Page 117 of Perfectly Grumpy

But what happens when we go back to deadlines and pressure and all the messy parts of actual life? Real love isn’t built only on romantic moments and candlelit cabins. It’s what survives when the magic wears off and you’re left with Monday mornings and dirty dishes and choosing each other anyway.

When I step outside, I pull out my phone to check my email, just because I can’t stop thinking about the application I submitted. And that’s when I see it. A message from the NHL team in Kansas City.

Subject:Interview Request—PR Manager Position

Dear Ms. Williamson,

Thank you for your application for the PR Manager position. We were impressed by your experience with the Carolina Crushers and would love to schedule an interview for next week.

Please let us know your availability.

My fingers hover over the screen. Part of me wants to delete the email, pretend I never saw it. But another part—the driven part that got me this far—types back:When do you want me to come?

I hit send before I can overthink it, then immediately want to take it back.

That’s when I hear a kid squeal across the lawn. I look up to see Tate being used as a human jungle gym. He’s got one kid climbing on his back, another hanging from his arm. He lets themtackle him to the ground, and then he laughs—head thrown back, completely uninhibited.

And something in meshatters.

Because watching him like this, I realize this isn’t just about choosing between a job and a man. It’s about choosing between the safety of the life I’ve planned and the possibility of the life I could have with him.

This week has shown me what life could look like—Tate reading to me by candlelight, making me laugh until my sides hurt, seeing me at my worst and still being the kindest human.Thisis the version of life I didn’t know I wanted.

But do I take the safe path I’ve always known, or do I risk everything on the chance that what we have is real? Because if I’m wrong—if I choose him and it falls apart—I’ll have given up everything for nothing.

You can’t live both futures.

And that’s what makes it so hard.Sometimes, you have to choose one and let the other go.

The kids run off across the yard, and Tate rises, his eyes finding me across the space between us.

“Everything okay?” he asks, noticing something’s wrong.

“I don’t know how my family will take the news about Kansas City,” I say, realizing that all the good things I’ve loved about this week feel like they’re slipping through my fingers.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?” Tate asks.

“You don’t know my family, Tate.”

“Actually, I do." Then he approaches me, grabbing my hand when he reaches my side. “You love these people,” he says. “And they love you. And they’ll support you, whether you go to Kansas City or somewhere else.”

Then he brings my hand to his lips with a gentle kiss. “Hey, Sunny. It looks like you could use a hug.”

And I don’t respond. I just fall into his arms, already feeling like everything’s about to change.

Because I know what’s coming.

And I don’t know how to let it go.

THIRTY-EIGHT

lauren

We sit down for dinner, Granny rising with the flair of a Southern matriarch. “Before we share family news,” she says, adjusting her glasses, “it’s time to announce the winner of the Olympics. Now, we all know the paintball nearly took out Uncle Bobby’s knee again because he shouldn’t be running through the woods at his age.”

“Hey now!” Uncle Bobby protests, patting his knee. “This old war wound still has some fight left.”

“You got that war wound falling off your riding mower,” Aunt Tammy says to her husband.

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