Page 36

THIRTY-ONE

lauren

There are worse things in life than being interrupted by your sister and her family before you make the biggest mistake of your professional career.

Like waking up the next morning and realizing the kiss that almost happened is now lurking in the air between you like an embarrassing secret no one wants to say out loud.

Especially after the text Tate got from his ex.

How could I be so stupid falling for a hockey player?

We didn’t talk about it after we got back to the cabin last night. Instead, we climbed onto the sofa bed, and he read a chapter of the fantasy book aloud until I pretended to fall asleep. And then I lay there, replaying the whole evening in my head for the next hour, overthinking everything.

Of course, he slept like a baby. Meanwhile, I’m over here replaying every look, every touch, every word.

I’m his PR manager—the person responsible for his future in the NHL.

Crossing that line doesn’t just mean risking my heart, it means risking my professional reputation and credibility with the team.

If things went south, he’d still be the star defenseman, but I’d be the woman who couldn’t separate business from pleasure.

The PR professional who broke her own cardinal rule .

Not to mention, when this reunion ends, we both go back to our real lives.

Eventually he’ll get a contract for the NHL in who-knows-where, and I’ve already started applying for a position in Kansas City.

We’re both heading in different directions.

Getting attached now could derail us both from what we really want.

I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling of our cabin, trying not to think about his ex-girlfriend reaching out the exact moment his social media presence explodes. The timing couldn’t be more perfect. One viral photo with a puppy, and suddenly Lydia wants to “talk sometime.”

It happens to professional athletes all the time. The minute they hit it big, every ex crawls out of the woodwork. And Tate? Well, he’s the whole package. Smart, thoughtful, secretly funny, about to move up to the NHL and now famous . Who wouldn’t want another chance?

I glance over at him, still sleeping next to me. We’d silently agreed to share the sofa bed after that first night, both of us pretending it was purely practical. But there was nothing practical about the way my heart raced when his arm draped over me, or how I didn’t move away.

If it wasn’t for that shelter donation hanging in the balance, I’d pack up and leave right now. Slip away before anyone wakes up, make some excuse about work emergencies. Avoid the humiliation of pretending I wasn’t about to kiss him last night—or worse, having him let me down gently.

Sorry, Lauren, but this was just pretend, remember?

But then I look over at Annie, curled up at the foot of the bed after Tate forgot to put her back in the crate, and my heart melts a little. I can’t do it. I can’t just leave her. Or the shelter that’s counting on the foundation donation.

Or him.

Which is the most terrifying thought of all.

Because I know the script here. I’ve seen it play out before, with Lucas early in my career, then Bart. The minute someone better comes along—someone more exciting, more beautiful, more accommodating to their lifestyle—I’m left wondering what I did wrong.

Only this time, it would hurt so much worse. Because Tate isn’t like the others. He wasn’t supposed to matter this much.

I carefully slide out of bed, grabbing clothes and heading to the bathroom. When I emerge, Tate is sitting up, hair adorably rumpled, glasses slightly askew as he checks his phone. My heart slides into my throat, making everything harder.

“Morning,” he says, his voice still rough with sleep.

“Morning,” I reply, keeping my tone casual as I busy myself with packing up some of my toiletries. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah.” He hesitates, like he wants to say more, but instead asks, “What’s on the schedule today?”

“The kids have their own Nerf gun battle followed by hide-and-seek.” I don’t look at him as I tuck my toothpaste away.

“Sounds fun.” He watches me for a moment. “Lauren, about last night?—”

“Last night was perfect,” I say with a forced smile, the one I use at my job when smoothing over things. “Everyone totally bought it. Even Bart looked convinced.”

His brow furrows slightly. “That’s not…”

“And then Olivia texted this morning…” I say, rifling through my luggage, refusing to look at him. “Said everyone understood why we wanted to spend some time together instead of go to the bonfire. So, mission accomplished on the boyfriend front. You’ve definitely earned your PR makeover.”

I’m doing this all wrong, but I can’t seem to stop. It’s like watching myself sabotage the very thing I want, but protecting yourself is a powerful instinct. Better to frame everything as part of our arrangement than risk him letting me down gently.

Before he can respond, I quickly add, “We should get going, otherwise we’ll miss breakfast. Granny hates when people are late.”

He frowns slightly, but nods. “Sure.”

As we walk to the main lodge, I can’t help wondering what’s real and what’s just part of our arrangement. The way he looked at me last night felt real. The way he held my hand felt real.

But maybe that’s just Tate—steady, reliable Tate who commits fully to whatever task he takes on, even if it’s pretending to be my boyfriend. Maybe I’m just projecting my own growing feelings onto someone who’s simply doing me a favor.

And now Lydia wants to talk.

That just makes me sad. Sad that I let myself believe this could be real. Sad that I’m stupid enough to fall for someone who’s going to choose someone else.

Annie trots happily between us, oblivious to the silent tension between us, occasionally bumping against our legs.

“So,” I say, trying to fill the silence, “just a few days left before we pack up. Then it’s back to real life. We fooled everyone, right?”

Something flickers across his face. Disappointment? Relief? I can’t tell.

“Right,” he says quietly, studying me with that careful gaze.

I look away. I don’t want him to see how bothered I am. How this week has been the best week of my life. How being with him has made me feel safer and happier than I’ve felt since Mom died.

Worst of all, it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t posted that picture of Tate and Annie, Lydia never would’ve reached out.

If I hadn’t been so determined to boost his public image, his ex wouldn’t be sliding into his messages.

That’s the cruel irony of it all. I made him a star only to lose him in the process.

The ultimate PR backfire—I succeeded too well at my job.

But I’m the only loser here.

We reach the main lodge where my family gathers for breakfast, and I steel myself for another day of pretending.

Another day of wondering what might have happened if we hadn’t been interrupted.

Another day of trying not to fall for someone who’s probably already thinking about reconnecting with his ex.

Tate reaches for my hand as we approach the group, his fingers warm and sure as they lace through mine. It feels so natural now, so right, that for a moment I let myself forget it’s all for show.

That’s the worst part of pretending—when you start wishing it was real.

Breakfast is a blur of pancakes, coffee, and forced smiles. I focus on helping Dad flip pancakes at the griddle, grateful for any excuse to keep my distance from Tate.

It’s Kaylie who finally ends the tension after breakfast, tugging on Tate’s sleeve. “Can you show us how to shoot a Nerf gun?”

Tate glances at me, like he’s asking permission, but I just nod and turn back to the dirty dishes in the sink. The kids drag him outside, while I help Granny wash up the breakfast dishes, scrubbing maple syrup from plates with unnecessary force while she chatters on about Tate.

“He’s so good with the children,” she notes, watching him out the window with the kids. “That’s always a positive sign. I’m sure he’ll make someone very happy.” She gives me a wink and smiles.

My heart squeezes painfully inside me. I turn back to the sink full of soapy water. “I’m sure he will.”

Only problem? It won’t be me.

After the last dish is dried, I grab Annie’s leash. “I’m going to take the dog for a quick walk before the Nerf battle starts.”

Outside, the morning is perfect—sunny but not too hot, with a gentle breeze rustling through trees. We’re circling back toward the lodge when I hear it: Tate’s voice, low and calm, coming from behind the outdoor shed.

He’s crouched on the grass, completely surrounded by kids, like the Pied Piper. That’s when I notice he’s wearing a pair of his novelty socks today. Bright blue with little lions on them. The kind of socks only someone truly comfortable in their own skin would wear.

Kaylie and Camden sit glued to his side, while three other cousins hang on his every word.

In his hands is a bright orange- and-blue Nerf gun.

“Let me explain the physics of a Nerf gun,” he says, launching into a thorough analysis of how air pressure propels the dart forward.

Miraculously, the kids actually listen to his entire explanation.

Then, he aims at a paper target they’ve attached to a fence post, squeezes the trigger, and the foam bullet bounces off the bullseye.

“Do it again!” Camden shouts.

“Teach me how!” Kaylie says.

“Let’s have a Nerf battle!” Camden says.

Before Tate can react, they ambush him, launching bullets in his direction.

“Hey, hey— ow —time-out!” Tate yells, shielding himself with his arms as bullets bounce off of him. “You guys didn’t even give me a chance!”

The kids shriek with laughter as Tate scrambles for bullets.

“I’m gonna get you!” he yells, jamming the bullets into his gun, and firing back. The kids run in all directions while Tate chases after them like he’s a little kid again.

Annie barks, and he stops and suddenly swings around, gun raised, his stance ready to fire.