And that’s when I break.
There, in the arms of the woman I love, all of the emotions I can’t hold back any longer break free. “I love you,” I gasp into her neck.
She squeezes me so hard that the rest of the world ceases to exist. “Thisis whatyouwere always meant to do too, you know.” Her voice is thick, her hands threading through my hair, her lips still on my cheeks. I have no idea where my hat went, and I don’t care. “I am so proud of you. I love you and I’m thrilled for you and I’m so proud of you.”
“This all feels too good to be real. You. The team. Winning. You. You. You.”
She laughs. “So what do you see on top of your mountain, Mr. Rock?”
“The whole world. Theentireworld. Right here. With you.”
“That’s what’s on top of my mountain too.”
Someone calls my name. We have things to do. Trophies. Interviews. Celebrating with the team before I go home and celebrate all over again with Waverly, then head out to Shipwreck to celebrate with my whole town tomorrow.
But for one more minute, I kiss the woman who means more to me than all of it combined.
“Thank you for coming to see me,” she whispers when I finally pull back, that sense of duty—and excitement—pulling me back to where I only temporarily need to be.
“Thank you for waiting for me,” I whisper back.
I don’t know if we’re talking about tonight, or if we’re talking about her concert this past spring, or every minute of the eight years that we were apart, but I do know one thing.
For her, for this moment, forus, I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.
EPILOGUE
Aka, the rest of the story of what really happened in the final epilogue of The Grumpy Player Next Door
Cooper Rock, aka a man on the way to the top of his mountain. No, really. He’s driving up his mountain.
“There areseventy million things I love about Thorny Rock Mountain, starting with, it’s where I came from,” I tell Waverly as I steer my truck around a corner on the mountain that I still don’t own all of since Beck Ryder is stubborn.
But. I have most of it, and now, I also have the woman of my dreams beside me, a World Series trophy nestled in between the groceries we grabbed before we left Copper Valley this morning to head to Shipwreck for Thanksgiving, plus a cat in his carrier, and there’s so much happiness in my heart that I can barely contain myself.
“You came from the mountain?” she teases.
“Yep. I was birthed by this very mountain, and I gave it no labor pains, and we high-fived each other the minute I came out, and we’ve gotten along great ever since.”
She cracks up.
“Don’t tell my mother I’m making shit up, okay?” I say. “Not that she’d be surprised. I tell her something like this every Mother’s Day to watch her laugh at me.”
“Oh my god, I love you,” Waverly says. “Promise me you’ll stay this goofy forever.”
“I promise.”
Much as I love the city, home is where my heart is, and I’m almost home.
Also, home feels way,wayhomier when Waverly’s with me.
We pass the first house I bought once I decided I wanted to own the whole pile of dirt that birthed me. This one’s a normal-size two-bedroom log cabin that families from the city come out and rent on weekends.
“High five, Bear Cottage,” I call to it.
“You named your rental properties?” Waverly asks.
“Hell, yeah. Rents better when it has a name. Plus, who wouldn’t want to stay in Bear Cottage?”
