Page 102 of Pucking Strong (Jacksonville Rays #4)

Shoving her flowers at my chest, she darts away in search of her lost duffel bag. She may not be mine by blood, but apparently the propensity to lose things is more a nurture-over-nature thing.

“ I s dinner the surprise?” I say as Henrik pulls the SUV into the parking lot of High Tide. We’ve been playing the world’s most unfun game of Twenty Questions, where I try to guess the surprise and they give me nothing.

“It’s part of it,” says Karro from the back seat. She’s out of her costume now, dressed in a comfortable purple sweat suit set. But she still has her hair braided and her show makeup on. “Morbror said this restaurant was special to you.”

I click off my seat belt as she says the words, sitting frozen in the front seat.

My god, she’s right. We haven’t been here together since our first date.

How is that even possible? I think I’ve been here a few times in the passing years.

A birthday, maybe. And a work lunch. But never with Karolina and Henrik.

It’s just far enough down the A1A that we never think to go here.

I slip out of the SUV as Henrik hands the keys to the valet. Karolina steps in behind Henrik, taking one of our hands in each of hers. She leads the way up the ramp, bouncing ahead to open the front door for us.

“Remember the photographer?” I say, pointing over to the patch of bushes.

Henrik smirks. “And the lady who was affronted at seeing two men holding hands.”

I laugh. “Denise. God, how do I still remember her name?”

We step inside, and Karolina is already at the hostess stand. “We have a reservation for Karlsson,” she says in her doll voice. “Three people.”

The hostess smiles down at her. “Yep, I have it here.”

We follow her through the first dining room into the far corner, where we’re shown a table by the windows.

During the day, this looks out on a gorgeous view of the Atlantic Ocean.

The sun has long set, so now the view is now just a dark abyss.

A candle lit on the table provides a warm glow that reflects off the large windows.

“Your server will be right with you,” the hostess says, handing us our menus.

Henrik and Karro open theirs as if nothing fishy is happening. They both bury their faces behind the folds, leaving me to gape at them, my own menu ignored. “Guys, seriously? You have to tell me what’s going on. It’s not fair that you both know.”

Before either of them can speak, the waiter comes over and takes our drink order.

“He’ll have an amaretto sour,” Henrik tells him.

“I’ll have a pale ale, whatever’s on tap.

And we’re ready to order. We’d like to start with an order of the mussels.

Then we’ll all split a branzino and a plate of the lobster and scallop risotto. ”

“Very good, sir.”

The waiter takes the menus, and I’m left speechless. “You—but that—we ordered that on our first date,” I finally blurt.

He smiles, sipping his water. “I know.”

Snatching up my napkin, I stuff it under the table onto my lap. “Okay, someone better start talking.” I point across the table at Karolina, my eyes narrowed. “You. You’re gonna tell me, aren’t you?”

She glances up at Henrik. “Can we?”

He nods, and I sigh with relief, knowing my suffering is at an end. “We wanted to do something special for you for Christmas this year,” he begins. “Karolina and I coordinated our gifts.”

“But you both always get me such wonderful gifts.” It’s true. Last year they got me a lovely watch and a spa package. The year before, it was a family trip to Canada to go skiing.

“It’s not so much something we can get for you,” Karro explains. “More like … something we each want to ask you.”

I glance between them. “Something to ask me?”

They both nod.

“Well, why are we doing this now? Why not wait until actual Christmas?”

“Because we wanted it to be just us,” she replies. “Morbror goes out of town this week for games, then we’ll all be busy with the trip to Montana. And we won’t really be alone there …”

The Prices invited us to spend Christmas in Montana again this year. One week with twenty-five people trapped in one big ranch house. It’s chaotic and fun, and she’s right—we’ll get no alone time.

The waiter delivers our drinks, and I take a sip of my amaretto sour. “Okay, so you say you have something to ask me?”

Henrik glances down at Karro. “You first, lamm.”

Taking a deep breath, she reaches into the pocket of her purple sweatshirt and pulls out a folded piece of paper. Then she holds it out to me. “This is for you. I wrote it down.”

At the look of nervous excitement on her face, I already know I’m about to freaking lose it.

I take the paper from her, holding back my tears.

She colored the front to look like a winter forest. In a scripty red font, it says, “Merry Christmas.” Smiling, I open the handmade card.

Inside, there’s one line written in her slanted handwriting: “Can I call you Dad?”

I stare down at the words, heart racing. Slowly, I look up to see tears in her eyes, Henrik’s hand on her shoulder. “You really mean it?” I say through my own tears.

She nods, sniffling. “Henrik will always be my morbror. It’s all I’ve ever known, and we’re happy. But I don’t like calling you Uncle Teddy.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “You just don’t feel like an uncle to me. I had a mom, and she was perfect. And I have an uncle,” she adds, smiling up at Henrik. Then she turns back to me. “I think I’d like to have a dad … if you’ll let me.”

I set the card down, tears flowing. “Oh, honey, of course. I mean—is it okay with Henrik?” I look to him to see he’s crying too. I choke on a laugh, grabbing my napkin off my lap. “Oh my god, look at us. The waiter is gonna kick us out of here.”

They both laugh as they wipe their eyes.

I hold out my arms. “Oh, honey, come here.”

She darts out of her chair and around Henrik, dropping into my lap with a soft sob.

I hold her to me, my arms around her tight, trying and failing to keep my cool.

I brush my hand up and down her back, slowly rocking her.

“I’d be honored if you chose to call me your dad. Karolina, I love you so much.”

“I love you.” Her words are muffled against my chest.

“Can I call you my daughter? Is that what you want?”

She nods again.

I turn to Henrik. “Apparently you have something to ask me too?”

“I do.” His expression is glowing as he reaches into the pocket of his suit and pulls out his own papers, folded long ways. Smiling, he extends his arm, holding them out across the table.

Still sniffling on my lap, Karro turns so she can watch me take them. Heart in my throat, I unfold the papers to see some kind of government document. “A name change application for the State of Florida? What, are we about to all go on the lam? Are we committing a crime before dessert?”

Karro grins.

“No,” Henrik replies, his voice soft. “I’d like you to consider changing your last name.”

“To what?” I reply, obviously in a daze.

The corner of his mouth twitches with a smile. “Well, I suppose that will really be up to you, but I was hoping you might add ‘Karlsson’ to the short list of options.”

I gasp, dropping the papers to the table. “You want me to change my last name to Karlsson?”

He shrugs noncommittally. But I see the heat in his eyes. After five years together, I can read him like a book. He wants this. Desperately. “We’re married,” he reasons. “It’s common practice for people who are married to take each other’s name.”

“We are married,” I muse. I wear the rings to prove it. Heck, we did it twice, just to make sure it would really stick.

“And it’s two against one,” Karro chimes, pointing between her and Henrik.

“Oh yeah? Two against one, huh?”

“Yeah, ’cause our names are both already Karlsson. Yours could be too. I think it should be. Then no one can doubt that we’re a family, that we belong together.”

My heart flutters as I glance down at her. “You want this too?”

She nods.

I glance to Henrik. “Well, what if I want to keep my name?Would you consider changing your name to O’Connor?”

After a moment, he nods. “I already asked Elin about the process. Karolina and I can petition the Swedish Tax Agency to have our names changed if that’s your preference.”

I pick up the papers, flipping through them, trying to keep my tone measured. Meanwhile, my heart is racing. “But your preference is for me to become a Karlsson?”

“I have no preference,” he calmly replies. “I’m merely offering you the options. If you don’t wish to become a Karlsson, Karro and I will happily become O’Connors. We’re ready, and we want this. We hope you do too.”

Fighting my smile, I test it out, as if I haven’t whispered it like a prayer a thousand times before. “Teddy Karlsson … it has a nice ring to it.”

Henrik’s gaze is molten. If we were alone right now, instead of in a crowded restaurant, he’d already have me in his arms, my body splayed across this table. The thought makes me sit up a little straighter. “Fine. I’ll take your last name on one condition …”

He raises a brow, waiting.

I grin, playing my trump card. “You have to go to Burning Man with me next year. And, yes, before you ask, you have to wear the chaps. And the lace crop top.”

He sighs as Karro giggles.

I glance between them. “What? What’s funny?”

Henrik nods at her. “Give them to him.”

Reaching in her pocket, she pulls out two small pieces of paper and hands them to me. I gasp as I see that she’s cut them to look like handmade carnival tickets. On each one it says, “Burning Man: Limit One Entry.” She even decorated the edges with cute little flames.

My gaze darts between them as I sputter. “But—I— how ?”

Across the table, Henrik just smiles. “Because I know you, mitt hj?rta. I know the soul of you. And I will wear your chaps at Burning Man next year. But first, you take our name.”

My smile is so big it hurts as I set the papers aside and wrap my arms around my daughter, smiling across the table at my husband. “Dr. and Mr. Teddy Karlsson … Oooh, babe, that’ll look so good on our return address labels.”

He nods, sipping his beer. “Anything you want, mitt hj?rta. Anything at all.”

THE END