Page 102 of Meet Cute or Your Money Back

He groans, dropping his head. “We both almost died, Allie. Maybe save the jokes for later?”

I shake my head, lips twitching into a smile. “Unfortunately, if I stop talking, I might have to actually process what happened here, and that sounds exhausting.”

A laugh bubbles out of him—half relief, half delirium. I’m still shaking, still a little in shock. Biscuit’s tail iswagging and Thatcher is here, smiling down at me like he didn’t just survive a literalvillain monologue.

Griffin and Hunter burst into the room, guns aimed, suited up in Kevlar vests and helmets and flashlights, but they quickly spot us, taking in the scene. Four fallen men. Two dead. Three with bullet holes in them. And one—their previous commanding officer—writhing on the floor with my manicure scissors sticking out of his eye.

“Jesus Christ,” Griffin says, lowering his weapon.

“You fuckers are a little late,” Thatcher rasps.

“It seems like you had it handled,” Hunter says.

Thatcher looks at me. “Wehad it handled,” he says, squeezing my hand. “But it would’ve been a lot less stressful with you two here.”

Other cops file in around them along with EMTs, shuffling around the scene, rushing to the aid of Admiral Brady and the Enforcer before arresting them.

“Hey,” Thatcher says softly, brushing my hair back. “You’re shaking. We need to get you checked out by the EMTs, okay?”

“Me? Have you seen yourself?” I brush my fingers tenderly over his swollen eye, careful not to put any pressure on him, but he winces all the same.

“Eh, I’ve had worse,” he says.

“So macho.” I laugh. “I swear to God, if another armed criminal so much aslooksat me this week, I’m locking myself in my apartment with a lifetime supply of cookies and never coming out.”

“Sounds reasonable.” He smirks. “Can I join? I’ll bring the milk.”

I roll my eyes, but my heart swells, and before I can overthink it, I grab his collar and kiss him—hard.

He makes a surprised sound, then groans against mylips, pulling me closer. When we finally break apart, his forehead rests against mine, his hands still tangled in my hair.

“So,” he murmurs. “Since we just survived a life-threatening event together, this seems like the perfect time to say it?—”

I arch a brow. “If you say you’re going to give me a refund for your matchmaking services, I will literally end you.”

His laugh rumbles through his chest, warm and deep. “A refund? Why would I do that? I promised you a memorable meet cute and I don’t think you can argue that you got it.”

“No, I can’t,” I admit, holding him in my arms until an EMT peels me off of him and takes us each away. I already miss him more than I can stand.

Chapter 29

Thatcher

Pain isn’t the worst thing about being in the hospital. It’s the stillness. The way time slows to a crawl, pressing down like a weight on my chest. I’ve spent years in high-risk situations, thriving on adrenaline and chaos. But lying here, hooked up to machines, staring at the ceiling, I feel powerless.

It probably goes without saying that I hate hospitals. Always have. And with my line of work, it’s hard to say how many times I’ve woken up to the pale blue gowns, the reek of alcohol, the dull ache of bruised ribs and broken bones. But this time…this time is different.

The usual loneliness I’ve come to expect? It isn’t there. Because I’m not alone. There’s no emptiness, no abyss. Instead, it’s as if every incision, every cut, every bloodied patch of skin is filled with the bright light of a certain food reviewer and secret investigative reporter. She fills me with hope like morphine in a fevered blood stream, coursing through my body and dulling the pain.

And this time, there’s no monster lurking at the gates,no battles to fight. Drakon is dead. And his Enforcer was arrested and is likely going away for a long, long time. Admiral Brady will be offered a plea deal in exchange for his testimony and he’ll be dishonorably discharged. And my wife’s death has finally been avenged.

For once, it’s not a trick of the light. Duke is safe. Even Biscuit is safe and healthy with the exception of a fractured rib. And Allie… Allie is alive and safe.

And mine.

What right do I have to be that possessive? But as the monitors beep a reassuring rhythm and the anesthesia wears off, I realize that maybe I have a future, a real one with a family, if I want it badly enough. The battle wasn’t for naught. And now? I want to hold on to Allie with that same tenacity. She fills the darkness with a riot of color.

I’m beginning to realize the Allie-sized place she fills isn’t one that ever had my late wife’s name etched on it. This is something new, completely different. Unexpected and exciting. I wish I had the chance to talk to Jenna one last time. To tell her how afraid I was to let go of her, how scared I was of making room in my heart for someone else. But if this hospital bed has taught me anything, it’s that you don’t waste a chance like this. Not with someone like Allie Larsen.

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