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When he sees me, he smirks, but doesn’t lower his gun. “I thought I heard someone hiding over here. Do you surrender, Sunny?”

I put my palms in the air. “It’s not fair if you shoot me. I don’t even have a gun.”

“Hmm.” He looks me over. “You’re right. Basic rule of Nerf war—you can’t shoot innocent bystanders.”

I lower my hands as Annie settles by my feet. “So Annie and I are safe?”

“That depends on what you mean by safe ,” he says. “I’m not sure you’re the one who’s safe for me to be around.”

I blink, surprised by how my brain wants to take those words. “I’m your PR manager. Trust me, I’m the definition of safe.”

Even as I say it, I know it’s not entirely true. There’s nothing safe about the way my heart rate doubles when he looks at me like that, or how badly I want to find out if the rest of him is as warm as his hands.

“Besides,” I add, trying to regain control, “being dangerous would require breaking rules. And you’re Sheriff, remember? The rule-follower.”

His smile grows into something I rarely see from him—a little reckless and playful. “Maybe you’re teaching me that some rules are worth breaking, Sunny.” Then he smirks before adding, “And maybe you’re the first rule I want to break.”

The words hang between us, shimmering like a delicate promise of a future I want so badly. I should back away. Remind him that after this week we go back to me being his PR manager and him being a player.

“That’s a dangerous game, Sheriff,” I say quietly. “I suggest you just walk away.”

“And leave you here…defenseless? Can’t do that, Sunny.”

“Well, I think the kids ditched us, anyway.”

“Good,” he says, taking another step toward me. “I was hoping we could be alone.”

I hold up a hand to stop him from coming closer. “Tate, this week has been really fun.”

He nods. “It has.” Then he reaches for my hand. “I’ll never forget it.” He laces his fingers with mine and squeezes. “Holding your hand in case we need to run from any small children.”

I try to hide my delight. “I think you’re using the kids as an excuse.”

He shrugs lazily, a smile playing on his lips. “Maybe.” But he doesn’t pull away. And neither do I. The warmth of his palm against mine runs like a current through my body.

I move my body away from his slightly, not because I don’t want Tate to touch me, but because I very much do. “About last night…”

Before I can finish, a sharp sound cracks through the air, and a foam bullet ricochets off the side of Tate’s head. Seriously? It seems like every time Tate and I are finally alone, we get interrupted by my family.

He spins around as a chorus of war cries erupts from the bushes. “Attack!” Camden shouts as five kids storm out, firing at us.

Tate lifts his gun as he shouts over his shoulder, “Run, Sunny!” And then we’re sprinting through the woods, foam bullets hitting our backs as the kids chase us.

When we reach the clearing near the lodge, the kids are out of bullets and devolving into a free-for-all of arguments and wrestling matches.

“I think my expertise is needed here,” Tate says. “These troops need serious tactical training. But first we need to pick up bullets.” He looks at Annie, who’s watching the brouhaha. “Want me to take her with the kids? She seems to be enjoying the action.”

“Sure,” I say, grateful for the excuse to escape. “I’ll grab some water from inside.”

As he turns to the kids, I hear him announce, “All right, troops! Time for advanced Nerf warfare training. Who wants to learn how to set up a proper ambush?”

Their voices fade as they disappear into the woods and I head to the lodge. Inside, I make my way to the sun porch off the kitchen—my favorite spot since we started coming here. I curl up in the wicker loveseat, tucking my feet beneath me, while I mindlessly scroll my phone.

The screen door squeaks open, and Abby walks in, pausing when she sees me. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” I say, turning back to my phone.

Abby and I were close growing up, but this week has been strained in a way that’s put a clear wedge between us. She sits in the wicker chair opposite me, smoothing her hands over her sleeveless blouse. For a moment, neither of us speaks. Only the ceiling fan creaking overhead fills the silence.

Then she takes a deep breath. “I owe you an apology, Lauren.” Her eyes meet mine, earnest and a little sad. “I didn’t mean for this week to become about Bart. I honestly thought things were over between you two and it wouldn’t be an issue.”

I study her face—the cousin I built sandcastles with every summer, who helped me sneak cookies from the pantry, who showed up to support me at Mom’s funeral. There’s no malice there, just regret.

“Of course they’re over,” I say gently. “It was over at the last reunion, I just couldn’t bring myself to do something about it with Mom’s sickness.” I set my phone down with a sigh. “The awkward part now is being the lone single cousin at this reunion.”

“But you aren’t single,” she says carefully. “You’ve got Tate.”

“I meant…married,” I correct, suddenly very aware of my slip. “And Bart just knows how to push my buttons. It wasn’t right—how I acted during the water balloon toss and baking competition. I’m a competitive person, and so is Bart, and that’s a bad combination for a grudge match.”

“You’re not the only one,” she says with a quiet laugh, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I wish I hadn’t invited him, but Mom slipped and asked him.”

I stare at her. “Wait, Aunt Tammy asked him?” I say, the pieces falling into place.

Honestly, that sounds exactly like Aunt Tammy.

Head in the clouds, not thinking of who it affects, just her dreamy ideas about second chances and love conquering all.

I should’ve guessed this instead of assuming Abby had planned it all.

“And then I couldn’t go back because he accepted the invitation right away.

Honestly, I think he just wanted to win first place at the Family Olympics.

” She looks down at her hands. “I should have warned you before you came. I just didn’t know how to bring it up without making things weird between us. And then it got weird anyway.”

“I’m sorry too, Abby,” I say, reaching across to touch her arm. “I’ve been so caught up in my own baggage that I didn’t consider how awkward this is for you. Do you think there’s any hope you could work things out with him?”

She shrugs, not looking like she even cares. “Not if he can’t stop pressuring me in every competition, telling me what to do and how to do it. During the baking competition, I wanted to smash a cupcake in his face before it was over.”

The mental image of sweet, quiet Abby shoving frosting up Bart’s nose makes me laugh out loud—a real laugh, the first one we’ve shared all week.

“Oh, Abby,” I say with a grin. “I would have paid good money to see that.”

She smiles back, the tension between us finally dissolving. “Maybe next reunion.”

We look at each other for a moment, and something passes between us—an understanding that we’re still family, still the girls who spent summers building sandcastles and trading secrets.

She sighs. “The only problem now is that I don’t want to be his partner. I’d rather compete alone. But we’re in first place, so I have to.”

I lean toward her. “You don’t have to do anything—and I’m not just saying that to win. Sometimes this family makes it feel that way, but I’m giving you permission to do what you want. If that’s compete by yourself, you should do it.”

“Really?” she asks, thinking this over.

“Why not? I don’t think it’s fair that we have to compete as pairs.”

Her lips curve upward. “Yeah, you’re right. Bart can fight his own battles. Team Abby is going to kick his butt.”

We both laugh, and that’s when she spots my phone where I have the Crushers’ Facebook page still open.

“Are you still happy working for the Crushers?” she asks.

“They’ve been the best team I’ve ever worked for,” I say, glancing at a picture of Tate. The words are true, which makes this whole situation even more complicated.

She gives me a funny look. “Huh. ”

“Why?”

She hesitates for a second before responding. “Because the other night, you left your laptop in Patty’s room and when I opened it to see whose computer it was, there was a job application on the screen.” She tucks her hair behind her ear again. “Kansas City, right?”

Heat crawls up my neck. Being caught hiding a secret is bad enough, but being caught in one secret that potentially exposes another one feels like the foundation of our whole ruse is starting to crack.

“I was just checking out options,” I say casually. “I’m always looking at NHL job openings.”

“Even though you’re dating one of the players?” she asks. “But why? You never seemed like the type for a summer fling.”

“He’s not my summer fling,” I say quickly. Because it’s worse than that. He’s not even my boyfriend.

My palms start to sweat. This is exactly why I hate secrets—it inevitably spirals into something more until I’m trapped in a web of my own making.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound bad,” she says apologetically. “It just seems strange you’re considering a long-distance move in the middle of a new relationship. When I’d think you’d be…” She pauses.

“What?”

“I don’t know, sticking around to see where this goes?”

I look down at my hands. How do I explain that the job in Kansas City represents everything I’ve worked for? That as much as I care about the Crushers—about Tate—I’ve been planning my career trajectory since college? That the NHL is my dream, just like making it there is his?

But how do I also explain the growing dread I feel every time I think about finishing that application?

“Hockey players move around all the time,” I say as an excuse. “He never intended to stay either.”

Abby looks at me, and for a moment I’m afraid she can see straight through me. “But that’s how love works, Lauren. You stay for the one who’s worth it.”

Which is exactly why she thinks it’s strange I would leave. Especially now, when I have the most incredible guy in the world.

I look away from her as something balloons in my chest. What would Abby say if she knew the truth about us? That I’m applying for jobs while simultaneously developing feelings for a man who’s doing me a favor?

“You know me, Abby,” I say, my voice quietly strained. “I’ve always put my career first.”

But for the first time in my life, I’m not sure if that’s even true anymore.