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“What’s this?”

“An answer,” I say simply.

She opens it and gasps. “Wes…”

“No strings. Just support.”

Her eyes glisten, and she leans against my shoulder. “You’re full of surprises tonight.”

I press a kiss to her hair. “Only the good kind.”

She doesn’t say anything right away. But I feel her fingers slip into mine.

And that’s all the answer I need.

Chapter twenty-three

Quinn

The morning after the Summer Bash starts slow—thankfully. No alarms, no obligations except coffee and leftover blueberry muffins from Megan. I sit on the porch steps at Abby’s house, a mug warming my hands.

I’m watching the hummingbird Abby named Lenny zip around the hanging petunias. My legs ache in that deep, satisfied way that comes from a day spent on your feet and a heart spent trying not to hope too hard.

But hope is there. It’s creeping in like morning light.

Wes’s words from the night before are still circling in my chest.

“Thank you… for reminding me that sometimes the biggest wins don’t happen on the ice. They happen right here.”

He meant it. Not in a charming, public-speaking kind of way—but the bone-deep, heart-settled kind.

And then the envelope.

He handed it to me like it was nothing. But I know what that donation means. For the clinic. For my team. For me.

Jake stumbles onto the porch, hair flattened on one side and still wearing his ninja turtle pajamas. He’s clutching the purple frog from last night like it’s a treasured heirloom.

“You’re up early,” I say.

“I dreamed I was in the dunk tank, but it was full of orange soda. Coach Wes cannonballed into it and splashed a gummy bear octopus.”

I try not to laugh. “Well, that’s… a lot.”

“Do you think Coach Wes is coming to the barbecue tomorrow?”

“I think there’s a good chance.”

He leans his head against my arm. Just for a moment. Then Abby calls from the kitchen, and he’s gone in a blur of bare feet and frog limbs.

I head to the clinic mid-morning, technically still off the clock. I just want to check on some notes and—okay, maybe I want to bask in the glow of yesterday a little longer as I deliver the envelop from Wes. Dr. Patel calls me into his office within five minutes. I hand him the envelope, and as he opens it his mouth drops open, I swear a foot.

He looks up at me, dumbfounded. I think it may be hard for him to actually speak at the moment. “I thought you were expecting this. Why do you look so shell-shocked?” I ask.

“Well yes, but Quinn, I also got a call this morning,” he says, handing me a folder. “From the Sunrise Youth Sports Fund. Apparently, your friend Mr. Archer pulled a few other strings as well.”

My breath catches. “Yes? So what are you saying?”

“Quinn, this envelop is from another source. We’ve got bridge funding from two places. It’s now enough to cover the renewal gap and more. We won’t have to reduce hours or cancel any outreach visits.” He looks at me over his glasses. “And it puts me in a solid place to submit your promotion packet this week.”