“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“I’m saying I might want a different life. A simpler one. With a lot more sawdust and sexy forearms.”
His laugh is low and rich. “Tessa, I’ve been praying you would come to a decision like this. Believe me, I want you to stay. But I also want you to be sure. This isn't just about me. It's about choosing a life that makes you happy."
I step closer, sawdust and all, until I'm close enough to see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes. "What if youarewhat makes me happy?"
His hands find my waist and squeezes. "Then I guess we better start planning our wedding. Can't have my woman living here with me without a formal declaration. Yep, we need a big fat diamond and a marriage certificate. Everyone’s got to know. This woman is mine.”
First Epilogue
Tessa
Friday Night, Mid-September
The lights of the stadium cut through the twilight like twin beacons. I pull into the parking lot behind Cady Springs High School, still in my scrubs, my badge swinging as I shoulder my bag. The air smells like popcorn and sweat.
Fall has officially arrived in the mountains. It’s been three weeks since I took the job at Cady Springs Hospital. My days are longer than they were in Denver, but the pace is slower. People here are friendlier,and the gratitude runs deep. I don’t regret it for a second. Especially not when I see him.
Coach Liam Rowe.
Clipboard in hand, whistle at his neck, khakis slung low on his hips, a Cady Springs Mountaineers pullover hugging his broad chest. He’s pacing the sideline, barking encouragement to a sophomore quarterback who looks like he’s still growing into his legs.
Liam sees me. His whole face changes.
His smile goes quiet but deep, the kind that hits me low and hot every time. I wave and take a seat in the bleachers behind him and the team members on the bench.
The game is intense. Cady Springs is down by three with less than two minutes left on the clock. I watch Liam crouch beside his quarterback during a timeout, his voice calm but urgent as he draws plays in the dirt with his finger. The player nods, jaw set with determination thatwasn't there moments before.
When they break from the huddle, I can see the shift in energy. The boys move with renewed purpose, shoulders squared, fear replaced by focus. That's one of Liam's gifts - turning doubt into determination with just a few words.
The play unfolds when the quarterback takes the snap, rolls right, and launches the ball in a perfect spiral toward the end zone. Time seems suspended as the ball arcs through the Friday night lights. The crowd holds its breath. I find myself gripping the metal bleacher beneath me. The receiver leaps and stretches for the ball. His fingertips graze the leather, and for a heartbeat I think it's going to slip through. Then he pulls it against his chest, both feet landing solidly in bounds.
Touchdown.
The stadium erupts. Students pour from the stands, parents cheer and hug each other. I stand cheering as the team rushes the field in a pile of helmets and shoulder pads. But I only have eyes for Liam.
He doesn't jump or shout like the others. Instead, he stands perfectly still for a moment, hands on his hips, watching his boys celebrate. Then that slow smile spreads across his face - the one I've come to know means he's proud but not surprised. He believed in them, and they proved him right.
When the chaos settles and the team begins to line up for the traditional post-game handshakes, I make my way down from the bleachers. The crowd is thinning, parents collecting their celebrating children, but I wait patiently by the fence. I've learned that post-game means handshakes, a team huddle, and at least ten minutes of Liam making sure every player knows exactly what they did right and what they need to work on for next week.
I don't mind waiting. I like watching him in his element, the way he moves between the boys with easy authority, a hand on a shoulder here, a word of encouragement there. When one of thefreshmen looks dejected despite the win, Liam pulls him aside. I can't hear what he's saying, but I watch the boy's posture straighten, his face brighten. Whatever words Liam chose hit their mark.
Finally, the team disperses toward the locker room, slapping each other's backs and whooping with victory. Liam gathers his clipboard and water bottles, moving with the efficient grace of someone who's done this routine hundreds of times. He walks over, his eyes finding mine. I can see the satisfaction in his expression, the quiet pride that comes from watching his boys succeed.
"Hey, beautiful," he says, his voice carrying that familiar baritone warmth that never fails to make my stomach flutter.
"Hey handsome, ready to go home and celebrate?”
His grin widens, and he drops his equipment bag to wrap his arms around my waist. "Depends on what kind of celebrating youhave in mind."
I laugh, going up on my toes to kiss him properly.
"Oh, I don’t know. We could pick up pizza and try out that new hot tub you had delivered yesterday," I murmur against his lips.
His eyes darken with interest. "Now you're talking my language."
I use my phone to order our favorite pizza, pineapple and ham with black olives and onions. Liam agrees to pick up the carryout.
