Page 94 of Perfectly Grumpy

“Oh,” Lauren says quietly, her expression shifting slightly. “Of course.”

“Of course?” I repeat, confused by her tone.

“Well, yeah. You go viral with an adorable puppy, looking…likethat, and suddenly the ex wants back in the picture.” She lets out a dry laugh. “Classic.”

“Lauren, I have no interest in?—”

“It’s fine,” she cuts me off, waving a hand dismissively. “Not my business anyway. Our arrangement is just for the reunion, right?”

Her words hit me so hard I don’t know what to say.

She nods, not quite looking at me. “You know what? I’m not in the mood for a bonfire. I should get some sleep for tomorrow’s events.”

“Lauren—” I start, but she’s already turning away, heading back toward the cabin.

Something has changed between us, and I can’t figure out what. One moment we were about to kiss, and now she’s reminding me that this is all temporary.

“Goodnight, Tate,” she says over her shoulder before disappearing around the bend.

As I stand there, I realize that for all my analytical skills, I have no idea what just happened—only that whatever was happening between us now feels further away than ever.

THIRTY-ONE

lauren

There are worse things in life than being interrupted by your sister and her family before you make the biggest mistake of your professional career. Like waking up the next morning and realizing the kiss thatalmosthappened is now lurking in the air between you like an embarrassing secret no one wants to say out loud.

Especially after the text Tate got from his ex.

How could I be so stupid falling for a hockey player?

We didn’t talk about it after we got back to the cabin last night. Instead, we climbed onto the sofa bed, and he read a chapter of the fantasy book aloud until I pretended to fall asleep. And then I lay there, replaying the whole evening in my head for the next hour, overthinking everything.

Of course, he slept like a baby. Meanwhile, I’m over here replaying every look, every touch, every word.

I’m his PR manager—the person responsible for his future in the NHL. Crossing that line doesn’t just mean risking my heart, it means risking my professional reputation and credibility with the team. If things went south, he’d still be the star defenseman, but I’d be the woman who couldn’t separate business from pleasure. The PR professional who broke her own cardinal rule.

Not to mention, when this reunion ends, we both go back to our real lives. Eventually he’ll get a contract for the NHL in who-knows-where, and I’ve already started applying for a position in Kansas City. We’re both heading in different directions. Getting attached now could derail us both from what we really want.

I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling of our cabin, trying not to think about his ex-girlfriend reaching out the exact moment his social media presence explodes. The timing couldn’t be more perfect. One viral photo with a puppy, and suddenly Lydia wants to “talk sometime.”

It happens to professional athletes all the time. The minute they hit it big, every ex crawls out of the woodwork. And Tate? Well, he’s the whole package. Smart, thoughtful, secretly funny, about to move up to the NHL and nowfamous. Who wouldn’t want another chance?

I glance over at him, still sleeping next to me. We’d silently agreed to share the sofa bed after that first night, both of us pretending it was purely practical. But there was nothing practical about the way my heart raced when his arm draped over me, or how I didn’t move away.

If it wasn’t for that shelter donation hanging in the balance, I’d pack up and leave right now. Slip away before anyone wakes up, make some excuse about work emergencies. Avoid the humiliation of pretending I wasn’t about to kiss him last night—or worse, having him let me down gently.

Sorry, Lauren, but this was just pretend, remember?

But then I look over at Annie, curled up at the foot of the bed after Tate forgot to put her back in the crate, and my heart melts a little. I can’t do it. I can’t just leave her. Or the shelter that’s counting on the foundation donation.

Or him.

Which is the most terrifying thought of all.

Because I know the script here. I’ve seen it play out before, with Lucas early in my career, then Bart. The minute someone better comes along—someone more exciting, more beautiful,more accommodating to their lifestyle—I’m left wondering what I did wrong.

Only this time, it would hurt so much worse. Because Tate isn’t like the others. He wasn’t supposed to matter this much.

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