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Chapter Twenty-Five

A urora

“Hey,” I say, answering the phone as soon as I see Tate’s name light up the screen. “Can you hold on for one second?”

“Absolutely.”

I drop the phone to my side. “Can you finish getting that together and bring it to my office, Tally? I need to take this call.”

“That’s better, anyway. You make me nervous when you stand over my shoulder.”

“I do not.”

She laughs as I leave her office.

The building is relatively empty, with most of the staff leaving around four o’clock. The usual chatter between coworkers, phones ringing, and computers dinging is quiet. You can almost hear yourself think.

“Sorry,” I say, heading down the hall. “Tally and I have been fighting with the tech team all afternoon.”

“If you have work to do, ignore me.”

I slip inside my office and close the door behind me.

“You’re very hard to ignore, Mr. Brewer. I’ve tried.”

He chuckles.

“Also, you’re my boss.” I sit behind my desk. “I’m pretty much required to answer your calls.”

“I’m going to start saving all of my questions until we’re in the office.”

I laugh. “That’s unfair. I answer everything you ask me.”

“True, but at work, you’ll try harder to answer them the way I like them answered.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m on my way to the office. Should arrive in about twenty minutes. Do you need anything?”

My heart flutters at his thoughtfulness. He has so much to do, and so many people counting on him, yet he manages to see if I need anything on his way in. I didn’t know there were real men like this out there.

I could have saved a lot of heartache if I had known.

“I need some things, but nothing you can give me here,” I say, grinning.

He growls, making me laugh.

“I stopped by Gannon’s this morning,” he says.

Oh . “Did you?”

“I did. And I told them about us.”

I sink into my chair as blood rushes to my face. I knew he’d do this eventually, but I didn’t realize it would be so soon.

My emotions are all over the place when it comes to Carys. We did have a conversation, and yes, it ended well. But we said we’d meet for drinks, and we didn’t. The blame is on me more than her because she told me she was pregnant, and I didn’t reach out.

Maybe she hung up the phone that day and decided I was a bitch.

She could’ve boxed me up with her father in her brain and burned us both to the ground.

Carys has always been a sweetheart, and I don’t think she’d do that.

But if she did, the news that I’m dating her best friend—her baby’s uncle—probably wouldn’t go over well.

A few years ago, I would have felt like I own the blame of not maintaining that relationship. That everything’s always my fault. But I’ve grown since then. I’ve learned. Evolved. And I feel simply cautious and conscious that Carys might not be okay with me in her best friend’s life.

“And how did that go?” I ask, wincing.

“Gannon high-fived me for banging the hot stepmommy.”

“ He did not .”

“You’re right. He didn’t.” Tate laughs. “Gannon has never high-fived anyone in his life.”

I exhale into the phone. Bastard.

“They were both perfectly fine with it,” he says. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Carys said to make sure you come to my birthday party, and I assured her you’d be there.”

I sit up. “ Your birthday ?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s soon?”

“It’s the fourth, and we’re having a surprise party for me at Jason’s.”

What? “How is it a surprise party if you know about it?”

“Because surprise parties are more fun. Bianca’s coming with Foxx and Emery. Mom’s going to make it, too, I think. It’s going to be fun. You’ll love it.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat.

I’m not sure if I’m ready to meet the whole family .

Wouldn’t it be better to meet them in small groups? Next year, perhaps?

“What did you have for lunch?” he asks.

My stomach growls at the mention of food. “Nothing. I couldn’t get away from my desk.”

“Unacceptable.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m starving. Would you like to go to the movies tonight?”

“Sure. What do you want to see?”

“The concession stand.”

He snorts. “What?”

“I just want a big bucket of popcorn with extra butter. We can eat and then sleep through the movie.”

Tires squeal in the distance.

“Shit.” An engine roars, and I hear a downshift. “If that’s what you want to do, that’s what we’ll do.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Traffic.”

“I found your washer and dryer this morning and started a load with your sheets. I don’t have a lot of hope that the blueberry stains will come out.”

“I hope not.”

My brows pinch together. “Why? We ruined a perfect set of sheets.”

“I’d rather have the memories than perfection.” His engine roars. “I have to make a quick stop, and then I’ll be back in the office. I have something to discuss with you. Can you pencil me in for a quick chat?”

“It’s going to cost you.”

He laughs. “Talk soon.”

“Bye.”

I lay my phone on my desk and breathe a sigh of relief.

“Gannon high-fived me for banging the hot stepmommy.”

I laugh, shaking my head. It’s a goofy line, said to make me relax, and I appreciate Tate for knowing I needed the levity. I wonder, however, if he knows that all these references to various forms of parenting are making me think.

I’m not sure I’m ready for marriage again, but I am becoming more certain that I do want to have children.

My age makes me worry. The fact that I’m not married and can’t even see the marriage path clearly makes me worry even more.

But the more I think about having a baby, the more certain I feel that I want to experience motherhood.

The part that worries me the most? I can’t imagine sharing a child with anyone but Tate.

I trust him more than I’ve ever trusted a man. He’s the greatest to me. His employees adore him. The way he talks about his family proves that there’s not a bad bone in his body because if anyone else talks shit about another person, it’s their sibling.

He’s the kind of man with whom you’d want to raise a child.

Smart. Kind. A huge heart.

I look up as a knock sounds against my door.

“Come in,” I say, clearing my throat.

Tally barges in and plops into a chair. “I still hate it.”

“Oh no.”

“You know how they say that there are people for radio and people for television?”

“Kind of.”

“Well, there are people made to work in tech and people made to make it pretty. Those people are not the same.” She slides a folder across my desk. “These are the quotes that Charlie requested for a multitude of marketing items. Tate said to give them to you.”

“To me?”

I open the folder and flip through the pages. Each one is for an amount larger than the previous one. There are stacks of bills, all in alphabetical order, and the running total in my head makes me sweat.

This is crazy.

“This invoice is for fifty thousand dollars.” I gasp. “I can’t approve this.”

“Why not?”

I look up and find Tate leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s not my money to spend,” I tell him.

“What do you think when you look at those invoices?” he asks.

I leaf through a few on top. “Honestly? I love Charlie, and he does an amazing job. But I have no idea why we’re paying these prices. We can get a lot of this done much, much cheaper.”

Tally stands. “I’m going to go fight the tech department. Remember, I leave early tomorrow. Gotta get my pickleball physical.”

“What?” Tate asks, amused.

“It’s a long story, Mr. Brewer. Just know that I’m a pickleball wizard. I can’t be stopped.”

“Good to know,” he says, laughing as she struts out of my office with her ponytail swishing behind her.

He comes in and sets a bucket of theater popcorn on my desk.

“Holy crap,” I say, laughing in disbelief. “Where did you get that?”

“The cinema down the street.”

“You just walked in and got it?”

He shrugs as he sits in the chair Tally just occupied. “Yeah. You can do that.”

“Are you sure?”

“I just did it. I’m sure.”

My heart swells, and I can’t stop grinning. “Thank you. This is the sweetest thing.”

“So why is your intern going to fight the tech department?” Tate asks, taking a handful of popcorn.

“We’re having some issues with the guys not listening to the adjustments we request. I’m going down there to have a face-to-face with them tomorrow.”

Tate arches a brow.

“The website is the home of the organization,” I say. “It can’t look like shit. And if they can’t understand what we’re going for, I’ll find someone who can.”

He grins. “I like you fiery.”

“You should’ve seen me an hour ago. I threatened a printer. Had it quaking in its boots.”

His chest shakes as he laughs.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” I ask, tossing a couple of perfectly popped kernels in my mouth. “By the way, you buttered this like a popcorn pro.”

“Good to know. I’ll add that to my résumé.” He takes another handful from the bucket. “So I wanted to talk to you about a hypothetical situation.”

“Gotta love those.”

He reaches behind him and shuts the door.

“This stays between us,” he says.

“Of course.”

“If you were given a clean slate—that is, starting from scratch—what would you do differently to make this franchise a success?”

“ Anything ?” I ask.

“Anything.”

This is a marketing lover’s dream.

“Safe space?” I ask.

“Safe space.”

“Okay, then.” I rub my hands together. “First, I’d get rid of that terrible Raptors mascot and replace it with something elevated yet relatable.

We’d build an iconic logo that’s fresh and marketable—something that looks great on merch.

That sounds crazy, but it isn’t. Great merch is easy marketing, and the best brands have it figured out. ”

“Those are great points.”

“I’m not done.” I chuckle, just getting started. “New colors that don’t scream Midwestern US high school basketball.”

“That’s an interesting comparison.”

I shrug. “That’s exactly what the dusty black and crimson screams, and that’s not the message we want to put out.”

“No, it’s not.”

“With that said, we’d update the facilities and overhaul the arena. Give people a reason to want to come and spend their money here. Make it a good time.”

He smiles, grabbing another few kernels.

“I don’t know a lot about hockey,” I admit. “But I’d look at the coaching staff and roster. We need people who are a draw. People love winners, sure, but they also love people with a story. People they can root for or against. It doesn’t matter.”

“I love that.”

“Stronger digital platforms. Involve the fans and increase engagement. Start traditions. People love a tradition!”

“Okay,” he says, amused. “That’s enough. I can see the picture you’re painting, and I love it.”

I grin. “You didn’t even take notes.”

“I didn’t have to. I happen to have infinite access to the notebook.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

“I hope so.”

Our gazes connect, and I’ve never felt more listened to. I’ve also never felt so comfortable letting someone see inside me.

I hope so, too.

It’s terrifying even to let that thought run through my mind because things have been great—but there’s still time for things to go to shit.

And they do often go to shit.

“Don’t,” he says, throwing a piece of popcorn at me.

I try to catch it in my mouth, but miss. “Don’t what?”

“Get out of your head.”

“I’m not in my head,” I lie.

“You’re questioning everything. It’s like you have a button in your head that turns on when things go too smoothly.” He leans forward. “Stop expecting things to crumble. Expect them to go right.”

I frown. “But things do crumble.”

“Not when they’re built right.” He stands and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “I gotta go take care of a few things at the Brewer Group offices. I might be a few hours.”

I nod. “Call me later.”

“Of course. See ya, gorgeous.”

“Bye.”

With a simple smile that I feel in the depths of my heart, he walks out.

But he does leave the popcorn.