I look at him—this man who has held me through storms I never let anyone else see—and I can’t believe how lucky I am.
“I will,” I whisper. “I promise I’ll get there. I’ll learn to trust what we have.”
He threads his fingers through mine, squeezing gently. “Take your time, Sunshine. I’m not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY
MILES
It’s been close to a month since the whole internet debacle, and thankfully—just like Penny promised—everything died down almost immediately. No major backlash on Miranda, Anna, or the team. The first week after Miranda found the videos, she moved through life like she was walking on eggshells, bracing for the other shoe to drop. But slowly—hesitantly—she began to trust that maybe the other shoe didn’t exist.
Now? I’d say we’re not just back to where we were before the scandal, we’re even better. Stronger. Closer. Happier.
I love going home to her. I love seeing her in the VIP box at my games. My heart damn near bursts every time my strawberry-blond sunshine wears my jersey to our games.
I truly, deeply love her.
When I open the front door, I’m hit with the most incredible, savory smell. Whatever she's making, it’s different from the usual attempts. There’s no undercurrent of charcoal. This actually smells… perfect.
Miranda appears from the kitchen with a bright smile. I pull her into my arms and kiss her hard.
“Oh my gosh, what smells so good?” I ask against her lips.
She practically vibrates with excitement, clapping her hands together.
“I made dinner! I found this recipe on TikTok, followed it to a T, and I think it actually turned out.”
“Really?” I try not to sound shocked, but her eyes narrow, and I laugh. “I didn’t mean it like that—I’m excited. And starving. What did you make?”
“Braised short ribs,” she announces proudly.
“Braised short ribs?” My brows lift. “That sounds… complicated.”
“I know!” she beams. “I always thought so too, but this lady made it seem so easy, and I think I’ve finally broken my cooking curse.”
“Yeah?” I grin. “All right—let’s see.”
She leads me into the kitchen, where two plates are already prepared—creamy mashed potatoes topped with a thick, glossy braised short rib, gravy, and roasted vegetables. It looks legitimately professional.
I glance between her and the plate. “Miranda… this looks seriously delicious.”
“It is!” she squeals, rocking onto the balls of her feet. “It’s really, really good.”
“All right.” I laugh. “Let’s eat.”
We sit down at the table and dig in—and holy hell, the food is incredible. Tender meat, perfect gravy, buttery potatoes. I look up at her in awe.
“You’ve definitely broken your cooking curse. You’re officially a bona fide chef.”
She giggles and takes a huge bite of potatoes. “I know. It’s amazing. It’s so good. I mean, I just feel confident. Like if I can make this meal, I can makeanymeal.”
“I agree,” I say, smiling at the pride radiating off her. “I know you can.”
We finish eating and talk about our days while I keep one eye on the clock. As Miranda sets her fork down, I wipe my hands on a napkin and say, “So… I have a little surprise for you. Something I really hope you’ll love.”
Her eyes brighten with curiosity. “Really? What is it?”
