Page 23

TWENTY-TWO

lauren

Aunt Karen steps up in front of the group, her hands on her hips as she surveys the contestants gathered on the sprawling back lawn of Bear Creek Lodge for the first Family Olympics match—the water balloon toss.

She blows her whistle, going into elementary school teacher mode and shushing the entire family, including the uncles, because the old guys are always the worst at listening to directions.

“Now, the rules for the water balloon toss are pretty straightforward,” Karen says, picking up a water-filled balloon.

“Every time you catch a water balloon, you take a step back. If you don’t catch it, you and your partner are out.

The last couple must complete one last throw before we proclaim them the winners.

When the competition is over, the remaining balloons in the tub are up for grabs in a free-for-all. ”

I lean toward Tate. “I have a good feeling about this one. Your whole job is dealing with a slippery little puck.”

“You know a hockey puck isn’t like a water balloon,” he says. “The toss is the key element here.”

“I know. But you’re good at everything that involves physics.”

He looks over at Bart and Abby. “How good are they?”

“Abby was a volleyball player in high school, so she’s a natural at anything that involves hand-eye coordination. And Bart was an all-star football player.”

Aunt Karen blows her whistle again. “All right, everyone! I want even lines and no cheating.”

As we move into place, Bart and Abby line up right next to us.

“What are you doing over here?” I ask, my annoyance barely contained. There’s no way this isn’t part of their plan.

Bart gives Tate a look. “Just wanted to make sure you don’t cheat.”

I huff out a laugh. “Do you know what Tate’s nickname is? Sheriff. Because he actually enjoys following rules.”

“I was talking about you,” Bart says with a smug look before turning to select a water balloon.

“Ignore him,” Tate mouths to me.

I choose our water balloon, trying to ignore the way Bart winks at Abby, wishing her good luck and giving her a kiss on the cheek, which I’m sure is all for me.

When Karen blows her whistle, I toss the balloon to Tate, who easily catches it. His focus is completely dialed in, just like when he’s playing hockey.

On the first toss alone, most of the children are eliminated. This is by far the easiest game of the week, but it doesn’t mean it’s a guaranteed win. And Bart clearly has a strategy: to shake my confidence and make me lose focus.

Bart casually tosses the balloon back to Abby. “So, Tate, has Lauren dragged you to her PR events yet? Fair warning, though. She’ll choose work over you every time.”

Tate barely spares Bart a glance. “Yeah? Funny, I’ve never had a problem with her priorities. It’s actually one of the things I admire most about her. Some men might feel threatened by a woman with ambition. I find it attractive.”

Bart keeps his focus on the water balloon coming toward him. “She still wake up in the worst mood ever?”

My fingers tighten around the balloon, and I wish more than ever I could chuck it at Bart’s head just a little harder than necessary. It would be so satisfying to nail him between the ears.

Tate doesn’t miss a beat. “Nah, she’s a delight every morning. So cuddly, practically glows with joy—like sunshine.” He gives me a little glance.

Bart glances at me before he goes for the kill. “You do know about her intimacy issues, right?”

Heat floods my cheeks. The “intimacy issue” he’s referring to was that I couldn’t bring myself to kiss someone I felt absolutely nothing for. Every time he leaned in, it felt like I was forcing myself to go through the motions.

The balloon is mid-air when he says it, and I completely lose focus. It bounces off my fingertips before it hits the ground, soaking my feet in a cold splash of water.

I freeze, staring down at the grass before I turn to Bart. “You did that on purpose.”

The pleasure on his face is obvious. “Whatever it takes to win. That’s what you told me at the last reunion.”

I did tell him that, but only because I wanted to win for Mom. She loved these ridiculous games more than anything, and I would’ve done anything to see her victory smile one more time.

Tate walks toward me, never taking his eyes off me. When he gets close, he doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around me, pulling me in for a hug. Then he brings his lips close to my ear. “We finished second. That’s good, Sunny. Don’t let Bart ruin the fun.”

Aunt Karen holds up a hand. “Bart and Abby, you have one last toss to claim the top spot.”

“Don’t try any of those ridiculous show-off moves,” Abby warns him.

Bart huffs. “You’re no fun.”

I laugh, just loud enough for Bart to hear.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say, waving it off.

“No, seriously,” he says, frowning. “Why did you laugh?”

“I was thinking about that intimacy problem you mentioned. I don’t have a problem getting close to people,” I say, my voice carrying across the lawn as Abby launches the balloon high into the air.

I wait until Bart’s eyes lock on the descending balloon, his hands outstretched. “I think the real problem was that I didn’t want to kiss you, Bart.”

He turns his head toward mine for a split second, just long enough for the balloon to slip between his fingers and explode against his chest with a satisfying splash. His smirk disappears.

Aunt Karen claps her hands together, not bothering to hide her delight. “Not good enough to take first place! That means you and Abby have tied with Tate and Lauren.”

Kaylie stands over the tub of remaining balloons. “Can we throw the rest of the water balloons now?”

Karen grins. “Go for it!”

The yard erupts into a madhouse as kids and adults alike dive for the remaining balloons. I’m about to join in when a water balloon splats against my back, sending a shock of cold water down my spine.

I whirl around. Tate is standing there, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

My mouth falls open. “Did you just throw a water balloon at me?”

“Yes, just to prove I can be fun .” Then he smirks, his dimples teasing me.

“Oh, I’ll show you fun.” I snatch several water balloons as the kids launch them at each other in a full-scale attack.

“You do realize this means I have full permission to get you back, right?”

“Too bad you don’t have any.”

Before I can finish, he glances behind a bush. “It’s my lucky day,” he says with a smirk. “Granny left a whole pile over here.”

Uh-oh.

I bolt across the yard, launching balloons over my shoulder.

My aim is terrible, and I’m running in the wrong direction to get a good shot.

Tate’s aim, unfortunately, is excellent.

The first balloon smacks against my waist, soaking my T-shirt.

The second is a direct hit to my back, a perfect bullseye in the middle.

The third splashes against my shorts, leaving a large wet spot that makes it look like I peed my pants.

“Tate!” I shriek, looking for an escape, but it’s too late. I’ve trapped myself against the perimeter fence. I spin around, out of breath, my hands in the air.

“Okay, I surrender!” I yell breathlessly. “You wouldn’t hit me now that I have no balloons, right?”

Tate gives me a look like he cannot believe my question. “Of course I would.”

I take a cautious step back. “But you can’t.”

“Why not?” he asks, staring at me intently.

“Because I’m your partner. And you’re the one who follows the rules…at all times.”

Tate’s smirk deepens, his dimples making my heart skip a beat. “Ah, so this is about the rules, now, huh? And do the rules state I can’t have fun?”

“No.” I pause. “Well, maybe.”

“I don’t like to break the rules,” he says, “but I’ll break them for you. Because I’m ready to prove something to you this week.”

“Yeah?” I challenge. “How do you plan on doing that?”

“By showing you that sometimes,” he says, “the best strategy isn’t the one you plan—it’s the one you discover along the way.”

“And what exactly is this strategy?” I ask, breathless from this game we’re playing.

“I want you to leave with better memories than the ones you came with.”

I back up another step, my body trapped against the fence. “If you were really concerned about my happiness this week, you’d avoid hitting me with that water balloon.”

Tate tilts his head as if contemplating.

“Interesting theory. According to my research on happiness, sometimes the most joy comes from the unexpected.” He tosses the balloon lightly between his hands.

“I’ve been taking notes on what makes you smile, Sunny, and it’s rarely when you’re safe and comfortable. ”

“Remember,” I say, eyeing his water balloon, “as your girlfriend, I won’t let you get away with it.”

I lunge forward, attempting to steal the balloon from his hand.

But he’s too fast for me, probably from years of honing his reflexes.

The second I tackle him, he smashes the water balloon against my shoulder, soaking both of us as we tumble down into the grass, laughing.

He doesn’t let me hit the ground hard. Instead he cradles me in his arms, rolling so that he takes the brunt of the fall, before he spins me to my back, pinning me down, his arms bracketing my head.

I’m drenched but don’t care, because when I glance up, Tate has his gaze on me, like he’s suddenly aware of our bodies touching the same way I am. Heat travels like a current every place we touch.

I suddenly feel alive again in a way I haven’t in a long time. And it’s thoroughly confusing .

Because Tate isn’t my usual type. Instead of flashy, he’s quiet and observant.

Where others have been emotionally unavailable, he’s steady and measured.

He’s the kind of man who remembers what you said three conversations ago, which means he actually listens.

I completely misjudged him at first, mistaking his resistance for grumpiness, when all along he was just uncomfortable being molded into someone he’s not.

I, on the other hand, have a very specific track record: egotistical charmers with commitment issues who can smell emotional attachment from a mile away and sprint in the opposite direction.

But Tate’s different. He’s not afraid of commitment or uncomfortable with emotion—he just approaches both with the same careful consideration he gives everything else. Why else would he show up for me this week?

“Tate?” I feel almost out of breath. Because for one terrifying moment, I can actually picture myself falling for someone like him.

But that’s insane. I can’t fall for Tate. Not after months of butting heads over his public image. Not after swearing I’d never fall for another athlete, much less a hockey player. And absolutely not when he’s looking at me like I’m a puzzle he’s finally figured out.

Someone coughs, and I’m ripped out of our moment. I turn toward the sound and realize we’re not alone: the entire family is watching us.

“So, how’s this for giving your family a show?” he teases.

“I knew you were going to make a great boyfriend,” I whisper, trying to ignore the sudden heat creeping up my neck. “But I didn’t know it would involve full-contact sports.”

Tate’s lips curve, but he doesn’t move. “I’m in the business of full-contact sports, Sunny.”

Oh, I am well aware.

But this feels different. This isn’t just Sheriff Tate; this is off-season Tate —a guy who, beneath all that seriousness, is actually fun.

“They’re so cute together,” Patty says from the sidelines. “Don’t you think, sweetie?”

I turn my head just in time to see Patty nestled against Dad’s side. He slides his arm around her, bringing back the memory of that kiss I walked in on.

The happiness I felt seconds ago disappears, replaced by a familiar ache of missing Mom. “I think the show is over,” I say quietly.

Confusion crosses Tate’s face as I stand.

“Lauren?” Tate’s voice follows me as I stride across the lawn. “Do you want to do something else?”

I stop and turn to Tate, pasting on a forced smile that says I’m fine. “I just want to be alone right now. Thanks, though.”

I try to step around him, but suddenly his arm hooks my waist, holding me in place. The move is so unexpected, I suck in a breath, startled by the feel of his hand—warm, steady, comforting.

He leans into my ear. “Something tells me you shouldn’t be alone right now,” he says. “And that you need a distraction. Let me help.”

I should brush him off. Say I’m fine. But for some reason, I don’t.

Instead, I just stand there, fully aware of every little thing—his firm hold on my waist, how his entire presence tunes into me.

I’ve always been able to fool everyone with misdirection.

But not Tate. He catalogs my smallest reactions and measures my defenses.

And that’s what scares me the most—he sees what I try to hide from everyone else.

I cross my arms. “You don’t have to hang around me every second of the day.”

“I know I don’t.” His fingers slide to my side, then shift against my elbows, where he gently unhooks my arms. “I’m just being your friend. And I think you could use one right now.”

I swallow, unsure of how he can force me out from behind this wall, when all I want right now is to be a turtle tucked safely under my shell.

“What would make you feel better?” he asks.

I force out a laugh, shaking my head. “You mean other than clocking Bart in the head with a very large shovel?”

Tate smirks. “Yes, Sunny. Something that doesn’t involve violence.”

I glance over at the kids, who are throwing a ball to Annie. “How about we take Annie on a walk at the beach nearby?”

A pleased smile spreads across his face. “See? I told you that dog would come in handy. Now, let’s get out of here.”