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From the corner of the yard, Lezak lets out a loud bark, clearly pleased with the idea. Whenever I look at him now, I get a little teary-eyed because he’s not a small puppy anymore. He’s grown so much since I met him, but he’s still the same adorable dog. He still wakes up at the ass crack of dawn for workouts with Ronan and then wakes me up with kisses when they get back home. He still trails up and down the length of the pool when we’re at work, and watches the swimmers closely like he’s their coach instead of Ronan. And he still steals things, including the small box Ronan hid a key in forwhen he planned to ask me to move in. That time, it was Ronan chasing the dog down the stairs and I was the one he brought his prize to.

Ronan didn’t even need to ask the question.

Now the dog sits across the yard with Emmie in the grass beside him. She’s trying to play with a small bundle, but the young corgi is much more interested in climbing Lezak like a jungle gym. I still can’t believe Bryce caved so easily, the two of them showing up at my door one evening with the tiniest puppy in Josie’s hands. They named her Charlotte, Charlie for short, to remember the moment they met for the first time.

In practically the same place Ronan and I met that same spring.

“I think Bryce’s comeback is more than enough to focus on,” Josie argues from her fiancé’s lap. He squeezes her hip. “Oh, right, we aren’t calling it a comeback. What is it then? A resurrection? A reverse disappearing act?”

He hides his laugh in her hair.

“No, Josie’s right,” I cut in. “If all these people come out of retirement to swim at an Olympics on home soil, we might need to restart the blog, and no one has time for that.”

Josie groans in commiseration. “There’s so much you have to do to run a blog like that. I don’t think I remember how.”

“Besides,” Ronan adds, “Josie is too busy basking in the success of her debut novel!”

Josie released her bookThe Gold Between Usa little over a month ago and has been blown away by the success of it. People are apparently jumping at the chance to read a sports romance based on a real couple. The sales keep pouring in, she’s been asked to be a guest on podcasts. Influencers are dying for the chance to work with her. Unable to take credit for her job well done, she insists her successcomes from my marketing, which is total bullshit. All the marketing in the world won’t make a shitty book sell.

Bryce somehow pulls her closer and whispers something against her ear. Her cheeks turn bright red, and she ducks her head. The look of pure pride on his face tells me everything I need to know.

“Hey, Mia?” I turn to see Liam sticking his head out of the sliding door. “You might want to get in here before Katrina plans to tear the whole kitchen out. Something about stupid bachelor décor?”

“Oh, no, she doesn’t!” I’m already moving toward the door. “I want most of it to stay, but yes, the bachelor-ness of it can go.”

Ronan wraps an arm around my wrist, tugging me back into him. “What? You don’t think I’m going to need the bachelor look anymore?”

My eyes narrow at him, his thumb rubbing over the freshly healed tattoo on the inside of my wrist. “You better not.”

He lifts my hand over and brings it up to kiss the skin there. When he stands back up, I take a moment to look at the tattoo. My wrist was one of the few places on my arm I still had space available, and I knew I wanted to see this one every single day. The dark ink stands out on my skin, the drawing nearly perfect as the piece comes together to show three tarot cards: The Four of Cups reversed, The Seven of Wands, and, most importantly, The Lovers.

“Uh, Mia?” Liam sounds panicked now. “Do you want to keep the double oven?”

“Oh, hell no.” I gently push Ronan aside. “Carter, I’m about to fire your girlfriend.”

“You can’t. Ronan hired her!”

“It’s her house, too, man,” Ronan defends me. “She can fire whoever she wants.”

Her house, too.

The sentence is enough to make me melt into a pile of goo. There was a time in my life when I convinced myself Ronan was in my past, and my feelings for him were there, too. Looking back on everything now, I can see the signs of how wrong that thought was. Just because I was mad and hurt, I never stopped caring about him. I cared about him yesterday; I care about him today; and I’ll continue to care for the rest of my life, no matter what happens.

But now I can see that care has been morphed into something bigger, something far less tangible, but infinitely sweeter. I love him.

I loved him yesterday; I love him today; and I’m pretty damn sure I’ll love him for the rest of our lives.

Maybe even beyond.