Snapping me back to reality, Fletch adds, “And I’m a man of my word.”
Dragged from the fog of my thoughts, I smile up at him, grateful for the rescue but confused by how the portrayal of his story doesn’t quite mesh with what I remember.
“You were teasing me,” I say, keeping my tone light.
“Only a little.” His eyes meet mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
“But then every time I saw you on campus—” I start.
“I knew a good thing when I saw it.”
The women sigh appreciatively.
“So you eloped right after reconnecting?” Jess asks.
“It was a bet,” Fletch says casually.
My heart stops.
“Your husbands and I had a wager,” he continues smoothly, only sharing parts of the story.
I’d imagine the guys would tell their wives everything, but apparently, signing Fletch up for a matchmaking website falls under the bro code.
He says, “I proved them wrong.”
“And I said yes for research. I write romance novels, and I needed to understand what my characters were feeling.”
From nearby, a woman makes a squealing sound of excitement.
Leah, with Mikey, whose family is doing the renovations on my house, says, “That sound could only come from one person. Gracie. She owns Once Upon a Romance in town. We have a book club and are fans of cotton candy love stories.”
Meanwhile, everyone else laughs, thinking we’re joking, and I exhale slowly. We nearly exposed ourselves, but somehow turned it into something that sounded like a couples’ banter … like a plausible reunion.
Gracie is on her way out because she has an appointment, but she gives me her number and insists we connect this week to discuss book signings and all the possibilities of having a published author in town. She wants to hear all about what she calls ‘Our Marry Little Meet Cute’ over tea. I’ve walked past the bookstore, but have been afraid that once I break the seal and go inside, I won’t want to leave.
And I have to. I can’t move back to Cobbiton permanently—I have books to write, worlds to explore, and a career to expand. I left this place to chase my dreams. They’re out there somewhere. Not here. They can’t be. Right?
The spotlight off us, I observe Fletch interacting with his teammates. They have such a strong bond that they don’t even flinch when one teases the other. They take it on the chin, dish it out, and are still bros. I imagine the heartache he’s experienced at not being able to play for the last few months.
The dynamics and bonds between them give me a flash of inspiration to bring in Drake’s family more and play up his fellow posse of cowboys to be like a band of brothers.
Fletch and the guys get super competitive, trying to out-wrap each other. He’s struggling with the folds, frantic as if afraid to lose, and I feel bad for whatever kid has to unwrap that monstrosity with its wrinkled paper.
I bump him out of the way with my hip.
“What’s that for?”
“I’m going to show you how it’s done. You don’t want to cause some child to cry on Christmas morning because it looks like Santa was wrapping these gifts while blindfolded after an eggnog-drinking dare.”
The guys chuckle and hoot, cheering me on, making me wonder if maybe sometimes Fletch’s pride gets in the way on the ice … and they see he’s met his match.
For the remainder of the afternoon, we wrap side by side and he occasionally asks for my help rather than forging ahead on his own. He flashes a smile in my direction when he successfully ties a red ribbon around a package. Those warm brown eyes crinkle at the corners, and I want more of it. Of him.
With this starting awareness, I realize this isn’t just attraction. It isn’t just chemistry or convenience or research.
This is real.
Later, as we carry the last boxes of wrapped presents to Fletch’s truck for delivery, he says, “We make a good team.”
