Page 96 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

I lift our joined hands to my cheek, and when Johanna sees, she looks like she’s about to faint. “Once you’re discharged, you’re coming home with us.”

Harrison shakes his head. “No.”

She gapes at him. “Harrison Ford Stafford, you’re not staying in a hotel in your condition. You’ll come home where I can take care of you.”

“First of all, I have Fallon to look after me,” he says, shooting me a smirk. “Second, we’re not staying in a hotel; we’ll go to my place. That was the plan before the unexpected detour.”

She scrunches her nose. “Where is this place of yours?”

“A few years ago, I bought property outside of town and built a cabin there.”

Johanna gapes at him. “How did I not know about this?”

Harrison rubs the back of his neck, giving his mom a sheepish look. “It’s under an alias.”

She purses her lips, narrowing her eyes at Mike. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”

He holds out his hands. “I plead the fifth.”

Harrison rests his hand on his mom’s arm. “I’ve only stayed there a few times. I just wanted my own space, especially since it gets so crowded at your place, and eventually, there won’t be room for everyone when we’re all in town to visit.”

She exhales sharply, her gaze darting between Harrison and Mike. “I’m not happy that you both kept this from me. There better not be any more secrets from here on out, got it?”

“Yes,” they say in unison.

“You’re still coming to Lola’s birthday party tomorrow, right?” Johanna asks Harrison. “She’s been telling all her friends her uncle was a hockey player and can’t wait to show you off.”

God, that’s the cutest thing ever, making me look forward to being there even more.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Harrison says.

Johanna’s eyes widen. “We?”

He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Yeah. Fallon and I will be there.” He confirms.

A tear glistens in Johanna’s eye, but she quickly blinks it away. “That’s wonderful news, we can’t wait.”

Neither can I. But my priority tonight is getting Harrison discharged and back to his cabin so he can rest. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than be the one to take care of him.

Even after a late night at the hospital, I woke up early to watch the sunrise from the back deck. Much to my disappointment, I’m stuck drinking water instead of coffee—doctor’s orders to avoid acidic drinks and to stick to a bland diet for a few days.

Fallon was still asleep when I got out of bed. Last night was supposed to be romantic, but it ended with me in a hospital bed, with severe stomach cramps, sweating like a pig, and making for a less-than-glamorous date night. Yet, she took it in stride, and there’s no one else I would rather have had at my bedside.

As I stare out at the lake, I breathe in the fresh air and take in the calm.

When this property came on the market a few years ago, I made a generous offer within hours of it being listed. Like I told Fallon, Aspen Grove will always be home—it’s where my family is, and laying down roots here felt right. I bought the full two hundred acres, and while I knew I wanted to build a cabin, I didn’t have concrete plans for the rest. Lately, I’ve caught myself picturing it as a place where my nieces and nephews, and hopefully my own kids, can explore the property, build forts, share stories by bonfires, and maybe even build their own cabins here one day.

I’m surprised when I catch myself smiling. I’m not the type to get lost in thoughts about my future. Success has always been about tangible achievements and hitting milestones. Yet, beingin Aspen Grove with Fallon is proof that sometimes the best things in life are ones you didn’t plan for.

After I finish my bland water, I head inside where Fallon is in the kitchen wearing a tank top and shorts, moving around with ease. When I designed the cabin, I spared no expense for the kitchen with exposed wooden beams, quartz countertops, and high-end stainless-steel appliances. There was no particular reason other than wanting a space where family and friends could gather when we’re not able to go to my parents’ house.

My imagination runs wild, thinking of how we could find a way to spend half our time here and half in New York. Which would give her a quiet place to finish her cookbook and make plans for her restaurant.

She glances over at me. “Good morning. How are you feeling?” Her voice is sweet and husky.

“Much better.” I come up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, peppering kisses along her neck. “What are you making?”

There are a dozen strawberries and a bottle of canola oil on the counter.

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