“Did Tate tell you about my trip down to Long Beach?”
She looked up with her little nose wrinkled. “Long Beach? No. But that’s where my boutique is.”
“I know. When I first got out here, I was really struggling. It didn’t feel like I’d made the right decision, but I couldn’t risk you getting hurt. So I started taking long drives to think and clear my head. One day I wound up in Long Beach. I took the dogs for a walk on the beach, stopped to get them some water, and I walked straight into your store.”
“Really?”
“Yep. So I went inside and looked around. The lady working there showed me the arrangements and mentioned that you had a database of suggested notes for cards. I remembered you’d said you used to suggest quotations for people who weren’t good with messages.”
“That’s right. I had a few F. Scott Fitzgerald books in my first store, and I’d tabbed them and annotated quotes I loved.”
I nodded. “I’d been driving all over, trying to figure out what to do. Turned out, the answer was in one of those quotes you picked out years ago.”
“It was?”
“Yep. It was always you.”
Her eyes watered as she smiled. “It was always you, too.”
EPILOGUE
* * *
Georgia
Two years later
Tonight was bittersweet.
I stood at the window in the owner’s skybox, looking down at the ice. Max’s entire family was all here, too, milling around somewhere behind me. I would rather have been down below, but Celia and Miles Gibson had insisted they host everyone for the big night, and I just couldn’t say no. Technically, Miles was Max’s boss, but Celia and I had also become good friends. They frequently invited me to watch the games up here with them, but ever since Max had skated back out onto the ice, I’d felt the need to be closer to the rink.
It had been a tough couple of years for Max, with lots of ups and downs. After his surgery, it took almost a full year for him to get back to where he needed to be to play hockey again. And even after countless hours of physical therapy and training to regain his strength, Max would be the first to tell you that while he might be fit to lace up, he wasn’t the player he’d been before. The ruptured aneurysm had caused some long-term issues, the worst being tissue and nerve damage in his neck that made the recovery time after each game longer and longer.
Which was why tonight was his last game. At the ripe old age of thirty-one, Pretty Boy Yearwood was retiring. It had been his choice, not at the team’s insistence, and that’s how he wanted to go out—on his own terms.
Though, he wasn’t actually going too far. During the year Max couldn’t play, he’d still gone to every practice and every game. He’d become sort of an unofficial assistant coach for the team, and during that time, the head coach had recognized that Max had skills that were valuable on and off the ice. So while Max was retiring from playing today, as of September, he’d be the strength and conditioning coach for the Blades. His job would be to develop athletes to the pinnacle of their performance—something he knew better than anyone. The best part of the change was that he only had to work at practices, so he wouldn’t have the crazy travel schedule of a player anymore.
As for me, I still had my office in New York, though I mostly worked remotely from California these days. I had since the day I’d flown out to be with Max after his surgery. At first, it was because he had needed me during his recovery, but over time, I’d fallen a little in love with California. New York would always have a piece of my heart, but I loved the laid-back atmosphere out here so much. Almost losing Max had taught me a lot about priorities. Turns out, my schedule wasn’t too busy for a relationship after all, but my relationship needed to be the first thing I scheduled, rather than the last.
The final buzzer sounded, and my eyes welled up. Since the team hadn’t been in playoff contention, the win tonight didn’t change their season—though I’m sure it helped keep spirits high. All of Max’s teammates gathered around him, jumping and celebrating the end of a decade-long career. Normally fans rushed to get out of the arena as soon as a game ended, but no one left their seat tonight. They waited for Max to lift his stick over his head and take one final lap. When he did, the place erupted in a standing ovation.
I couldn’t stop crying as I watched. The Jumbotron zoomed in on his smiling face while he skated and waved, and when he got to the section below where I was seated, he looked up and winked, flashing the dimples that still made my knees weak. Things had really come full circle—from the night we’d met and I’d seen his face light up that screen, to today as his career ended and the beginning of whatever would come next for us started. Best blind date ever.