Page 116 of The Way We Score

He traces a lock of hair off my cheek with his finger, tucking it behind my ear. “Don’t you already know it?”

He doesn’t have to ask me. “I do.”

“I wanted to show you I’m not the same guy who only thinks about himself.” Lifting my left hand, he studies my fingers. “I’m not the guy who hurt you in college.”

“I loved that guy, but you’re right. You’re a better man. A man I love.”

“Do you think I might be a good dad?”

The earnestness in his tone squeezes my heart, but I’m able to say with complete honesty, “You’re going to be the best dad.” Wrinkling my nose, I step closer. “You’re the champ.”

“One day, I’ll be a good sheriff.” His hand covers mine, and he lifts it to his lips. “And a good husband…”

My breath catches. “What are you saying?”

“I want you to marry me, Liv.” My lips part, but he stops me. “Don’t answer me now.” He looks around with a chuckle. “Not here in the henhouse.”

Lifting my chin, I rise onto my toes, ready to kiss his face off. “So you’renotproposing to me?”

His thumb touches the line of my jaw. Electric blue eyes hold mine, and I’m about to get my answer when I hear the sound of footsteps approaching fast.

We both turn to see Dylan marching across the lawn like she’s about to commit murder.

“Dylan?” I step away from Garrett, going to meet her. “Are you okay?”

“No…” Her voice trembles. “I am not okay, and we need to talk.”

“What’s wrong?” Garrett’s right behind me, reaching for his little sister.

“This.” She holds up the iPad she uses for recipes when she’s cooking, and I don’t understand.

On the black screen, in large, blocky white letters reads “They Say Disabled. He says Pregnant!!!” My jaw drops, and I look up at Garrett.

His lips tighten, and he shakes his head, muttering, “Shit.”

26

Garrett

“This is my fault.” We pass Dylan’s iPad between us, scrolling through the “exclusive exposé” on theTMIwebsite.

“Garrett Bradford Leaving the Pirates???” The headline is typed in all caps with three question marks like it’s screaming at us.

“What do you mean?” Dylan’s tone is sharp. “How can this be your fault?”

I quickly fill her in on the mysterious call we got about a cat in a tree, and how it turned out to be a woman pretending to be a fan and asking a lot of personal questions.

“The way she asked the questions made me feel like I needed to explain.” I feel like such an amateur. “My spidey senses were tingling, and I did my best to be nice and get out of there.”

“You can’t be nice to these people.” Dylan stomps ahead of us in her jeans and yellow Cooters & Shooters tee. “It’s just like the guy who came here asking about the restaurant and pretending to be so interested in the Dare Nights and my spicy dishes.”

Her arms are crossed, and she’s fuming. She kind of remindsme of one of Ms. Plum’s chickens when they decide to peck at each other.Mad as a wet hen.

I quickly scan the article before putting my hand on her shoulder. “Yours was much worse. They said a lot of shitty things about you. This is at least mostly about me.”

Dylan squeezes my hand on her shoulder. “It’s not your fault. These people are evil.”

We’re walking with Dylan back to the restaurant. My little sister is fuming and moving fast.

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