Page 44

THIRTY-SEVEN

lauren

When we get back to the lodge, we’re immediately mobbed by the entire family, declared the official winners of the paintball match. With Bart breaking the rules by shooting me unarmed, Aunt Karen disqualified him, and he stormed off without a word.

“So he’s gone?” I blink, trying to absorb the news.

Olivia rushes over to me, Annie tucked in her arms like a spoiled baby. “Packed up and peeled out. Didn’t even stay for the last night.”

Granny huffs behind her. “Good riddance. That man was like a bad rash. Not even Tammy’s essential oils could get rid of him.”

I laugh, and my eyes catch Tate’s from across the room, where he’s encircled by the men, who are bombarding him with questions about the final shootout.

A smile creeps across his lips. Slow, soft, knowing. My heart flutters in my chest.

“It was a team effort, really,” he says. “Lauren had my back. Just us against the world.”

Granny clutches her seltzer water. “Now that is real love. You hold your ground and stick together when life tries to rip you apart.” She lifts her glass. “This calls for a celebration. Who wants meatloaf for dinner? ”

Olivia and I groan in unison, because no matter how much we hate meatloaf, Granny loves to serve it at every family function.

I turn to Olivia. “You know I love that woman,” I whisper, “but if I eat Granny’s meatloaf one more time, I might fake a stomach flu.”

“Oh, no you don’t. You have to come tonight. With Tate.” Olivia turns and watches Tate across the room, still surrounded by Dad and the uncles. “Speaking of which…” She leans close to me. “Please don’t screw this up.”

I blink. “What?”

“This relationship with Tate. Don’t walk away because it’ll be hard if you go to Kansas City.”

“Liv, I don’t know if there will even be an offer.”

“That’s not what this is about, and we both know it.” She steps closer, her voice kind but firm. “You’re scared, Lauren. After what Bart did to you, you’re terrified to trust another guy with your heart. But Tate’s not Bart. He’s not like any of the others.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because of the way he looks at you.”

I watch him head outside with the kids.

“Lauren, I’ve watched guys come and go in your life, and I’ve never seen a man look at you the way Tate does.”

My throat tightens with emotion.

She touches my arm. “He watches you when you’re not looking, smiles when you laugh, steps closer when you’re telling a story. That man is completely gone for you.”

“You really think…?”

“I know,” she says firmly. “And if you let your past mistakes talk you out of this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Don’t throw away something just because it doesn’t fit with your five-year plan.”

Her words land hard. Because she’s right—I’m letting my past drive this decision. But I’m also afraid I’m already so far gone for him that there’s no safe choice left .

I stare at her for one long beat before I say, “I need to get some fresh air.” Then I rush out the back door of the house, feeling like I’m suffocating under an invisible weight.

It’s not that I don’t want a life with Tate. It’s that I want it more than anything.

But I can’t let one magical week dictate the rest of my life. Vacation makes everything look perfect—you’re rested, carefree, living in a bubble where real problems don’t exist.

But what happens when we go back to deadlines and pressure and all the messy parts of actual life? Real love isn’t built only on romantic moments and candlelit cabins. It’s what survives when the magic wears off and you’re left with Monday mornings and dirty dishes and choosing each other anyway.

When I step outside, I pull out my phone to check my email, just because I can’t stop thinking about the application I submitted. And that’s when I see it. A message from the NHL team in Kansas City.

Subject: Interview Request—PR Manager Position

Dear Ms. Williamson,

Thank you for your application for the PR Manager position. We were impressed by your experience with the Carolina Crushers and would love to schedule an interview for next week.

Please let us know your availability.

My fingers hover over the screen. Part of me wants to delete the email, pretend I never saw it. But another part—the driven part that got me this far—types back: When do you want me to come?

I hit send before I can overthink it, then immediately want to take it back.

That’s when I hear a kid squeal across the lawn. I look up to see Tate being used as a human jungle gym. He’s got one kid climbing on his back, another hanging from his arm. He lets them tackle him to the ground, and then he laughs—head thrown back, completely uninhibited.

And something in me shatters .

Because watching him like this, I realize this isn’t just about choosing between a job and a man. It’s about choosing between the safety of the life I’ve planned and the possibility of the life I could have with him.

This week has shown me what life could look like—Tate reading to me by candlelight, making me laugh until my sides hurt, seeing me at my worst and still being the kindest human. This is the version of life I didn’t know I wanted.

But do I take the safe path I’ve always known, or do I risk everything on the chance that what we have is real? Because if I’m wrong—if I choose him and it falls apart—I’ll have given up everything for nothing.

You can’t live both futures.

And that’s what makes it so hard. Sometimes, you have to choose one and let the other go.

The kids run off across the yard, and Tate rises, his eyes finding me across the space between us.

“Everything okay?” he asks, noticing something’s wrong.

“I don’t know how my family will take the news about Kansas City,” I say, realizing that all the good things I’ve loved about this week feel like they’re slipping through my fingers.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” Tate asks.

“You don’t know my family, Tate.”

“Actually, I do." Then he approaches me, grabbing my hand when he reaches my side. “You love these people,” he says. “And they love you. And they’ll support you, whether you go to Kansas City or somewhere else.”

Then he brings my hand to his lips with a gentle kiss. “Hey, Sunny. It looks like you could use a hug.”

And I don’t respond. I just fall into his arms, already feeling like everything’s about to change.

Because I know what’s coming.

And I don’t know how to let it go.