“Excuse me,” I tell them. “Someone’s waiting for me.”
Tate’s eyes stay on me as I make my way to him and he holds his hand out to me.
“Would you like to dance with me, Jordan?”
I nod, and he pulls me to the back area. People see what he’s doing and clear the way, some pairs joining us. He puts his other arm around my waist, and holds me close.
“What do you think about getting married at the summer house?” he asks as we sway.
My eyes lift to his, my heart in my throat. “I love that idea.”
His gaze goes soft like velvet, like I’m cute and he loves me. “This is not me asking you.”
“Oh, really?” My eyebrows go up. “Sounds like it.”
“Uh-uh. I still need to get a ring.” He searches my eyes. “With an indigo stone, like your eyes.”
“I’d love that.”
He hums, holding me close. We’re surrounded by people, and yet it’s the two of us in our own little world.
“I can’t believe you got a tattoo for me.” I shake my head. “Tattoos are forever, Tate.”
“I know.” He leans down, kisses me, and smiles against my lips. “So are we.”
EPILOGUE
JORDAN
Five years later
I’min my office when my husband appears in the doorway.
My smile is instant. “Hi.”
Even when we own a hockey team together and I see him multiple times a day, I still swoon at the sight of Coach Tate Ward.
“Hi, honey.” He takes a seat on one of the chairs across from my desk, surveying the moving boxes all over the room with a funny smile. “This place looks like the guesthouse did after you moved in.”
With all the shopping bags and racks of clothing from the stylist, he means.
“That feels like yesterday.” I laugh at the memory. The past five years have flown by as my father handed more and more over to me.
Running this team? It’s a ton of work. I love it, though. I love these people, and I love working with Tate.
Across the hall, his office is empty. The movers were in and out all morning.
His eyes dip to my neckline. I’m wearing the necklace he bought me. I wear it most days. He’s bought me countless necklaces in the past five years, but the fine rose-gold chain is my favorite.
On my left hand, a ring sparkles, with a stone the color of myeyes set within a constellation of white diamonds. The Little Fox. Sometimes, the stone looks blue, sometimes violet, depending on what light I’m in.
I never used to be a jewelry person, but Tate changed that. I look at my ring and I think of him, my partner and best friend. I look at my ring and think of our wedding at the summer house two months after we won the Cup, surrounded by our friends and family. I think about Bea, who’s fifteen now and plays guitar in a band and has a girlfriend and wants to study astronomy and music in university. Phoebe still follows her everywhere and hasn’t aged a day since I brought her home to my crappy apartment. I’m convinced she’s immortal. Bea plans to sneak her into her dorm when she goes to university.
I amnotready to think about Bea moving away to university, I told Holly the last time Bea brought it up. Between Bea and vacations and our shared love of horror movies, Holly and I have become close friends. Jeff’s a scaredy-cat like Tate and usually hides upstairs while the movies are on.
“You’re not packed,” Tate says, gesturing to the pictures on my wall.
My framed master’s diploma is in one of the boxes, but some photos remain—the one of my dad winning the Cup, the one of Tate and my dad years later, and one from five years ago, with Tate and me standing on either side of the Cup while I beam at the camera and he smiles at me.
