Page 42 of Spring Break with a Slap Shot

"So we're doing this?" she asks. "Long-distance, I mean."

"We're doing this," I confirm. "You'll take that badass hurricane job, and I'll be your very proud, very supportive boyfriend who flies down to Miami every chance he gets. And in the off-season, maybe I can be in Miami more permanently."

Her eyes widen. "You'd do that?"

I shrug. "I can train anywhere. And Florida has beaches too." I run a finger down her bare arm. "Plus, hurricane season and hockey season don't exactly overlap."

She smiles, a slow, beautiful smile that makes me want to kiss her again. So I do.

"We'll need a schedule," she says when we part. "Calendar invites for visits. FaceTime dates. Maybe a shared document for planning."

I laugh against her lips. "Of course that's your solution. Spreadsheets and schedules."

"Organization is sexy," she insists.

"You're sexy," I counter, trailing kisses down her neck.

She hums, tilting her head to give me better access. "The storm's passing," she murmurs.

I look up to see that she's right. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, and patches of blue are appearing in the sky.

"Perfect timing," I say. "Now we can head back to my place and celebrate your new job properly. In a bed, with room to move."

"Is that so?" She arches an eyebrow. "What about your roommates?"

"They're all at Asher's charity thing tonight. We'll have the place to ourselves." I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively. "I can be very loud when I'm celebrating."

She laughs, pushing me playfully. "You're incorrigible."

"But you love me."

Her expression softens. "I do. God help me, but I do."

We gather our damp clothes, getting dressed awkwardly in the confined space. Harmony's hair is a riot of curls now, her makeup smudged, her clothes wrinkled. She's never looked more beautiful.

As she climbs back into the driver's seat, I catch her hand. "Hey, Harm?"

She turns, looking at me questioningly.

"I'm really proud of you. For the job offer, for all of it. You're amazing."

The smile she gives me is like sunshine after the storm – bright, warm, and full of promise. "We're going to make this work," she says, and it's not a question.

"Damn right we are," I agree, settling into the passenger seat. "Hurricane season won't know what hit it."

She groans at my terrible joke, but she's smiling as she starts the car. As we pull out of the parking lot, the clouds part further, letting sunshine stream through. It feels like a sign, cheesy as that sounds. The storm has passed, and we've weathered it together.

Whatever comes next, we'll face it the same way.

Epilogue – Harmony

Six months with Miss Green Eyes, and I still can't believe she's mine. The sun beats down on my neck as we stroll along the dock of the Love Beach Yacht Club, Harmony's hand tucked into mine like it was custom-made to fit there. Her auburn curls catch fire in the late afternoon light, and I have to remind myself we're in public. Public means keeping my hands to myself—mostly. The regatta flags snap in the breeze overhead, a rainbow of yacht club colors against the cloudless Charleston sky. Summer in South Carolina, my girl by my side, and a cold beer waiting at the club. Life's pretty damn perfect.

"You're thinking dirty thoughts again," Harmony says, nudging me with her hip. "I can tell by that smirk."

"Can't help it. Scientists say men think about sex every seven seconds." I pull her closer, my hand sliding from her waist to the curve of her hip. "But you're the meteorologist—want to verify that data?"

She rolls those green eyes, but I catch the smile she tries to hide. Six months ago, she would have shut me down with a weather metaphor. Now she leans into me, her body a warm promise against mine.

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