Page 24

TWENTY-THREE

lauren

We head to the public beach a few miles away, where we change into our swimsuits in the world’s most questionable public restrooms. As much as I’d love to avoid parading around half-dressed in front of a professional athlete with fan-club-worthy abs, I give myself a pep talk before slipping into my buttercup-yellow swimsuit.

Over top, I throw on a gauzy white cover-up—sheer enough to hint at my swimsuit, but just enough fabric to keep me from feeling like I’m parading around in my underwear.

Because even though Tate’s my pretend boyfriend for the week, he’s still my client.

“Ready to hit the beach?” I say when I come out of the restroom. Tate is staring at his phone, totally engrossed in some article as Annie sniffs around in the grass.

“Did you know that the NHL team in Kansas City fired their…” Tate looks up from his phone and does a quick double take, his mouth opening slightly as he takes in my see-through cover-up, before he snaps his attention back to his screen.

“Who?” I ask.

He clears his throat. “Their PR manager.”

“Interesting,” I say. “Did they say why? ”

“A change in leadership,” he says as we head toward the far end of the beach, where it’s less crowded.

“Maybe I should apply,” I say.

His face snaps up. “You can’t leave. Who’ll force me to smile against my will?”

I laugh. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll survive. I’m easily replaced.”

“No one is as good as you,” Tate says.

“There are plenty of suitable candidates who’d love to take my job. Which reminds me,” I say, digging through my beach bag to find my phone. “I need to take some pictures of you to keep up the ‘approachable hockey player’ image we’ve been working on.”

He groans. “You’re disrupting my nice beach stroll with Annie.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Do you not want to make it to the NHL?”

Tate sighs. “Fine. What embarrassing thing are you making me do this time?”

I scan the shoreline for the perfect shot, then grin. “Get in the water, Sheriff.”

He stares at me. “Lauren, I am not about to frolic in the waves for your Instagram.”

I tilt my head, smiling. “Then I hope you enjoy playing in the minors forever.”

Tate tips his head back and closes his eyes. “I hate everything about this.”

“Less complaining, more smiling,” I chirp, giving him a playful nudge toward the water. “It’s only a few shots.”

“At least let me take my shoes off first.” He peels off his sandals and tosses them in the sand. “Let me guess, you’re going to pull a Rourke and make me strip down?”

I cross my arms. “Just your shirt, Sheriff. Nothing else.”

He offers a quick, shy smile, the kind that makes his dimples appear for just a second—before methodically removing his shirt.

“Ready when you are,” he says, throwing his shirt to the side.

I am not prepared for the body underneath .

I knew Tate was meticulous about his training, but seeing the results in broad daylight is an entirely different experience.

“Is this better?” he asks, stepping into the water. Waves splash against his skin as droplets roll down the ridges of muscle.

“Uh, yeah. That’ll do just fine.”

I snap a few photos, trying not to make things more awkward for him.

These shirtless shots will thrill his fans, but I can see the subtle tension in Tate’s posture—the tiny furrow on his forehead.

No wonder he hates photo shoots. The real Tate Foster isn’t social media eye candy; he’s methodical, thoughtful, private.

And I’m asking him to be something he’s not.

I glance at Annie, who’s been enthusiastically rolling in wet sand until she resembles a furry, damp peach.

“I know what will help,” I say, lowering my camera. “Pick up Annie.”

“Really?” Tate’s eyebrow lifts skeptically. “That’s your brilliant PR strategy?”

“Yeah, I think it’ll be cute. People connect with authenticity.”

Tate scoops up Annie, and she immediately starts licking his face.

“Come on,” he groans, pretending to hate it, but I can see the beginnings of a smile. “This is going to ruin my reputation as a serious player.”

Then Annie shakes her head vigorously, spraying Tate with a shower of wet sand.

Something magical happens—Tate laughs. Not his usual controlled chuckle, but a full, unguarded laugh that consumes his body. In that moment, the calculating, logical defenseman dissolves, revealing something softer beneath all that armor.

And even more magical? How the sight of his defenses dropping somehow manages to dismantle mine.

This is the Tate Foster his fans deserve to see.

“People are going to fall all over themselves,” I say, mostly to distract myself from the fact that I am very much falling already .

He looks up from Annie, his gaze catching mine. “You have a way of making me forget why I hate having my picture taken.”

I stare intently at my phone screen, pretending to check the photos but really just hiding behind it. Because the scariest part isn’t what he said—it’s that some small part of me liked hearing it.

Out of the corner of my eye, a group of people comes into view. I slowly lower my phone. “I forgot. It’s beach day.”

Tate sets Annie down, and she wanders off to investigate a piece of driftwood.

He turns around just in time to see my family making their way down the beach—coolers, towels, and umbrellas in tow.

They’re descending on us like a swarm of bees.

I scan the group, relieved that at least Bart and Abby aren’t among them.

Granny strolls over to me, taking an appreciative once-over of Tate’s torso. “Oh, honey, if only I were a younger woman.”

“Granny!” I laugh, shaking my head.

Tate’s lips quirk. “Just for the record, I was coerced into a photo shoot.”

“You got pictures?” Granny elbows me. “Smart thinking. It’ll last longer.”

I gape at her. “Oh, you think I took the pictures for me ? It’s for social media. For his career.”

“And to remember this reunion,” Tate adds.

He steps closer, sliding an arm around my waist with perfect timing.

Nothing spontaneous about it. Just Tate executing the boyfriend role with the same methodical approach he brings to hockey plays.

I have to keep reminding myself this is all pretend, a performance where every move is strategic.

Because that’s how Tate operates, even when it comes to fake relationships.

“Well, we’re not planning on staying,” I say quickly, grabbing Annie’s leash.

“Not staying?” Olivia asks, coming up behind Granny. “The kids were looking forward to swimming with you.”

Kaylie and Camden are already splashing in the waves with their life jackets on, while Jake sets up a beach umbrella nearby.

Tate looks at me. “I think we should stay. ”

“Are you sure?” I ask. This is only the first full day of the reunion, and we still have to survive an entire week of constant togetherness.

“I’d love to hang out with your family.”

“Oh, good!” Olivia says. “I’ll tell the kids you’re staying.” She leaves to help Jake set up the rest of the beach blankets and chairs.

“Thank you,” I mouth to Tate as Annie sniffs around our feet.

Tate shrugs. “This is what I signed up for. It brings back good memories of playing with my sister.”

I glance at the bracelet on his wrist, four simple beads that carry so much meaning. “Hope was really lucky to have you as a brother.”

Tate’s fingers brush over the beads. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I’d agree. When we’d swim together, I used to calculate the perfect angle to knock her off the inner tube for the biggest splash. She’d get so mad she’d cry, but then beg me to do it again five minutes later.”

For a moment, I see him differently—not as “Sheriff” with his rulebook and facts, or the man who uses knowledge as a shield—but a boy who understood that sometimes, the most perfect moments have nothing to do with numbers at all.

“I think Kaylie and Camden would be really disappointed if you didn’t knock them off an inner tube at least once today,” I say, nodding toward the kids.

His mouth lifts on one side. “Then Uncle Tate is going to give them the biggest splash of their lives.” He leaves his glasses behind and runs into the water to play with the kids while I settle onto the blanket next to my sister with Annie.

My sister follows my gaze. “At least you get something fun to watch.”

“I’m not staring at him,” I clarify. “I’m watching the kids.”

“Sure you are,” she says with a knowing grin. “You’re handling this family reunion way better than I thought you would. ”

“Thanks to Tate,” I say. “He’s making it more fun.”

For a moment, I watch as Tate puts Camden on an inner tube and then pushes him into a wave. “You know, Liv, Tate just told me about a job posting. Kansas City’s NHL team just fired their PR manager.”

Olivia’s smile falters slightly. “You’re not seriously?—”

“I’ve always been clear about my goals,” I say gently. “This town, the Crushers—they were never meant to be my final stop.”

“I know,” she sighs, tracing a pattern in the sand with her finger. “As your sister, I guess I just selfishly want you to stay longer. Is that terrible? At least until all the kids are older—for my sanity?”

The sound of splashing and laughter interrupts me before I can respond.

“Aunt Lauren, come swimming with us!” Kaylie calls from the water, bobbing next to Tate on the inner tube now.

“I’m fine here on the beach,” I shout back.

“Oh, come on, Aunt Lauren,” Tate chimes in. “You don’t want to be the boring aunt, do you?”

My sister laughs. “How does he know just how to bait you?”

“It’s a special gift,” I mutter, rising from the blanket. “Would you keep an eye on Annie while I play with the kids?” I hold out the leash.

“The kids…or Tate?” she asks, her lips curving as she takes Annie.

“I’m not even answering that question,” I reply as I turn back to watch Tate.

He grins as both the kids jump on him, dunking him under the water.