Joy and shock warred for space inside my chest, as Trace's words registered. He loved me. I laughed, and a bit of the tension building between us seeped out. I reached across the table again, and Trace's hand found mine, anchoring us both now.
"I shouldn't have left that day," Trace said. "At the restaurant. I owed you more than that. I should have stayed to talk, told you what I was thinking . . . and then at my house. You said everything I’d wanted to hear. But I was an idiot . . ."
"It's all right," I said. Maybe I should have been angry with him. Maybe I should have made him apologize more. But that wasn't what I wanted. I'd known for a long time that what I wanted was Trace Johnson. And if he was going to sit here in front of me and tell me he wanted the same thing, I wasn't going to make it difficult. Only . . . he hadn't said that yet. I realized this a second too late, and began to pull my hand away. What if he'd only come to apologize? Not to suggest we try again?
I cleared my throat, trying to keep down the tide of tears that had rushed up at that thought. "And now? What happens now?"
He shook his head lightly, still holding my hand. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead and my stomach twisted. I wanted to be the girl to push that hair back, the girl who got to touch his face, hold his hand. "I don't know," he said, and my heart fell inside me.
"You don't know," I repeated stupidly.
"I only know that I can't go one minute without thinking about you. I can't go five without fighting the urge to text you, to see what you're doing. The whole time we were in playoffs, I wondered what you were doing, if you were maybe watching."
"I couldn't watch," I whispered. "It was too hard. I saw the end, though."
He sighed, his eyes melting with some emotion. "I'm sorry," he said. "I thought if I pushed you out then I could focus. I thought I was choosing between soccer and you. But even when you were gone, you were there." He squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head, his hand still holding mine tightly. "I suck at this. God, you deserve so much better than me."
"But I want you." The words were out before I'd had time to think about them. Then I did think a bit and added a couple more. "Trace, I'm in love with you too."
The smile that appeared on his face was one that I would remember for the rest of my life. It spread slowly, revealing his straight white teeth and the dimples in his cheeks, and lit up the blue eyes I'd come to adore. "You are?"
I nodded, unable to form any words because the rush of emotion welling inside me was bigger than anything I could say.
Trace stood, tugging on my hand to get me to my feet, and then he pulled me into his arms. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my head into his chest, where I could hear his heart hammering to match my own. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I thought about all the nights I'd wished for this, the nights I'd missed his gentle warmth, his sheer size, his glorious enthusiasm.
"Magalie," he whispered, and I turned my head to look up at him. "Will you give me another chance?"
My heart soared, making my blood feel like helium inside my veins, and I answered by pressing up onto my tiptoes and reaching my arms around his neck. He leaned down and our lips met, softly at first and then with a familiarity bred by nights of longing and some cosmic intention that we were supposed to fit together.
As Trace kissed me on that patio in the warm Southern California sun, I realized Thanksgiving would always be my favorite holiday. And today, I had a lot to be thankful for.
"Can we eat pie now?" Trace asked, grinning down at me when the kiss was over.
I laughed, and we went inside to join the others.
As we walked in, Adam caught my eye. “There you are,” he said, loudly enough to attract the attention of everyone in the room. “I need to tell you something.”
I felt a blush climb my cheeks.
Chloe stood next to him, swatting his arm. “Adam, you’re yelling.”
“I want everyone to hear,” he said, grinning. “Because I am about to announce that thanks to Magalie’s help in blending our first batch of old world Chateau Le Sec wines, we took first place in the Temecula Valley Heritage Wine Competition!”
“What?” I heard myself shriek. “Really?”
Adam nodded and Chloe leapt into his arms.
Trace pulled me into a hug and swung me around, and then I went to hug Adam. My heart was swelling and I wondered how much more I could take. When the excitement had died down, I returned to Trace’s side, and pulled him toward the table to sit with me.
I held Trace Johnson’s hand, proud that everything between us now was real. There was no question of false engagements or pretend rings—I loved this man, and I wanted everyone to see it. I met my mother’s eyes as we sat down, and felt myself lean closer to Trace, almost protectively. Maman smiled and raised her glass to me, leaning into Emile.
Love, it seemed, wasn’t to be avoided at all costs. Love was something to find and hold as close to you as you could.
THE END
Epilogue
Trace
It was the best Thanksgiving of my life. It was actually the first one I'd spent with anyone besides Erica. Before now, we'd kind of resented family holidays and had rejected invitations in favor of sharing our holiday anger together, just the two of us and a bucket of wings from KFC and plenty of alcohol.
But today, I sat across the table from my sister, Magalie at my side, and passed the fucking mashed potatoes like an old family-festivities pro.
Feasts, it turned out, were something I could totally get into. And feasts with all the people I loved?
It didn't get better than this.
"Adam, man. I'm digging your outfit," Fuerte told Adam as we ate.
"Thanks," Adam said, grinning widely. “Magalie requested it.”
A high, light voice interrupted the conversation at the table, and I realized Magalie's mother had stood, and was holding up her glass. "Would it be acceptable to say a word?"
"Ya just did, Lass," Hammer boomed, and I cringed. Magalie's mother seemed to take this in stride, and she smiled at him as I socked him hard in the arm.
"Shut it," I said.
Hammer pressed his lips together and looked at me with sad eyes. "I got carried away."
"Thank you, Adam and Chloe, for having us here today," she began. Agreement was murmured around the table and glasses were raised to our hosts. "I just wanted to offer an apology," she went on. "I realize this may not be traditional for your holiday. But it is also my way of giving thanks." Magalie took my hand under the table as her mother continued. "I owe an apology to my daughter, and to her friend Trace. And I owe the same apology to my husband, Emile.
"Today is about love, I think. Maybe it is about food too,” she said, glancing at the heaping plates in front of us. “But I think it’s about love, something I’ve come recently to believe is very important. You," she said, holding her glass high and looking all around the table. "You have shown me that love is not something to avoid, something to fear. I am so lucky to have my husband, my daughter. And I hope that everyone here is lucky enough to enjoy the gift of love. I am thankful today for that."
"Huzzah!" Hamish called loudly, and I punched him again.
Magalie's mother met my eye over the table as she sat down, and she raised her glass just to me. I met it with my own and gave her a smile and a nod. She was still the scariest five-foot woman I'd ever met, but it was a comfort to know I had her blessing.
We found ourselves around the very same table a month later for Christmas Eve, only this time there were about ten additional people, since Adam's family had come to stay with him and Chloe for the holiday.
Magalie and I had found a happy rhythm together, and I was looking at houses in Temecula, since she couldn't make wine in Mission Beach. Erica was moving in with Fuerte anyway, so we planned to sell the house on the beach and be grownups. It was bittersweet, but it felt like the right thing.
Of course, there was one more thing that needed to be done, and though Fuerte wa
sn't much of a joiner, I'd gotten him to agree we should do it together.
As dinner wrapped up and cooler air wafted beneath the closed doors of the tasting room, the Christmas tree glowed in the far corner and nerves combined with excitement inside me. I caught Fuerte's eye across the table and he gave me a quick nod.
"Excuse me," I said to Magalie, kissing her cheek as I stood. I let myself outside and hurried around to the back door of the winery. Fuerte excused himself and let himself into the winery from inside, pretending to head for the bathroom.
"Did you get them?" he asked me in a whisper, meeting me behind a huge steel tank.
"Would I let you down?" I asked, the low light making it hard to see his expression. I handed him a plastic bag. "Here, put it on."
I got myself changed, struggling a bit with the bulk of the clothing as I pulled it from the bag. I was just getting the boots on when Fuerte started complaining. This was not unexpected.
"Wait a second," he said. "Johnson." Now he sounded angry.
"They only had one. It was the best I could do."
"If they only had one, why do you get it?"
"Because I'm the one who picked up the costumes." Logical, right?
"This is ridiculous. I'm not wearing this." He glared at me, the whites of his eyes showing even in the relative darkness.
"Fernando?" My sister's voice floated through the open space as she stuck her head into the winery looking for him.
"Uh, yeah. Just a sec. I'll be right there," he said.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I'll be there in just one second, okay?"
"Whatever," she said, sounding annoyed, and the sliver of light from the open door disappeared as she went back out front.
"Come on," I said, helping him smooth his skirt as he pulled up the tights.
"I'll never forgive you for this," he said, his voice low and deadly.
"You have the rings, right?"
"Yes," he said. "I can be depended upon to keep my promises. Unlike some people."
"I got you a Claus costume. That was the promise."
"It was supposed to be Santa, asshole."
"Tomato, to-mah-toh." I delivered this line just as we pushed back through the doors into the tasting room, and all conversation stopped as the room got a look at us. If there'd been a record playing, it would have screeched dramatically to a halt.
The crowd's first reaction was clearly shock. Mouths gaped, and eyes widened. Adam's tiny nephew shrieked and then burst into tears, climbing onto his mother's lap.
One second later, the reaction shifted to hysterical laughter. I thought I looked pretty fucking handsome as Santa, and really, Fuerte made an attractive Mrs. Claus, though his legs were a little muscular for the striped tights he wore.
"I. Will. Kill. You." His words were hard to make out over the laughter, and my sister's was louder than anyone's.
"What the heck are you guys doing?" Erica had tamed her language since there were tiny people about.
"Ho ho ho!" I cried, hoisting a sack to my back and walking around the table to the open space near the tree. Magalie's eyes followed me, sparkling with laughter. Her mother looked slightly offended, but that was normal. "I've brought gifts and goodies for all the little girls and boys here tonight!"
Adam's nieces and nephews—there were six of them because his sister clearly didn't realize it was a vagina, not a clown car—jumped up and down and screeched. (Okay, in reality, the kids were adorable. There were just . . . a lot of them.)
I handed out gifts, the ever-faithful and clearly pissed off Mrs. Claus at my side. We had gifts for everyone present, and when the hub-bub of unwrapping had died down, only Erica and Magalie hadn’t gotten a gift, both of them looking a little confused.
"Now for the very special gifts," I boomed, getting into my role. "Magalie and Erica, please come here."
Fernando set up two chairs, and Erica and Magalie both came to sit. We had considered having them sit on our laps, but Fernando thought that was a little too much, and I had to agree. I contemplated sitting on Magalie's lap instead, but convention dictated the man kneel, so we went with that instead.
As soon as we knelt in front of the girls, they exchanged looks and then both began crying.
"It's like they practiced this too," I told Fuerte.
"Dude, shut up. I can't believe I let you talk me into this."
"What?" Erica said, her face clearing as she registered his words. She must have thought he meant that I'd talked him into proposing. She looked like she was going to cry again.
"No, no. Not this," Fernando gestured between them frantically. "I want this. With you. I mean, I want to do this. I'm talking about this," he explained, gesturing at his own incredibly awesome Mrs. Claus costume. The curly white wig really brought out his dark skin, and the perky skirt of the red fuzzy dress stuck out at a very jaunty angle as he knelt in front of my sister.
I was pleased to see Chloe snapping photos. I'd have to make sure one or two slipped onto the Sharks' social media.
"Magalie," I said. "I know we've done this before. But I wanted to do it right this time. For real."
Magalie grinned at me, so much love shining in her eyes I wanted to tackle her right then.
"You have changed my life in more ways than I can count," I told her. "You've made me realize who I am, and what I want out of life. You've made me see that soccer is not the only thing I have, or the only thing I need. I have this—all these amazing people—in my life. But most of all, I have you, and I can't imagine my life without you. I know I'm a lot to handle, and that maybe I'm not always the mature and steadfast guy you deserve. But I'm hoping maybe you'll look past some of that and agree to marry me." I realized as I finished that I hadn't actually asked. "Magalie, will you marry me?"
She had clasped her hands together in front of her chest, and tears were running down her cheeks as she nodded happily. I took her hands and kissed them both, and then turned to Fuerte.
"Erica," he said. "I'm guessing you know where this is headed."
"Oh my God," my sister said, whacking Mrs. Claus on the shoulder. "You still have to ask!"
"Right." Fuerte cleared his throat and glared at me one last time. "There is only one person in the world I'd get into a dress and grovel in front of a crowd for. There's only one woman I'd ever consider spending my life with, and only one woman I could ever see building a future with. Since we've been together, you've changed me for the better, and you've made me realize how lucky we are to have found each other. Erica, I love you more than I thought was possible. Will you marry me?"
"Yes!" Erica didn't nod and smile demurely. She leapt out of the chair, pulled Fuerte to his feet, and planted the biggest grossest kiss I've ever seen on Mrs. Claus. It was a weird, awesome, terrifying and romantic scene.
"Fuerte," I poked him, forcing him to remove his lips from my sister's face. "The rings?"
Mrs. Claus opened the little red pouch fastened at his belt and handed me one of two rings he'd gotten made—candy cane rings. We'd let the girls choose their own later, but this was happily thematic, we thought.
I slid the ring onto Magalie's finger and then looked into the eyes of the woman who'd just agreed to marry me. "I love you," I said, and she kissed me then, as our friends and family crowded around us, laughing and clapping.
As I kissed the woman I loved, I heard a little voice behind me somewhere, clearly confused about what had just happened. "Mommy, can Mrs. Claus marry a lady? Isn't she already married to Santa?"
Fuerte socked me in the ribs, and everything was as perfect as it could possibly be.
Finale
Max
Score TWO more happy couples for Mr. Match.
Maybe these guys will have a double wedding too, and then I can use it in my ad campaigns. I just hope they won't wear ridiculous costumes. No one wants to see Fuerte in a dress again. The photos that surfaced on the team's Insta account after New Years traumatized everyone. Especially
Fuerte.
THE END
SCORING A PRINCE
Mr. Match, Book 3
Prologue
MAX
They say lightning never strikes twice, which I'm pretty sure is complete and utter bullshit. If you think about it, we could make up any number of equally inane sayings and just go around telling people they're common idioms, and before you know it the whole country would be nodding at one another, saying things like, "pepperoni doesn't come from a tree," or "cotton isn't culled without work."
My mom told me once about a guy in Oceanside who had actually been struck by lightning four times throughout his life, and that guy would be the first to spit in your face if you told him lightning didn't strike twice. He had the shock white hair and pronounced limp to prove it.
Ahem.
Maybe I've gotten off track a bit. The point here is that the things we're told are impossible often aren't.
When I was a kid, most of the adults I knew told me becoming a pro soccer player was a pipe dream—all but impossible. And yet? Here I am. And I know quite a lot of other guys for whom that "dream" came true with a lot of fucking determination and hard work.
And as I grew up, I can't tell you the number of times society dangled that true love fallacy in my face. There's only one great love in our lives. Finding true love is a kind of magic...
Yes. A kind of magic called math. And I've performed that trick enough times now to know that most of the shit society teaches us as to how we should think about our world is crap.
You want love? I got it right here. Just give me your vital stats, and Mr. Match will handle the rest—provided that a likely mathematical match has already been entered into my database. (It takes two to tango, you know).
Mr. Match: The Boxed Set Page 41
