Page 41 of Sexting the Coach (Pucking Daddies #6)

Weston

“Make sure the temperature is right. She likes it a little warmer than what the thing says—”

I reach over, plucking the phone out from Elsie’s hand, ignoring her protests, and turning the screen toward myself. “Hi Mabel, hi Hattie.”

“Will you please tell Elsie that we’ve got this?” Mabel deadpans through the screen, and true enough, there’s our baby in Mabel’s arms, sleeping soundly, not fussing a bit. For a second, I forget what I’m doing and just look at our baby girl, until Mabel says, “And tell her to enjoy her day off.”

I jolt back to the present, smiling, “Oh, I’m trying.”

“Weston, give that back,” Elsie says, grasping for the phone, but I hold it out of her reach and say goodbye to Mabel and Hattie, who are more than capable of caring for our six-month old.

This is the first time Elsie has deigned to leave her with someone else while we left, though the two of them were over at our place—one or the other or both of them—most days after she gave birth.

Them, and Elsie’s parents. And Drew, and Karlee. With all the people coming in and out of the house, it was as though we’d hired a full-time, baby-caring staff. So not only are Mabel and Hattie well-versed in babysitting, but they’re also specifically attuned to Mia herself.

“You’re going to make them think you don’t trust them,” Drew says, dancing out of Elsie’s reach when she glares at him.

“First of all, aren’t you supposed to be schmoozing somewhere, and second, the internet says it’s totally reasonable to be anxious the first time you leave—”

“Dear,” Sandra says, appearing behind her and straightening one of the straps of Elsie’s dress. “The internet is an enabler.”

“Exactly,” Drew says.

“And you are supposed to be over there,” Sandra says, turning and glaring at her son. “Preparing for your speech.”

“I’m prepared.”

I stifle a laugh, and both Elsie and Sandra turn to glare at me. We’re at Drew’s gallery—the one he sent invitation after invitation for—and it’s thick with the smells of expensive perfume and cologne, patrons of the arts streaming past us on either side, their suits and dresses a myriad of colors.

The entire gallery is filled with Drew’s work, a culmination of five years of painting.

“Andrew, there you are.” A tall man in a sharp suit appears, his eyes locking onto Drew. “Stop slipping away. You need to talk to the Bergmans before giving your speech.”

Drew lets out a groan that’s more like a little boy’s than the successful artist being presented in a prestigious gallery. “No, those guys are—”

“Very generous donors to the gallery and also personally interested in several of your pieces,” the tall man says through his teeth. “So, you’re coming.”

Elsie relaxes into my side as we make our way through the gallery, taking in the different pieces. We stop in front of one—what appears to be a backyard ice rink, two tiny figures on it.

The boy is in a tiny pink skater’s dress, and the girl is wearing full hockey gear. It’s titled The Day.

I turn to Elsie, knowing she’s crying before even looking at her. I pull a pack of tissues from my pocket—I came prepared for this—and put my arm around her as she shakes.

We don’t need to talk. We’ve done plenty of that for the past six months. Enough that I know that while this makes her sad, it also makes her happy that her brother is back in her life.

When it’s time for Drew’s speech, we line up at the front of the gallery, where there’s a little platform and a microphone.

“Alright,” Drew says, clearing his throat and stepping up to the microphone.

“I’m going to keep this brief. Thank you to my family, for the love and the inspiration.

Thanks to every rich person here today who’s considering buying a piece—” here, the tall man not-so-subtly pinches Drew, and a titter of laughter moves through the crowd, Sandra shaking her head next to me.

“It’s not always easy to be genuine,” Drew says, and his gaze lands on Elsie to my left.

She nods, and I feel the movement against my jacket.

“But you’ll find that once you push through, being genuine is the only real way to be human.

I’m grateful to art—and all of you—for allowing me to by myself. ”

With that, he keeps his word, ending the speech and raising his glass. We all drink happily, watching as his paintings are spoken for, one after the other.

“Drew,” Elsie says, when we manage to catch up with him. “I want to buy The Day. I know it’s already spoken for—”

“Els,” Drew says, pulling her into a hug. When he releases her, both their eyes are shining with unshed tears. “That one was never even for sale.”

The restaurant we head to after the gallery showing is stunning.

Of course it is—I picked it. And, for some reason, despite the fact that I’ve done this before and that I already have everything lined up perfectly—I find myself in the men’s restroom, pacing back and forth, running my thumb over the velvet box in my pocket again and again.

“Hey, man,” Drew says, pushing through the door, and I watch as the door doesn’t even fully shut before August is pushing his way inside, too.

“Hey,” I say, weakly, waiting for them to head to the urinals, or the stalls, but they just stare at me. “Are you…?”

“You’ve already got my blessing,” August says, crossing his meaty arms over his chest. “What are you waiting for?”

“The sun is just going down now,” Drew says, “Henry says it’s the perfect time for the picture.”

“Right.”

Still, I can’t get myself to move.

The door swings open behind August and Drew, and Sandra walks in like it’s not the men’s restroom, her eyes landing on mine.

“There should be a fire under your ass,” she says, pointing out toward the terrace, where our table is. “Now, come ask my daughter to marry you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

With that, they leave, and I return to the terrace a moment later, wielding the champagne bottle I’d claimed I’d left to get in the first place. Elsie looks up at me when I walk out, and not for the first time today, I’m struck by her beauty.

The blond hair, wisping out and away from her face, breaking free from it’s half-up, half-down after a long day at the gallery. The shimmering burgundy dress and shawl around her shoulders.

I’ve never been in love with her more than I am now.

Every day with her has been another chance to love her more, and I did the day Mia was born. I loved her the most that first week when we were home from the hospital.

And now, hand wrapping around the case in my pocket, I think I’m reaching the peak of that capacity for love, though I’ll only surpass it tomorrow, I’m sure.

“Everyone,” I say, once I’ve rounded the table and set the champagne on the table. “I’d like to make a toast.”

“You can’t make a toast,” Elsie laughs, tugging on my arm. “It’s Drew’s—”

“We’ve been planning this day for a long time,” I push ahead, ignoring her. She laughs and shakes her head, sitting back in her seat. “All of us. And, if I’m being honest, I don’t really want to waste another minute before doing what I came here to do.”

“Weston—” Elsie’s voice cuts off when I turn and drop to one knee in front of her, reaching into my pocket. I’ve practiced this move a million times at home, when she couldn’t see me, to make sure I could do it right.

And with her help, with all the physical therapy, the pain in my hip is almost non-existent as I kneel in front of her.

Her mouth drops open, and instantly there are tears in her eyes. My girl—always showing everything she’s feeling.

“Elsie Montgomery,” I say, clearing my throat. “I loved you from the moment I first saw you. And, seeing as how I have them to thank for getting to have you as the mother of my child, I’d like to read to you from my text drafts.”

Her eyes go wider, and Drew wordlessly hands her a tissue. I pull out my phone, which was already open to the screen I needed.

“July 2025. I wish I could tell you how it makes me feel when you walk into a room. November 2024. You should stay at my place forever, Elsie. January 2025. I’d do whatever it took to keep you in my life.

Now,” I look up at her, setting my phone on my thigh and reaching into my pocket, thankful I’ve practiced as I pull it out smoothly and hold the ring out to her.

The words on my phone screen reflect what I say next. “Will you marry me?”

She’s crying so hard she can barely get any words out, but she nods, and I slide the ring onto her finger. The moment it’s there, she stands, throwing her arms around me, and I sweep her up into my embrace, holding her tight, relishing in the feel of her body and the scent of her around me.

“I love you,” she says, a moment later when she’s composed herself. Then, glancing at the phone. “And that was so cheesy.”

“I thought you’d like it.”

“I did,” she admits, and when she smiles, it reaches her eyes.

“Let’s see the rest of those texts,” Karlee says, reaching for my phone, but I pull it just out of reach, heat moving up into my face.

In the spirit of that first one Elsie sent me, there are many, many of them that are only for her eyes.

“These are just for Elsie,” I say, winking at them, but when I look back into my fiancé’s eyes, she’s looking knowingly right back at me.

“Is that so?” she whispers, while everyone else cheers and pours champagne to celebrate the moment. “Well, I’d love to have you read them to me tonight.”

“Oh, I plan to,” I say, tugging her even closer into my body. “Did I not tell you Mabel and Hattie are keeping Mia over night?”

At first, Elsie’s eyes flash with trepidation, but then understanding dawns over her face, “You got us a hotel room?”

“King-sized bed. Hot tub.”

Elsie lets out a hum of approval, then leans forward to kiss me, her hand sliding the length of my arm and tapping at my phone. When she pulls back, she whispers, “I can’t wait.”

“To the lovely couple!” August says, raising his glass, and Elsie and I turn, finding glasses pushed toward us. We all raise them, the liquid glinting in the light of the setting San Francisco sun.

“To love,” Elsie says.

“To forgiveness,” Drew adds.

“To understanding,” Sandra tags along.

“And to family,” I finish, watching as the faces around me soften, my new family members smiling in my direction.

“Cheers!”