Page 120 of Doctor’s Forbidden Match

We drop our bags in the bedroom. I swap my Louboutins and travel clothes for denim cutoffs, a loose top, and white sneakers. Zac changes too, trading his jeans for khaki shorts and a faded t-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders. He catches me unashamedly staring and smirks.

“See something you like?

“Later.” I grab his hand, pulling him to the porch.

We step outside together, and the view stops me all over again.

“I’ve been thinking,” he breathes against my hair.

“That’s always dangerous.”

“Hannah.” He pulls me to turn in his arms until I face him.

He reaches into his pocket, and my hand flies to my mouth before he’s even pulled it out.

“I thought my life filled with work was enough, that I didn’t need anything else.” He opens the box, and a simple yet large diamond set on a gold band sparkles at me. “And then you broke your ankle and changed my fucking life.”

Happy tears spill down my cheeks the moment he bends down on one knee.

“I want a future with you. Marry me, Hannah.”

I stare at this grumpy, careful, devoted man who baked me cookies, waited outside my PT appointments, fell asleep on my sofa, and chose me, every time, without making a production of it.

“Yes,” I sniff. “Of course, yes.”

He slides the ring onto my finger and then stands to kiss me.

“Did you tell anyone?” I ask against his lips.

“Brooke may have been consulted,” he admits.

I edge back. “Brooke knew?”

“She was very helpful with the ring choice.”

“I bet she was,” I say, already turning toward her, dragging him behind me.

I find Brooke, and she’s looking so smug.

“You did it?” Her eyes shift to Zac behind me.

“He did.” I don’t stop walking until I’m right in front of her. Letting go of Zac’s hand, I show her the ring.

She squeals, and then we hug. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you,” I say as tears stream again.

He digs through a box in the kitchen for the fishing gear, and I find myself drawn to the counter instead—flour, sugars, butter, the chocolate chips he apparently still keeps stocked for exactly this kind of weekend.

“You’re seriously baking right now,” he says, glancing over.

“I told you a year ago, I’d bring you a batch and let you critique them.” I tie my hair back. “I never actually delivered.”

Resting against the counter, he watches me measure things out, make them into balls, and slide the tray into the oven, setting the timer on my phone. “Go. I’ll bring them down when they’re ready.”

He kisses my temple on his way out, heading down toward the water, where Jameson is already cracking open a beer with Emmett hovering over the hot grill.

The second Brooke hops down to hug Emmett hello, I watch him carefully. His arms wrap tightly around her, his hand dropping low on her back, holding her for a second too long. When they pull apart, his thumb brushes her waist. Brooke’s cheeks are flaming pink, and she bites her lip, her eyes bright.

A massive smile tugs at my mouth. They’re perfectly matched. Emmett can talk banking and market trends, and Brooke can counter with micro-accounting data—stuff that goes entirely over my head. The two of them are protective and supportive of each other in exactly the way I hoped someone would be for her.

The timer goes off. I pull out the tray, noting how they’re golden and slightly crispy at the edges, still soft in the middle. I carry the plate I put them on down to the pier where Zac’s waiting.

“Critique time,” I say, handing him one.

He takes a bite, chewing slowly, eyes never leaving mine.

“Needs work,” he says, completely straight-faced.

My eyes narrow playfully. “Liar.”

He pulls me into his side, pressing a chocolate-flavored kiss to my lips, and we hang with our favorite people, in each other’s arms, exactly where we both finally chose to be.

The End.