Page 29

TWENTY-SIX

Tate

One minute, I’m participating in a baking contest, and the next, I’m wiping frosting off Lauren’s lips and barely resisting the urge to taste those pink lips myself.

Until my rational brain overruled my impulse, and I went with the safer option—my thumb.

But before I could figure out whether she felt the same electricity, she vanished into the crowd, and I got ambushed by a pack of the Williamsons, all of whom seemed very invested in our relationship after that moment.

“So, Sugar Bean, what are you planning to do when hockey is over?” Aunt Tammy asks, her long braid falling over one shoulder of her flowing blouse while she holds a mug of herbal tea. If I didn’t know, I’d guess she side-hustles at a farmers’ market selling homemade elderberry syrup.

“Well, hockey is over—the season ended a few weeks ago. That’s why I’m not at practice.”

Uncle Ray adjusts his belt buckle over his waist. “No, I think she meant when you retire for good. How long do hockey players actually last before their knees give out?”

Aunt Karen puts a hand on her husband’s arm. “Ray, he’s not as old as you. He’s got a few years left. ”

“I hope,” I say with a smile. “Most guys last about five years. And I’m hoping to make it to the NHL before my body gives out.”

Uncle Bobby leans in. “You mean you’re moving to Canada?”

“Not necessarily,” I say. “Could be in the US too. I won’t know where I’m moving until I get an offer.”

“What about Lauren?” Uncle Ray asks, suddenly looking concerned about his niece.

“Yeah, you can’t leave that little darlin’ behind,” Uncle Bobby says.

I know exactly what they’re asking—they’re fishing for clues about how serious we are.

The problem is, I’m starting to wonder about that myself.

Because somewhere between water balloon fights and flour heists, the line between pretending and reality has blurred into something that my logic can’t accurately decipher.

“Hockey players are used to moving around. You can’t really get too attached to one place.”

Aunt Tammy hums thoughtfully, sipping her tea. “It seems like Lauren is ready to settle down. And Sully’s Beach is such a beautiful place to raise a family.”

“Great schools too,” Aunt Karen chimes in. “You know, for kids someday.” Then she winks at me.

I blink. “Well, uh, we’re not that serious.”

“ Yet ,” Uncle Ray finishes through a forced smile. “Right?” He gives me a nod that leaves me no option but to agree.

“Uh, yeah,” I reply weakly, feeling all kinds of guilt for lying to Lauren’s family. I look quickly around the room for her, but she’s conveniently absent.

Aunt Tammy pauses, holding her cup mid-sip. “We’ve never seen Lauren behave this way with a man. She’s never been a hugger.”

“Oh, really?” I say, suddenly wondering how she’s acted around boyfriends in the past.

“I agree,” Aunt Karen says. “Seems happier too. ”

Uncle Ray frowns slightly. “But you’re saying if the NHL calls, you could leave at any time?”

I rub the back of my neck. “Well, technically, yes?—”

“Hmm,” Bobby grunts, giving Ray a concerned look. “Risky business, dating a man who could just disappear overnight. Kind of like those hitchhikers who got murdered in the seventies.”

I blink. Are they comparing me to murder victims?

Aunt Karen pats my arm. “Don’t worry, dear. We’ll still let you come to the reunion even if you and Lauren don’t work out.”

Fantastic. Nothing like being preemptively kicked out of a relationship I’m not even in.

“Excuse me while I grab more chocolate cake,” I say, backing away from them.

I weave through the crowd searching for Lauren, but she’s nowhere in sight. When I check Patty’s bedroom, it’s empty. Even her laptop is gone.

Out the window, I see the faint glow of a flashlight heading across the lawn, Annie trotting beside her. I head out the back door, following them on the hiking trail.

“Lauren, wait up,” I call, hurrying toward her. “At least let me walk you out here next time. It’s dark—you shouldn’t be alone.”

“That’s the point, Tate. No one’s supposed to see me coming out here. I have to sneak away when nobody’s looking.”

I kick a stick out of her way. “Well, could you at least tell me before you leave me with all your relatives quizzing me about our future together?”

She snorts softly. “I wondered when they’d ambush you.”

“You could have warned me,” I say. “Or at least come to my rescue.”

“Oh, Tate. I’ve been dealing with this for my entire life,” she says, letting Annie pull her along on the leash. “This is how they show they care.”

“You mean by planning our children’s futures before we’ve even been on a real date?”

“Honestly, you should be honored. Their love is expressed through unsolicited life advice. If they weren’t grilling you, then I’d be worried.”

We walk a few steps in silence as I think about how I’m going to navigate the rest of the week with her family. The pretending is getting to me. Probably because it’s feeling less like pretending every minute.

“So what happens tomorrow? Any more baking competitions I need to prep for?”

“Just a canoe race at the pond. After that, you don’t have to stick around. This is supposed to be your vacation too.”

I shoot her a look. “You realize we’re supposed to be a couple, right?”

She steps over a log in the path, tossing the comment over her shoulder. “I think you already convinced everyone today—with bonus points for wearing the apron.”

Her tone is too casual, almost like she’s brushing me off. I know exactly what she’s doing—creating space.

Truth is, I had planned to work on my book this week, during quiet evenings at the cabin, rereading chapters and making notes. But that plan changed the moment Lauren moved in with her suitcase.

“You sure you want to face Bart alone?” I ask, trying to sound offhand, but the way my chest tightens at the thought of him so much as looking at her puts me on edge.

She stops at the edge of the cabin porch and turns to face me. “You think I can’t handle my ex-boyfriend?”

I stop at the bottom of the steps, keeping a safe distance. “It’s not that I don’t think you can. I just don’t trust him.”

She shrugs before turning to open the door. “I’ve handled worse than Bart.”

“Doesn’t mean you should have to.” I follow her inside. “Especially not when I’m right here.”

Inside, the cabin is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of pine and cedar. Lauren puts Annie in her crate, before dropping onto the bed with a sigh, stretching her legs out, completely at ease.

I force my gaze away from her legs draped across the bed, and look at the floor, which looks about as comfortable as sleeping on a bed of gravel. “You want the bathroom first?”

She glances down at her clothes, then slowly drags herself off the bed. “Yeah. Sure.”

“I’ll just go out on the porch with my iPad.

” I shut the door behind me and settle on the steps, my thoughts straying to the lone bed.

There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep next to her again tonight.

Something’s shifted between us, like I’m not just the guy she bosses around for PR, and I can’t say it doesn’t upend my neatly organized plan for this week.

“You can come back in,” I hear her call from inside.

I turn and freeze in my tracks. Lauren’s in a tank top and those distracting flimsy shorts again. Nothing scandalous. Just bare legs and shoulders, soft cotton, and me forgetting how to function.

Yeah, forget sleep.

She pauses, giving me a suspicious look. “What?”

I blink a few times, pulling my gaze away from her. “Nothing.”

Literally nothing. I have no thoughts left. Just the awareness that we are alone, in a cabin, with a single bed.

“Your turn,” she says as she wraps her blanket around her, grabs her pillow to sit on, and slips onto the porch.

I brace my hands on the back of the couch, letting out a long breath. Pull it together, Sheriff. It’s just sleep. But spending the night with her on the sofa bed again is not an option. Too much snuggling, and too much of Lauren all over me without even realizing it.

I strip off my shirt, then dig through my bag for some kind of pajama bottoms since I wore my shorts to bed last night. That’s when I realize my critical oversight—I didn’t pack pajamas. When planning for a solo writing retreat, sleepwear preferences weren’t exactly a priority.

Either I wear shorts again or boxers. I crack open the door. “Uh, small problem.”

Lauren doesn’t even look up from her phone. “What’s the emergency now?”

“I forgot to pack pajamas,” I admit.

She grins as she stands. “What, you don’t sleep in your jersey?”

I make a face. “Very funny.”

“Oh, I would never make fun of you, Sheriff.” She places a hand over her heart innocently. “But seriously, just wear shorts.”

I accept her challenge. “What if I told you I don’t have any extras? Only boxers?”

Her eyes graze over the sliver of my chest through the cracked door. “Then I’d say the bathroom door has a perfectly good lock. Use it to put your shorts back on.”

“So you’re saying you’d be uncomfortable if I opened this door right now?” I ask, a hint of mischief in my voice as I start to push the door open just a crack wider.

She jumps up in protest. “Don’t you dare, Tate Foster!”

I laugh, letting the door open just enough to reveal I’m still wearing shorts. “Relax, Sunny. I’m decent.”

She hurls her pillow at me with a glare. “You are the worst, Sheriff. I thought you were going to?—”

“Going to what?” I ask innocently.

“Nothing,” she mutters, avoiding me as she brushes past. “Just put on whatever you have and go to sleep.”

“So what you’re saying is, I should postpone my career as an underwear model indefinitely?”

“What I’m saying,” she hisses, “is that if you pull something like that again, I’m texting Leo about how the logical Sheriff has finally lost his mind.”

She crawls into bed, flicking off the light, plunging us both into darkness without even a goodnight.