Page 66 of The Rookie
There comes a moment when you know a house has become a home.
It starts as the smallest bit of warmth in your heart the second you step over the threshold, but with a little time, it spreads to your knees, then fills up the spaces between your toes.
You know it’s coming when the smell of dirty work boots and dinner in the oven isn’t just familiar, it’s comforting, like an old sweater that still fits, or a song you forgot you knew all the words to. It’s a perfect, special feeling that doesn’t come around too often, a feeling I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to feel again.
And then the Tate family changed all that.
The first time I stepped into this house, I was a stranger, only here for one reason—to convince a hotheaded hockey player to seek counseling. A few short months later, that hockey player isn’t so hotheaded, and the list of reasons why I’m here could stretch from Lost Haven to Massachusetts.
Reason number one? I’m madly in love with him.
Reason number two? I’m meeting his extended family, all of whom have flown from different parts of the country to stay in the cabins on the Lost Haven property.
Why? Well, that would be reason number three—
Logan and I are getting married tomorrow. And sitting here, surrounded by the people who are soon to become my official family, I’ve never felt so at home.
“Go ahead, lovebirds! Open another present!” Jillian calls out between nibbles of a homemade currant scone.
While she promised to keep this bridal shower small, the pile of presents in the middle of the room is anything but. I’ve spent what feels like hours on the couch with my knee pressed against the hard muscle of Logan’s thigh, each of us taking turns peeling tape and silver wrapping paper off of packages.
With each present opened, a new wonderful feeling bubbles to the surface. Pride. Joy. Complete and utter bliss. And most of all, disbelief that this beautiful life is really mine. A loving family, a sunny winter day, and in less than twenty-four hours, the promise of forever with the incredible man beside me.
“Go ahead, babe.” Logan nods toward the pile of boxes and gift bags, which is still awfully big, despite the hour and a half we’ve been chipping away at it. “You pick the next one.”
“No, you pick,” I say. “I picked out the last one we opened.”
“Who cares who picks!” one of Logan’s cousins shouts from the kitchen, piling a plate high with what’s left of the finger sandwiches. “If we don’t speed up this operation, the bride will still be opening presents on the honeymoon.”
Logan wraps a big, protective hand around my thigh, sparking a warm humming sensation across my skin. “No wife of mine is doing anything on our honeymoon other than sitting in her beach chair and drinking as many fruity cocktails as she can handle.”
He shoots me a wink and a warm smile, but I’m too hung up on the wordwifeto respond. Just one more day until I officially take on that role, and while I don’t want to wish away this precious family time, I would turn the clock forward just to make him officially mine already.
“Why don’t we save some of these for tomorrow?” I say, checking the time for the first time since we sat down. It’s nearly one o’clock, a full hour later than the invitations said this brunch would wrap up. The last thing I want to do is make a bad impression on my soon-to-be relatives.
“You can’t open these tomorrow, silly,” Jillian says. “These areshowerpresents. Tomorrow you’ll haveweddingpresents. That’s a whole different can of worms.”
All I can do is shake my head and laugh. This isn’t just an outpouring of love ... it’s an entire avalanche.Luckyfeels like an understatement to describe how I feel.
Before I can slip too deep into my feelings, Austen, who has the task of keeping track of who gave which presents, holds his wide-ruled notepad in the air. “Wedding presents? Do I have to take notes on those too?”
“No, sweetie.” His mother lays a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “We’ll make Graham be in charge of that tomorrow.”
Graham’s glare could melt steel, but it’s quickly interrupted by Aunt Molly volunteering her present to be next.
“Open my tea towels!” she shouts, then claps a hand over her mouth, wide-eyed at her mistake. “Shoot. I mean, uh, open mygift. It could be anything at all!”
The room breaks out in laughter so loud, it drowns out Graham’s permanently bad mood. When I pull two plush tea towels from Aunt Molly’s gift bag, I still make sure to act surprised. Each one has a perfect letterTembroidered in pale pink thread. My soon-to-be new last name has never felt so official.
“Thank you, Aunt Molly,” I say with a grin. “These will be so gorgeous in our kitchen.”
Ourkitchen, inourhome.
Logan’s apartment on the Boston Common is plenty big enough for two, so we’ve arranged for me to break my lease and move in with him for the duration of his contract with the Titans. After that, I’m crossing all my fingers and toes that he can secure a transfer to the Denver Avalanche, putting us just a hop, skip, and a jump from Lost Haven. It’s a long shot, but crazier things have happened.
Like us falling in love in the first place.
“Speaking of kitchens, let’s do my present next!”
