FORTY-THREE

lauren

After I get dressed, Tate takes me downstairs to the coffee shop, where there’s a sign on the door that says “Sunny and Sheriff, Private Party Only.”

Each of the tables is lit by a single candle, their flames casting a honeyed glow, the blinds drawn to give us privacy as Tate leads me to the same table where we had our first PR meeting.

The aroma of vanilla and fresh bread hangs in the air, and I’m immediately reminded of the cinnamon rolls we shared.

“Why isn’t anyone here?” I ask.

“Because Scarlett closed down the coffee shop for us,” he says, then pauses. “I wanted a second chance at a first date with you.”

I stare at the table. There’s a bouquet of bright yellow sunflowers in the middle and a simple white box wrapped with a red bow.

I shake my head. “But I don’t understand. Why would you go to all this trouble? You could’ve just asked me to meet you here during my workday.”

“After making you stay in a rodent-infested cabin and sleep on a bed that could double as a torture device?” He gives me a shy smile. “I think you deserve better, Sunny. And I wanted a shot at proving it to you. ”

He stands, then pulls out a chair for me and motions for me to sit.

“Just for the record, I fell in love with that cabin,” I say, taking a seat.

“It may have been old, but I didn’t actually mind that sofa bed when you were reading to me in it.

” I don’t tell him the rest—how I fell in love with those quiet mornings, waking up to his sleepy smile and the sound of him saying the name that’s only mine: Sunny.

Suddenly the door from the kitchen opens and Lucian steps out, dressed as a waiter carrying two drinks, alongside Rourke, who follows with cinnamon rolls.

I look between them. “Shouldn’t you both be at practice?”

“We’re helping out a friend,” Lucian says, his eyes connecting with Tate’s as he hands me my favorite coffee.

Rourke sets down a plate with two cinnamon rolls, frosting melting and pooling around the edges. “I was told I had to participate.”

I bite back a laugh. “I hope you’re getting paid for this.”

“He is. In baked goods,” Tate says. “Bribery is the currency of true friendship. Plus, I promised to put in a good word with Janie.”

Rourke gives him a look, then vanishes with Lucian into the kitchen again.

It isn’t until Annie tries to steal a swipe of frosting from my plate that I realize she’s hopped onto my lap.

“She’s clearly got a thing for you,” Tate says, amused.

I run my hand along her back, her tail thumping against my leg. “I’m going to miss her when you take her back to the shelter.”

Tate takes a bite of his cinnamon roll, eyes steady on mine. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. I’m not taking her back.”

I blink. “Wait, you’re keeping her?”

“Nope,” he says. “You are.”

“Tate, I can’t?—”

I lift Annie off my lap and try to set her down, but she immediately hops right back up again, curling into me like it’s already settled.

“She disagrees,” Tate laughs.

“I probably wouldn’t even get approved to adopt her,” I say.

He holds up a hand. “Already handled. I talked to James. The paperwork’s done. You’re approved. All that’s left is your signature— if you want her.”

I stare down at her and realize I could never let her go. “I do want her. But why would you go to all this trouble for me?”

He leans forward, taking my hand across the table. “Because I saw how happy she makes you. The way your eyes light up when you hold her. Even if you’re in Kansas City, I wanted you to have a piece of home—someone to be there when I couldn’t.”

I pause, then take a deep breath, pulling my hand away slightly. “Tate, about Kansas City?—”

“It’s okay if you take the job,” he says before I can get the words out. “If you think long distance won’t work, at least let me try to prove that it can.”

“No, it’s not that.” I shake my head. “I’m not taking the job.”

“You’re not?” he says, clearly surprised.

I stroke Annie’s fur. “It felt wrong the moment I got there. Sully’s Beach is my home. This team is my family. My sister is here. But that doesn’t mean I want to influence your decision.”

He tilts his head and frowns.

“I overheard what Coach Jenkins said,” I say. “I don’t want you turning anything down just because I’m staying. I don’t want to be some kind of… obligation .”

He nods slowly. “I have an answer about Seattle, but I want to tell you properly. And you would never be an obligation. This moment is about you coming home to me. Can you trust me for just a little longer?” His gaze holds mine, and something in his expression tells me to hear him out.

“This past week, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he says, taking my hand again, his fingers brushing lightly across my palm before sliding to my wrist. He traces a now- familiar path along my freckles, like he’s memorizing the shape of me all over again.

“And that’s because I’ve paid attention to everything about you—not because I had to, but because I wanted to.

Every habit, every expression, every secret thing that makes you…

you .” He lifts his gaze to mine. “I know you spin your mom’s ring when you’re nervous.

I know you have eight freckles on your arm that make a constellation when I connect them.

I’ve seen how you melt the second Annie looks at you.

And when I smile, you try really hard not to look at my dimples, but you always do. ”

“It’s that obvious?” I laugh, even though I know it’s true.

His mouth curves into that maddening, glorious smile. “You’re the one who said it’s an asset. I’m just smart enough to use it on you.” He winks, then pushes the box on the table toward me. “Open this.”

I lift the lid tentatively, a little nervous about what I’ll find inside. Nestled in white tissue paper is a jersey, but not the Kansas City one I half expected. It’s a Crushers jersey with Tate’s number across the back.

“But how did you know I wasn’t going to Kansas City?” I say with a frown.

“I didn’t,” he says matter-of-factly. “So I made the logical decision and bought both.” He looks down at the jersey, then back at me with something almost shy in his expression. “Will you wear it for me? I’d love to see you in it at the community exhibition game next week.”

And suddenly, it’s not just a jersey. It’s him offering me a place in his world. A statement that even if we’re still figuring things out, he wants me in it with him.

I lift a brow, unsure if he’s really ready to announce it to the world officially . “Your fan club is going to be devastated.”

“Let them be,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Because I’m with you now. And if someone asks why you’re wearing my number, tell them it’s because you’re mine, and I’m never walking away. ”

I get up from my seat, settling Annie on the floor, and slide into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck.

I press a gentle kiss to his cheekbone, then trail slowly along his jaw, every kiss a silent thank-you for this moment, for choosing me.

When I finally reach his mouth, I linger there, tasting the sweetness of cinnamon on his lips.

And when we finish, he rests his forehead against mine and murmurs, “This is the best welcome home gift of all. But you forgot one more thing in the box.”

Under the jersey, wrapped in tissue paper, is a stack of papers.

I carefully unwrap it, and my breath catches.

It’s the first printed page of his book—and my name is in the dedication.

To Sunny, who taught me that the best stories are the ones you choose to live with someone you love.

My eyes burn as I stare at the words. This man who guards his privacy like a secret wrote my name in his book for the whole world to see .

“You dedicated it to me?” I whisper, astonished.

“I did. Because thanks to you, I finished it. And I finally know how it ends—with us writing our own story together.”