Page 30

Allie

My phone rings, rattling loudly from within my purse.

I glance at it, tempted to let it go to voicemail again.

But then it rings again.

And again.

With a sigh, I lock my car and reach for it, my pulse ticking up.

“Abby?” I cradle it to my cheek with one shoulder, fumbling to slide Biscuit into his little travel carrier.

“You’d better have a good reason for calling me six times.”

“What the hell is this news Mom and Dad said about you taking a full-time position as an investigative journalist? Do you have a death wish?!” Her voice is a frantic screech, cutting through the early evening buzz of traffic and pedestrians like a siren.

My stomach twists, but I keep my voice even.

“I hoped you would be happy for me.” That’s a lie—I knew better.

“Have you forgotten what happened to you? You could have been killed! It’s a miracle you’re still alive! You promised me when you were laid up in the hospital that you wouldn’t put yourself in dangerous situations anymore! ”

My grip on the carrier strap tightens.

“No…” I let out a slow breath and start walking toward the café.

“What I actually promised was that I wouldn’t stupidly rush into danger anymore. But investigative journalism always comes with some risks.”

“Then it isn’t worth it!”

Tears prick my eyes, blurring the sidewalk.

“It’s my dream, Abby. What I’ve been working toward my whole adult life. You can’t ask me to give up on my dreams.”

There’s a pause, and when Abby speaks again, her voice is quieter.

“I know. I’m just…scared, that’s all. I can’t lose you.”

I almost say you won’t , but then Thatcher’s wife flashes in my mind.

How sudden and tragic her death was.

How life can change—or end—in the blink of an eye.

I don’t want to make promises I might not be able to keep.

“No one is truly safe. Hell, you’re an ER nurse—you know that better than anyone. A car could come out of nowhere tomorrow and take me out. I could suffer an aneurysm. A heart attack?—”

“Okay, okay, enough!” Abby cuts me off, and I can almost see her standing there at her kitchen counter, wincing.

“I get it. But can you please, at least try to be careful?”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“I will. My gun-wielding days are over. I promise, no more armed standoffs. Cross my heart.” My voice wavers a little, as I turn the corner to the café—the same café where I first saw Thatcher weeks ago.

My lungs pinch at the memory.

“Hey, Abbs? I’ve really gotta go. Thatcher’s waiting for me.”

She inhales sharply.

“I’m so glad you two can finally meet up. Do you know what he’s going to say?”

With Thatcher, it could be anything.

Abby knows all about our trauma-induced confessions of love.

And even though I meant mine with all my heart, I don’t know if he meant his.

Sure, we’ve been texting, but the “L-word” has conveniently been left out of our messages.

What if I was just another moment of adrenaline, another fleeting reaction to chaos?

The thought carves a hollow ache inside me.

“Maybe he wants to take back his words…to tell me that he got caught up in the heat of the moment.” Thatcher is absolutely the kind of man who would want to do so in person.

Not over text.

“Well, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Maybe not. But that won’t make it hurt any less.” Actually, it will shatter me.

Because I’ve already let myself imagine a future where he meant it, where we could be something real.

And if I was wrong, if I let myself believe in something that was never there…

I don’t know how I’ll come back from that.

Abby sighs.

“Love you, Allie.”

“Love you more.”

We hang up, and I press the phone against my chest, hugging Biscuit’s soft carrier to my side.

“Biscuit, you ready?” I whisper.

I’ve been to this place a thousand times, but never like this—never with so much on the line.

The future stretches out before me, vast and terrifyingly uncertain.

My heart pounds.

But for the first time in a long time, I think I’m ready to face it.

The café is busy but not packed.

I half expected Thatcher to already be waiting here, but he’s not.

So instead, I awkwardly make my way to the counter, shifting my bag from one shoulder to the other as I text my mom that I’ll call her tomorrow.

I look up to place my order, but no one is standing at the counter in front of me, which is super rare for this café.

Melanie is almost always working Friday nights.

“Eh-hem,” a little voice says.

“Down here!”

I lower my eyes and find Duke standing behind the counter, serious and business-like.

Even on the step stool, I can barely see him over top of the register.

“Duke?”

“Hi, Allie! Can I take your order?”

I blink back at him, utterly confused as I take in the apron he’s in, five sizes too big and a backwards baseball cap that hides most of his curls.

I glance around, expecting to see Thatcher, but there’s still no sign of him.

“You’re...taking my order?”

“Uh-huh,” Duke says, nodding vigorously.

“Daddy says we need to learn your coffee order and how to make it perfectly.” Duke tugs at the apron, a bundle of nervous excitement.

A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth.

“He did, did he?”

“Yep!” His eyes are wide and earnest, and the tension seeps out of me in a rush.

“It’s a surprise,” he whispers.

“Did we surprise you?”

“You sure did!” My heart swells with a mixture of relief and affection.

“So...” a deep voice rumbles to my left.

“What’s your coffee order, Allie?”

Thatcher.

Finally.

I draw my eyes up toward the voice where he’s leaning against the espresso machine, grinning at me in a way that makes the room spin, makes the days apart fall away.

He’s dressed casually, jeans and a black soft-looking henley that doesn’t do much to hide the athletic lines of his body.

Though his cuts are cleaned up and the swelling has gone down, there’s still quite a bit of bruising at his jaw and temple and eye.

There’s a slight stiffness to the way he moves, but otherwise, he looks better than I dared to hope.

He’s back.

His face lights up, and for a moment I can’t breathe.

“I see Duke told you our little plan.”

“He spilled those coffee beans on you very fast,” I tease.

“Well, what’s it going to be, Ms. Larsen?” he says.

“My favorite coffee to splurge on is a salted caramel oat milk latte,” I admit.

“But on mornings at home, a regular brewed coffee with half and half and a tablespoon of sugar is perfect.”

“One caramel oat salted milk latte coming up!” Duke calls out.

I smother my chuckle at the adorable way he jumbled all the words and smile as he rushes over to Melanie to watch how she makes it.

“You could have just asked me what my favorite coffee is, you know,” I say to Thatcher.

“This way was more fun,” Thatcher replies.

“Besides, I think Duke might have a future here. What do you think, partner?”

Duke beams up at him, the grin wide and unguarded.

“I think you’re supposed to be learning this too, Daddy!”

“Good call,” Thatcher says, pretending to be serious.

“This is serious business, after all. If there’s one thing I know about journalists, it’s that they take their coffee very seriously.”

Duke and Thatcher lean over the espresso machine, watching closely as Melanie shows them how to pull a shot, her purple hair glowing in the afternoon light.

Duke’s tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth as he tries to follow along, and I laugh at his determined expression .

When the drink is ready, Duke takes it carefully from Melanie and walks it over to me.

“I think it’s perfect,” he announces, holding it out for me.

I take a sip, and the sweetness spreads through me like warmth on a cold day.

“Mmmm. It’s amazing,” I say.

I look up at them both, beaming.

“Thank you, Private Duke. Captain Daddy.”

Duke takes my hand and leads me to a table, with Thatcher following behind with two other cups in hand.

He places a cup of hot chocolate in front of Duke and takes a sip of the plain black coffee for himself.

Plain.

Strong.

Black.

Noted.

His leg brushes against mine from under the table, and I know I’m grinning like a fool, but I can’t help it.

“You know,” I say, “it might be the best salted caramel oat milk latte I’ve ever had.”

“Hey,” Melanie says.

“Watch it. This is still my café.”

“I just mean because this one was made with love,” I clarify, then my face goes immediately hot as I realize what I said.

“Wait. I mean...not love love. But um?—”

Thatcher reaches out and grabs my hand, his fingers lacing through mine, warm and familiar.

“You had it right the first time. It was made with love. Love love, actually.”

My breath catches.

“Really?”

“Really,” he says, voice low and certain.

“I love you, Allie.”

“I love you, too.” We lean in to kiss, but our moment is quickly interrupted by exaggerated gagging noises coming from across the table.

I bite my lip to stop from giggling as I glance to the left where Duke is giving us a Shakespearean performance of gagging disgust.

“Hey, buddy,” Thatcher laughs, pulling out ten dollars from his wallet.

“Why don’t you get yourself a treat, partner?”

The gagging immediately stops and Duke’s eyes light up as he hops out of his seat.

“Okay!” The sugar from the hot chocolate hasn’t just gone to Duke’s head—it’s seeped into his bones, charging him like a battery on a brand-new toy.

He bounces across the coffee shop, taking off toward where Melanie is back behind the counter tidying up.

“Can I please have a cookie?” he orders in a voice that echoes above the low murmur of grown-up conversation.

He clutches the counter, rocking back and forth, unable to contain his excitement.

“After this cookie, he won’t sit still for a week,” I joke.

“Yeah, it seemed like a good idea at the time to give us a moment of privacy to talk, but I’m realizing now this might have been an error in judgment.”

“Nah. He’ll be all right.” I wave off Thatcher’s concern.

“Kids should experience a true sugar crash now and then to really help them appreciate it, you know?”

“If you say so,” Thatcher laughs.

Then, pausing, he leans down and reaches into his bag, pulling out a folder.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to give you.” He slides the folder over to me.

“What’s this?”

“Your next story,” he says.

“Your first as a big-time investigative reporter.”

I slowly open the folder and immediately see images of Drakon and his operations.

Details of Thatcher’s matchmaking business.

“This isn’t just a story. It’s your story.”

“That’s right,” he says.

“I’m giving the Sun the exclusive on our story. The first official interview. As long as you’re the one writing it.”

“Are you sure?” I whisper, needing to hear him say it again.

“Never been more sure of anything,” he says.

“Besides, we’re out of danger now. And Griffin is taking over as the matchmaker out in the field. So it’s perfectly safe for me to give interviews.”

I look down at the files, a lump forming in my throat.

There’s one question still tugging at me, a question that has kept me up at night and filled my thoughts despite everything else.

I try to push it away, but the fear of not knowing bubbles over.

I take a deep breath, my hands shaking slightly on the edge of the folder.

“Thatcher, can I ask you something?”

His eyes meet mine, searching and patient, and I feel that familiar mix of hope and uncertainty drumming inside me.

“Are you sure you’re ready to do this? Us, I mean.” My voice is soft, vulnerable in a way that I haven’t allowed myself to be with any man in the past.

But Thatcher’s different.

He’s always been different.

“Are you really ready to move on from everything that happened? I would never expect you to be over Jenna…” I hesitate, but only for a moment.

“She’s going to be part of our life together because she was such a strong piece of your story. And Duke’s mother. But…I need to know if you’re ready to move on. Because if you’re not, if you’re not ready yet, it’s okay. I can wait.” I drop the folder and lean forward to take his hand in mine.

“You and Duke are worth the wait.”

A silence settles between us, but there’s no hint of hesitation in Thatcher’s eyes—only tenderness and resolve.

“I loved Jenna, that’s no secret,” he says, his voice cutting through my doubt with gentle force.

“I will always love her. But she’s gone. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the past few weeks, it’s that life is too short not to take chances on what’s right in front of you.”

His face softens and he squeezes my hand tighter, as if willing his warmth and certainty into me.

“I’ve loved, and I’ve lost. But what I want now…is to live. Jenna would want me to live and be happy. With you . Fully and completely.” He tips up my chin so I can see the raw honesty in his eyes.

“I love you, Allie Larsen.”

Joy bursts through me like a thousand sunbeams cutting through clouds.

“Thatcher,” I breathe against him, “I love you. So much. And I love Duke, too.”

I swallow back a lump of emotion, desperate to have him hear me properly.

“I’m not going to replace Duke’s mother. I could never. But I can be something else for him. Something special. He already has a mother—I know that—but trust me… I’m going to love him like he’s my own.”

Thatcher grins and pulls me closer until there’s no space left between us.

My heart speeds up and slows down all at once as he leans across the small table and presses his lips to mine.

His breaths are ragged against my lips, heavy with relief and happiness.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that? Even before I could admit that I wanted this… I knew you were it for me.”

“Probably about as long as I’ve been afraid to ask it.”

“Longer.” He smiles through a rough laugh, then kisses me again.

“We’re going to make a cute family of three,” I say when we finally come up for air.

“Four!” Duke calls and we both startle, wondering how long he’s been back at the table, oversized cookie in hand and chocolate smeared across his face.

“Don’t forget about Biscuit!” he says, pointing down at the carrying case on the floor at my feet.

“He’s part of this family too!”

Biscuit gives a little bark to let it be known that he concurs with Duke.

As Duke’s words sink in, a warmth spreads through my chest, melting away any lingering doubts.

With a laugh, I reach down to unzip the carrier and Biscuit emerges, tail wagging furiously, his excitement infectious.

“Oh my gosh,” I say, “how could I forget you, Biscuit?” I chuckle, scooping him up into my arms.

His little licks of joy against my cheek make my heart swell.

“Family of four?” Thatcher asks with an exaggerated look of contemplation on his face.

“Not sure about that. I signed up for Allie…” He gives Duke a wink.

“What do you think?”

Duke grins with cookie crumbs in his teeth as he slides back into the seat beside me.

“I think yes! Four is better than three!”

“There you have it,” I say to Thatcher through a smile so big it almost hurts my cheeks.

“You can’t argue with math.”

Duke swings his feet happily against the chair, entirely unconcerned with anything other than the cookie in front of him.

“And five is even better than four,” Duke says.

“We could get another dog. A sister for Biscuit!”

“We could name her Pancake!” I giggle.

Thatcher groans.

“Oh boy. One thing at a time, please. Let me see the little rascal who saved my life,” Thatcher says.

I hand Biscuit to him and his tail is a blur, wagging back and forth as Thatcher hugs my dog into him.

“Never saw myself as a little dog kinda guy. But you’re all right, Biscuit. The real hero of our story, aren’t you?”

Thatcher and I share a look, that statement all too true.

Without Biscuit’s heroism, I don’t know whether either of us would still be here.

Biscuit gives a confirming yip and the noise draws confused looks from the other patrons.

I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from bursting out laughing.

Thatcher shakes his head, amusement written all over his face as he looks at me.

“Ma’am,” Thatcher says sarcastically.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to have your dog out in a restaurant!”

I kick him gently under the table.

“Biscuit’s not a dog…he’s family. As we’ve established. Right, Duke?”

“Right!” Duke hops to his feet, marching circles around our table.

“I think we’re getting some odd looks,” Thatcher says.

“They probably think we’re crazy.”

“Crazy in love,” I say, giving him my best cheesy grin.

Thatcher groans playfully, pretending to be wounded.

“Did you just quote Beyoncé? Oh no. Duke…what have we gotten ourselves into?”

I laugh so hard I almost choke on air.

“You haven’t even heard the half of it yet!” I say.

“There’s so much more where that came from. Wait until you hear me singing Taylor Swift in the shower.”

I expect him to tease me more.

Roll his eyes and groan dramatically.

But instead, he pulls me in close, his green eyes dancing like they’ve captured every bit of light from the room and brought it straight to me.

“Then I guess I’m going to have to study up and learn some harmonies, huh?”

And then he kisses me again, there in the middle of the coffee shop, where anyone can see how deliriously happy we are together.

A contented sigh escapes against his lips again, floating away like a whisper.

“Ew!” Duke shrieks again, falling dramatically over his chair.

“Are you gonna do that forever?”

“Pretty much, kiddo,” Thatcher says.

“So you’d better get used to it!” I lean over to tickle him.

Duke doesn’t miss a beat.

He springs to his feet and takes off, running around the café, yelling at the top of his lungs.

“We’re gonna be a family! They’re gonna kiss forever!”

He runs from one end of the shop to the other, telling anyone who will listen.

“Welp… if they weren’t looking before, they’re definitely looking now,” I whisper.

I can’t blame them.

Between Duke and Biscuit and me and Thatcher, we’re making quite the scene.

Thatcher grins at me.

“Are you sure you can handle all this?”

“Handle it?” I pull him in for another kiss.

“I’ve never wanted anything more.”

There’s so much warmth and joy in his expression that I can’t believe I ever doubted his feelings for me.

“This is crazy,” I say, barely able to contain my excitement.

“I never thought?—”

“That you’d end up with the guy who pulled a gun on you?” he asks, teasing.

“Guess I’m the best matchmaker in the world.”

I swat his arm, laughing.

“Don’t get cocky, Bryant.”

“Or what?”

I narrow my eyes.

“Or I might have to hire Griffin as my matchmaker to find me a new partner!”

Thatcher leans back, smug and certain.

“I don’t think you will.”

“You don’t? ”

“No,” he says.

“Because I’m gonna do everything I can to keep you. Forever.”

My breath catches.

“You’ve used that word a lot…but forever’s a long time.”

His thumb moves over my skin with a gentle, featherlight touch.

His bright green eyes meet mine as the corners of his mouth curl into a small smile, confident and reassuring.

“Well, lucky for you, that meet cute or your money back guarantee comes with a lifetime warranty.”