“Yes.” He gives Bea a look that’s half-entertained, half-scolding. “I was going to tell youlater.”
“Sorry.” Bea grins.
“Can I see?” I ask.
Tate starts unbuttoning the top of his dress shirt and my eyebrows go up. He pulls the left panel of his shirt aside and my heart drops.
Beside the Big Bear and Little Bear constellations, right over his heart, is a new constellation.
“What is that?” I ask, holding his eyes while my heart trips over itself.
I know what it is, though.
“The Little Fox,” he answers, eyes on me. “You belong with us.”
Like it’s so simple.
Bea looks between us with a smile, and I can’t take it anymore. I round the bar, step into Tate’s space—he’s already standing to meet me—and kiss him.
People whistle at us and I don’t care.
“I guess you like it,” Tate says when I break the kiss.
I nod. “Yes. I like it. And I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he says with affection in his eyes.
How did I get so lucky? How is this my reality? I shake my head at him. “I can’t believe you got a tattoo for me.”
His eyes soften. “I’d do anything for you, honey.”
My heart squeezes. He said that about Bea, once. “I’d do anything for you.” I smile down at her, who’s watching us with delight all over her face. “And you, Bee.”
“I know.” She swings her feet off the stool.
The door opens, and my father walks in. He takes a hesitant glance around before he spots Tate and me.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Tate.
He nods, taking a seat beside the smiling Bea, and I head over to my dad at the door.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” He takes a deep breath, taking in the celebration, the packed bar full of hockey players, like he isn’t sure where to look. “Look at this place.”
“Welcome to the Filthy Flamingo, Dad.”
He smiles softly, eyes snagging on the string lights across the ceiling, his smile turning wistful, before his eyes come to me.
“Congratulations, Jordan. I knew you could do it.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
I believe him. I believe that he thought I could do it all along.
He looks around again. “I always wanted to come here.”
“Maybe you should have.”
