The Rookie

by Kendall Ryan

  Logan wraps a big, protective hand around my thigh, sparking a warm humming sensation across my skin. “No wife of mine is doing anything on our honeymoon other than sitting in her beach chair and drinking as many fruity cocktails as she can handle.”

  He shoots me a wink and a warm smile, but I’m too hung up on the word wife to respond. Just one more day until I officially take on that role, and while I don’t want to wish away this precious family time, I would turn the clock forward just to make him officially mine already.

  “Why don’t we save some of these for tomorrow?” I say, checking the time for the first time since we sat down. It’s nearly one o’clock, a full hour later than the invitations said this brunch would wrap up. The last thing I want to do is make a bad impression on my soon-to-be relatives.

  “You can’t open these tomorrow, silly,” Jillian says. “These are shower presents. Tomorrow you’ll have wedding presents. That’s a whole different can of worms.”

  All I can do is shake my head and laugh. This isn’t just an outpouring of love . . . it’s an entire avalanche. Lucky feels like an understatement to describe how I feel.

  Before I can slip too deep into my feelings, Austen, who has the task of keeping track of who gave which presents, holds his wide-ruled notepad in the air. “Wedding presents? Do I have to take notes on those too?”

  “No, sweetie.” His mother lays a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We’ll make Graham be in charge of that tomorrow.”

  Graham’s glare could melt steel, but it’s quickly interrupted by Aunt Molly volunteering her present to be next.

  “Open my tea towels!” she shouts, then claps a hand over her mouth, wide-eyed at her mistake. “Shoot. I mean, uh, open my gift. It could be anything at all!”

  The room breaks out in laughter so loud, it drowns out Graham’s permanently bad mood. When I pull two plush tea towels from Aunt Molly’s gift bag, I still make sure to act surprised. Each one has a perfect letter T embroidered in pale pink thread. My soon-to-be new last name has never felt so official.

  “Thank you, Aunt Molly,” I say with a grin. “These will be so gorgeous in our kitchen.”

  Our kitchen, in our home.

  Logan’s apartment on the Boston Common is plenty big enough for two, so we’ve arranged for me to break my lease and move in with him for the duration of his contract with the Titans. After that, I’m crossing all my fingers and toes that he can secure a transfer to the Denver Avalanche, putting us just a hop, skip, and a jump from Lost Haven. It’s a long shot, but crazier things have happened.

  Like us falling in love in the first place.

  “Speaking of kitchens, let’s do my present next!”

  Jillian leaps to her feet, scurrying to the pile of presents and carefully selecting the largest box from the center. She winces and grunts as she struggles to lift it, and when she places it in my lap, I can see why. The heft of it makes me recoil.

  “Jeez, Mom.” Logan laughs, lifting the box to take some of the weight off my thighs. “What did you get us, a box full of bricks?”

  She smiles and rolls her eyes. “I guess you’ll have to open it and see.”

  I shimmy the sheer blush bow off the box, then peel back the matte silver paper a few inches. That’s all it takes for my eyes to light up with recognition. I’d know that familiar shade of aqua anywhere.

  “No way,” I whisper, blinking in disbelief at both the thoughtfulness and the expense of the gift. “It’s just like yours.”

  Jillian nods, beaming at me with a huge smile, her blue eyes twinkling. “It sure is. The exact same make and model and everything.”

  A murmur of what is it makes its way through the living room until I finally peel back the paper all the way, revealing the box to everyone. It’s a state-of-the-art stand mixer in aqua blue, exactly like the one Jillian used to teach me how to make bread.

  Warmth fills my chest. It may be crazy, but this mixer, those memories . . . it all makes me feel like part of the family. And family is something I never thought I’d have again.

  Several pairs of expectant eyes are still appraising us, so I blink away the happy tears.

  “I’d never done much baking before meeting Jillian,” I explain to the family, weaving my fingers into Logan’s. “She taught me everything I know, which admittedly isn’t very much.”

  “But now you can learn on your own. Open the box. I sneaked something else in there.”

  I turn toward Logan, letting him take over. He pops open the lid and sticks one arm inside, emerging with a spiralbound book with a laminated floral cover.

  “It’s a cookbook,” Jillian says. “Of all the Tate family recipes.”

  Logan sets it in his lap, and we flip it open together. The very first recipe? Jillian’s famous currant scones. Only she’s renamed them Summer’s Scones.

  My throat prickles, and I swallow hard to chase the threat of tears away. I can’t cry now. I’m reserving that for when I walk down the aisle tomorrow.

  “Mom, this is perfect.”

  I can hear the rumble of emotion in my fiancé’s voice, so I take his hand again, tracing the lines of his palm with my thumb.

  “Absolutely perfect,” I tell Jillian. “I don’t know how we can ever thank you.”

  “Anything for my Summer-in-law,” she coos. Of all the nicknames she’s tried out on me, this is by far my favorite.

  It takes another hour to finish opening all the presents, but no one seems to mind. We’re all just so happy to be together, to swap hugs and stories and sample the different beers Graham brewed for tomorrow. The Summer Shandy will of course be the signature drink of the evening, but the complete menu of options Graham came up with could rival that of any taproom in New England.

  As grumpy as he may be, I swear that man has a soft spot for me. Good thing I have every family holiday for the rest of my life to confirm that.

  As for Matt and Austen, they’re tipsy and playing dodgeball with wadded-up wrapping paper by the end of the brunch. That’s the thing about being home. Something about it makes you act like a kid again.

  “Knock it off, assholes.” Graham scowls as he blocks a ball of silver wrapping paper that one of his brothers lobbed at his head. He grinds his teeth, scrunching the paper in his fist. “Keep it up, and you’ll both need crutches to get down the aisle tomorrow.”

  “Graham!” Jillian frowns at him. “Of all days, can we not tonight?”

  He opens his mouth to argue, then shakes his head and stomps toward the staircase. Logan pushes to his feet, ready to follow him, but I hold out a hand, keeping him safe at my side.

  “Not today, honey,” I plead. “It’s not worth it.”

  He pauses, then heaves out a sigh, sinking back onto the couch. “You’re right,” he says. “You’re always right.”

  “And don’t you forget it!” Grandpa Al shouts. Suddenly, the tension is gone, replaced with more raucous laughter.

  And there’s that feeling again, that warmth radiating out from my chest that can only mean one thing. Even with its ups and downs, fights and all, I’m finally home at long last.

  25

  * * *

  LOGAN

  Nothing prepares you for how you’ll feel on your wedding day. In fact, I don’t even think feelings were mentioned in our ultra-fast wedding-planning process.

  We practiced our dance moves until we wore down the carpet in the living room, and I must have rehearsed saying “I, Logan, take you, Summer” in the mirror a dozen times, paranoid that I’d somehow manage to mess up that small phrase. But there’s nothing I could have done to predict the feeling in my gut as I stand here at the front of our barn-turned-brewery-turned-wedding venue, waiting for my bride to walk down that aisle.

  God, if I could bottle this feeling, it would fly off the shelves.

  I can only describe it as the best rush of adrenaline I’ve ever felt, mixed with a strange inner calm. No pre-wedding jitters or second thoughts. I’ve never felt more certain that
this is where I belong—ready and waiting for a lifetime with Summer by my side.

  I scan the wooden benches filled with familiar faces, soaking in all the love they’re sending my way. We kept things small—a smattering of Tates; Summer’s mentor, Les; and the minister. Just enough folks for it to feel like a special occasion without any extra faces I don’t recognize.

  My side is full of dark-haired, blue-eyed folks in their Sunday best, looking like they stepped out of a Kohls catalogue instead of the usual Mountain Living.

  Summer’s side, however, is a little sparse. Les and his wife sit quietly at the end of the second row, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for the man. I barely know him, but it means a lot to Summer that they came all this way. After losing her mom in that senseless accident, she has no family. We’ve talked about it before, but seeing it with my own eyes has my stomach in knots.

  But it won’t be that way for much longer. A few I do’s from now, she’ll officially be a Tate, and she’ll have more family than she’ll know what to do with. The thought has me grinning like a damn fool.

  “Shh!”

  It’s almost time, but a snicker from behind me breaks my concentration. I turn to see Austen and Matt, each of them sporting a proud grin.

  I follow Austen’s smile toward the top of the Christmas tree behind us. Somehow, these idiots managed to swap out the star with our bride and groom wedding cake topper. It’s lopsided and dumb, and somehow also fucking delightful—so very much like my family.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot my cousin pick up Matt’s guitar to quietly tune it, and my distracted thoughts settle as the soft music begins, signaling the entrance of the bride. My stomach constricts with eager anticipation.

  Here comes the love of my life.

  When the barn doors open, my entire body lights up like a bonfire. There she is. Summer, an absolute vision in white. With a long lace skirt floating around her and a plunging neckline that has my head swimming, perfect is an understatement for the woman before me. My bride. My wife. She knocks the wind out of me more than any puck ever has.

  Grandpa Al is looking pretty dapper himself in a modest tweed suit and tie, albeit a little wobbly as he walks her down the aisle. It’s less of a giving away of the bride in this case, and more of a welcoming home. When Summer places her long, elegant fingers in mine, I want to freeze time and hang on to this moment forever.

  “Hi,” she whispers soft enough so only I can hear. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” I whisper back.

  I could say it a thousand more times, shout it for everyone to hear for hours on end. But instead, I say the only thing that’s more powerful than I love you.

  I say, “I do.”

  And when the minister says, “man and wife,” Summer Tate becomes my family. My forever.

  The reception passes by in a blur of well wishes and teary-eyed smiles. Though I somehow manage to hug everyone and thank them for coming, I can’t think about anything other than Summer’s hand in mine. Her wedding ring is cool against my fingers, and with every touch of her palm to mine, pride swells in my chest.

  This woman is my wife. My wife. How I managed to pull that off, I’ll never know. I’ve certainly changed a lot from the grumpy bastard she first met.

  I can’t tell you a single thing any of my brothers said in their speeches. But Summer occasionally giggles and wipes away tears with the corner of her napkin during the speeches.

  “Congratulations, man,” Graham grunts, smacking a hard hand against my shoulder. He nods to the bar. “Can I get you another beer?”

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  Graham grumbles something about the nutty tones in the latest batch overpowering the other flavors, but I tune him out in favor of gazing across the candlelit tabletops at my wife. She’s laughing with my mother, probably swapping embarrassing stories about me.

  It doesn’t take long for her to catch me staring. With a sly smile, she nods her head toward the door leading into the stables and gives me what I can only call bedroom eyes.

  How can I resist that invitation?

  “Figures,” Graham mumbles, snapping me back to our conversation “You two couldn’t even last an hour.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He levels me with a hard look. “Tell me you aren’t about to sneak off together.”

  Shit. I guess my staring was a bit more obvious than I thought. “Uh . . .”

  Before I can think of anything to say, Graham shakes his head almost mournfully and pulls a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet. Matt appears seemingly out of nowhere, plucking his winnings from Graham’s hand.

  Leave it to these morons to place bets on my wedding night.

  “Gross,” Matt says, but the grin on his face is downright gleeful.

  I roll my eyes and abandon my brothers to join Summer in the stables.

  “Did anyone see you?” she asks between giggling kisses.

  “Most definitely.” I sigh, dragging my lips across her neck to the delicate column of her throat. God, she smells like pine and promise. “But I don’t give a damn.”

  “Me either,” she whispers, nipping at my ear and sending electricity surging through every inch of my veins.

  It’s almost enough for me to forget that we’re in a freaking stable and about a hundred yards from all my family members. But I don’t care. I could be anywhere with Summer, and I’d be the happiest man on the face of the earth.

  And who knows, maybe this is our thing? We once got busy up against a chicken coop. At least the stables are vacant—we’re not horse people.

  But her lips on my neck distract me from those thoughts. My fingers work under her silky dress, venturing up her mile-long legs. There’s a lot of dress, but I finally manage.

  A few quick steps to the right, and I’ve got her pinned against the wooden wall, pressed against me like a second skin. Who cares if we disappear for twenty minutes? Who cares if we come back covered in hay? All I give a damn about is her skin on mine.

  I’ve never loved formalwear more than when Summer unzips me without a single snag. She pulls me out of my pants in all of three seconds, sending a shock wave of pleasure coursing through my veins. Why the hell do I wear jeans all the time when a quickie could be this easy?

  Even when it feels impossible for us to be any closer, I slide my hands up her legs and scoop her up against me. She clings to me, breaking the kiss only to look longingly into my eyes as she sinks down onto my shaft, hot and liquid. My breath catches in my throat as I thrust into her, noting this moment as one I will never, ever forget.

  “Logan, I . . . love you,” she gasps between stifled moans.

  “I love you too, Summer,” I grit out, crushing my mouth to hers as we cleave to each other, riding out our releases together.

  “Oh my God.” Summer laughs, fighting to catch her breath.

  Reluctantly, we detach from each other, and Summer puts on a stray shoe that got kicked off in all the action.

  “Time for the walk of shame,” she murmurs. “We’re going to look insane.”

  I pluck a piece of straw from her hair. “We could just sneak out the back and head for our cabin, you know.” I try not to sound too eager about the idea. This is her call.

  “Ours?”

  I nod, happy to remind her that everything that is mine is now hers. The smile I get in return is worth more than any of the wedding gifts piled high inside the house. Although I am excited to watch Summer open those later, and even more excited to pick out the home we’ll fill with all our new treasures. The home we’ll raise children in and grow old together. I can hardly wait.

  Summer taps one pink-painted fingernail against her lower lip. “Tempting,” she says with a hum. “What about your family?”

  “They’ll put two and two together,” I say coolly. “Besides, we’ll see them all at brunch tomorrow.”

  “And Les?”

  “He’s in one of the guest rooms.�
��

  She chews her lip for long enough that I almost believe she’s on the fence. Finally, she relents with sparkling eyes. “Okay, rookie. Let’s get outta here.”

  I couldn’t have said it better myself.

  EPILOGUE

  * * *

  SUMMER

  “The oddest thing happened in town tonight,” Logan says, shedding his coat.

  I meet his eyes, and they’re alight with curiosity. “What?”

  “Well, we were at Duke’s Tavern grabbing a beer . . .”

  He joins me on the sofa in front of the fire after slipping off his boots. I nod and listen as he begins his story.

  We’re home for a quick spring break, visiting family in Lost Haven for three days. It’s not long enough, but Logan’s in the middle of the hockey season. Our visit here is so short that he felt bad about taking an evening to go out with his brothers, but I convinced him it was a good idea under the guise of brotherly bonding. Lord knows they need it—there’s enough fighting between them as it is.

  While the brothers were gone, Grandpa Al, Jillian, and I played cards, enjoying a lovely charcuterie board she’d put together for us to snack on. Olives and dried figs, rosemary crackers, and cheese, of course. Lots of cheese. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so much cheese.

  Logan continues. “We’d just ordered our first round of beers when Ella Emerson stumbled over to our table.”

  “Ella?” It’s a name I’ve never heard him mention before.

  He nods. “Our neighbors, the Emersons. Three daughters. Ella’s the youngest.”

  I didn’t even realize you could consider the property on the other side of their sixty acres a neighbor, but I nod for him to continue.

  “She’s just turned twenty-one and probably had too much to drink, but she was with friends, so it wasn’t something to worry about. Not really.”