he followed my path of mixed messages, because I didn’t. During my nonsensical tirade the ladies had huddled around us, and I felt all their eyes behind me, watching the man with the headphones, waiting for his verdict. He surveyed me for a long moment, his face a scrunched up mess of amusement and confusion.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want to talk to Nico about?”

“I want to ask him to marry me.”

He nodded thoughtfully. He stroked his chin. If he was surprised he didn’t show it. “You’ll have to do it in front of everyone.”

I thought about this for a split second then nodded my head. “Okay. I can do that.”

“And you’ll have to get his attention as part of the show. I have no way of letting him know you’re out there.”

I twisted my fingers. “What can I do?”

“Have you watched the show?”

I shook my head.

“You have to get naked.” The answer came from Sandra on my right. Everyone looked at her, their expressions serious. “Remember, I’m a fan of the show. First of all, you have to be wearing your underwear just to be in the front-most audience section. If you want to make it on stage then you have to get naked, or at least mostly naked, or be a crazy good dancer. The dancers pick out members of the audience to come up and dance with them.

The man spoke up again, “But even then, you’re still in a crowd of people about thirty feet or so from Nico.”

I clenched my teeth, inhaled and exhaled through my nose, then started to undress.

“Oh my god.” Ashley and Sandra held hands. Everyone else watched me with stunned disbelief.

“It’s like our panty parties.” Janie tugged on my arm. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No!” Quinn shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“She has a point, actually.” Marie gave Quinn then me a practical smile. “If we all go in there we’ll have a better chance of getting his attention.”

Quinn looked at the ceiling as though appealing to a higher power. “This is ridiculous.”

“That’s true.” The man nodded at Marie. “Most people are just trying to get attention for themselves, but if all of you went in there and tried to help Elizabeth, Dr. Finney, get on stage, she’d have a higher chance of success.”

“That means you too, Quinn.” Fiona lifted her eyebrows at him even as she pulled off her shoes. “If I have to go out there and dance in my underwear after having two kids, then you better start stripping.”

Quinn released a breath through his nose that reminded me of a horse, but I knew he would be undone by one pleading look from Janie. Some of my frayed nerves were calmed by the realization that my girls would be going with me; I would not be alone, and that—at the very least—I would be able to tease Quinn Sullivan about this moment for the rest of my life.

I was down to my lacy black bra and matching, thankfully modest, boyshorts first.

Ashley was next. “Thank god I shaved yesterday!”