Page 26

PIPER

TWO MONTHS LATER

T wo months after the podcast finale, graduation morning arrives with picture-perfect late May sunshine spilling through my bedroom window.

The kind of golden light that makes the UB campus look like it belongs on a recruitment brochure, all ivy-covered buildings and students sprawled on emerald quads.

My goal today is simple but monumental.

Number one: Graduate with honors.

Two: Navigate the introduction of Liam to my father without spontaneously combusting from anxiety.

Oh yeah, and somehow make it through the emotional rollercoaster of saying goodbye to four years of college life.

"Rise and shine, future fellowship winner!" Abigail sings, barging into my room with coffee that smells like Heaven in a mug. "Your cap is ironed, your dress is pressed, and your boyfriend texted that he's bringing breakfast."

"Please tell me it's not those protein pancakes he's been experimenting with because of Derek,” I groan, sitting up and accepting the mug. "The last batch tasted like sweetened cardboard."

"Apparently he's outsourced to professionals this time. Something about not risking food poisoning on graduation day."

I take a grateful sip. "Smart man. He's learning."

"Speaking of learning," Abigail perches on the edge of my bed, "are you ready for the Dad-meets-Liam summit?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," I sigh, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. "Dad's excited to meet him, which somehow makes it worse."

"Because he's already planning your wedding?"

"Because I've never brought anyone home before. Not once. This is uncharted territory."

"I'd say Liam Sullivan specializes in uncharted territory when it comes to you," Abigail notes with a smirk. "Remember when?—"

A crash from the living room interrupts her, followed by a yelp and muffled cursing.

"Ope! That would be your man now," Abigail says, jumping up.

I hurry out to find Liam sprawled on the floor, surrounded by what appears to be the remnants of several bakery boxes.

Strawberries and whipped cream decorate his UB Hockey t-shirt, and a smear of chocolate traces his razor-sharp jawline.

"I tripped over the graduation gifts your younger brother Nathan sent," he explains, pointing to a stack of wrapped packages I hadn't noticed by the door. "Good news: I saved the coffee. Bad news: the croissants gave their lives for the cause."

I can't help it.

I burst into laughter, the tension of the morning evaporating at the sight of him—tall and broad-shouldered—covered in pastry casualties.

"If you think this is funny, come help me up, Thompson," he grumbles.

I extend my hand, which he takes—and promptly pulls me down on top of him, resulting in my pajamas joining the breakfast massacre.

"Liam!" I shriek as whipped cream smushes between us.

"Now we match," he says, grinning before stealing a quick kiss. "Happy graduation day."

"You're a bad influence,” I tell him, trying and failing to look stern.

"Yet you love me anyway.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "Scientific anomaly."

From the hallway, Abigail clears her throat. "While this is adorable in a food-fight sort of way, may I remind you both that graduation starts in two hours and your dad's flight lands in forty-five minutes?"

Reality crashes back. "Oh god, the airport pickup!"

I scramble up, slipping on a piece of croissant and nearly face-planting before Liam catches me.

"I've got it covered. Derek's already on his way to get your dad. I told him we needed extra time to prepare."

"You sent my brother to pick up my father? The same brother still gives you death glares at team events?"

"We've reached a truce," Liam says, looking slightly smug. "Besides, he owed me after I covered for him with Coach Murphy last week."

"The Ellie situation?"

"Coach almost caught them at the rink after hours," Liam explains, wiping chocolate from his chin. "I created a diversion involving the Zamboni and Ryan's unfortunate singing voice."

"My heroes," I say dryly, surveying the breakfast carnage. "We still have a disaster to clean up here."

"Already on it," Abigail announces, returning with a roll of paper towels. "You two shower—separately, please, time constraints—and I'll salvage what breakfast I can."

Twenty minutes later, freshly showered and dressed in my graduation outfit, I find Liam in the kitchen attempting to arrange the surviving pastries on a plate.

"It's like a bakery crime scene," he says, gesturing to his artistic arrangement. "But I think it works?"

The mangled remains of croissants and Danishes have been shaped into what I assume is supposed to be a graduation cap.

"Points for creativity," I say, slipping my arms around his waist from behind. "Thank you for trying."

He turns in my arms, suddenly serious. "I'd do a lot more than wrangle destroyed pastries for you, Thompson. You know that, right?"

"I do, which reminds me—I have something for you." I lead him to the coffee table where I've placed a wrapped package. "Early graduation present."

He unwraps it carefully, revealing a leather portfolio embossed with his name.

"Open it," I urge.

Inside are two train tickets—Boston to New York, dated for next month—and a folder of information about the New Jersey development team he'd mentioned.

"I did some research," I explain as his eyes scan the contents. "Their training facility is only a thirty-minute train ride from my fellowship apartment. And I found three rinks nearby where you could practice when you visit."

His smile grows with each page he turns. "You've mapped out every hockey resource within twenty miles of your place."

"With ratings, reviews, and optimal travel routes," I confirm, a hint of my old methodical self shining through. "It's not exactly spontaneous, but?—"

"It's perfect.” He pulls me close. "It's exactly what we need—a plan flexible enough for both of us."

"So, you like it?"

"I love it," he says, voice warm against my ear. "Almost as much as I love you."

The apartment door flies open, startling us apart like guilty magnets with opposing poles.

"We're back!" Derek announces, followed by my father, who takes in the pastry-strewn kitchen, my slightly disheveled appearance, and Liam's hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar expression with the measured assessment that only a parent can give.

"So," Dad says with a small smile, "this must be the famous podcast partner I've heard so much about."

Liam steps forward, hand extended. "Mr. Thompson, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Liam Sullivan."

Dad ignores the hand and pulls Liam into a bear hug instead. "The boy who's made my daughter both happier and more spontaneous than I've ever seen her? Call me Robert. And fair warning—I've listened to every episode of your podcast. Twice."

Liam shoots me a panicked look over my father's shoulder as Derek makes slashing motions across his throat.

"Every episode?" Liam squeaks. "Including the, uh, finale?"

"Especially the finale," Dad confirms, releasing him. "Quite the gesture, young man. Sets a high bar for future romantic overtures.”

"Dad!" I hiss. "Boundaries!"

"What? I'm just saying your mother would have loved him," Dad says, completely unrepentant. "She always said you needed someone who'd challenge your compulsive planning."

"I don't..." I start, then catch Liam's raised eyebrow. "Fine. I plan. It's not a crime."

"Definitely not," Liam agrees. "In fact, her planning might have saved our relationship. And my hockey career," he adds, holding up the portfolio I'd given him. "Your daughter's research skills are unmatched, sir."

My father's face softens as he looks between us. "You know, this reminds me?—"

Abigail's timer shrieks from the kitchen. "T-minus forty minutes to graduation lineup! Move it, people!"

As we gather our caps and gowns in a flurry of activity, Liam catches my hand, pulling me in for a quick kiss.

"By the way," he whispers, "I have a graduation surprise for you too. Julian's reopening the studio at seven tonight for an unofficial 'where are they now' episode."

I blink. "Really?"

"Full circle," he says with a nod. "Seemed appropriate. One last recording where it all began before the next chapter."

As we finish preparing, leave, and join the stream of black-robed graduates filing toward the ceremony, Liam's hand firmly in mine, I realize something.

Our story isn't ending with graduation or fellowships or hockey careers.

We're just turning the page to a new chapter—one we'll write together.

One experiment at a time.