Page 152 of Make Me Yours

Rina beams. “That’sdefinitely a start.”

I sit back and watch my friends laugh, tease, and sip their coffee as the comforting hum of the bakery envelops us. Callie’s smiling now, and for the first time in a while, she looks a little lighter. She deserves someone who sees all of that. Her strength, her softness, and everything in between.

As I glance toward the door where River stood just moments ago, I can’t help but wonder if maybe someone already does.

49

EVELYN

The view from my office never gets old.

The floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the rink where practice is in full swing. Skates carve across the ice, jerseys blur in motion, and the dull thud of pucks slamming into the glass reverberates through the arena like a heartbeat.

I cradle a cup of Earl Grey between my hands, its warmth grounding me as I lean slightly against the window frame.

Steele Sanderson is back in top form. Dominant, focused, and unstoppable. The scandal that once loomed over him like a storm cloud has lifted, replaced by highlight reels of him tearing down the ice and flashing a smile meant for one woman alone.

The interview worked, and the narrative has shifted. The jackals have retreated, at least for now.

Even better than that?

Peak Sportswear came crawling back yesterday with a revised contract in hand.

“Redemption looks good on him,” Rina says from her seat across the room, tapping through emails on her iPad.

I hum in agreement. “He deservesit. And so does Lilah. They’ve handled themselves with more grace than most people twice their age.”

Rina grins. “It doesn’t hurt that their story is straight-up catnip for the media. You should see all the TikToks with engagement theories and baby countdowns. There’s even a fan page dedicated to her wearing his jersey.”

“Oh, please,” I say, smiling despite myself. “Let them live a little first.”

I’m just setting my tea down when I feel the shift in the air. That unmistakable charge that always comes before he enters a room.

I don’t need to turn around to realize who it is.

Hugh Landry.

The scent of his cologne hits me next. Warm amber with undertones of something richer. Something darker. Once upon a time, it was the scent that clung to my sheets after he slipped out of them—setting my pulse racing and my better judgment faltering.

I straighten and glance over my shoulder.

That was a long time ago.

Another lifetime.

He leans against the doorframe, his charcoal suit perfectly tailored to a body that somehow hasn’t aged a day in all the ways that matter. His black hair, streaked now with silver at the temples, is slicked back, and that insufferable glint in his blue eyes is as cocky as ever.

He’s too confident.

Too at ease.

Like he didn’t leave my world in ruins twenty-five years ago.

“Rina,” he says smoothly. “Always a pleasure.”

“Hello, Hugh,” she replies, her tone polite.

Even if she doesn’t know the full story, she senses it. The undercurrent and tension that flows between us. The history that never quite settled into dust.