Page 69 of One Pucking Life

Laney squeezes my hand, and I glance down to find her already looking at me, smiling. Yeah. This night—this life—is exactly where I’m meant to be.

Miles lifts his glass once more. “Last one. Would you rather stay at this moment… or skip ahead to the best moment of your life?”

Everyone goes quiet for a beat. Then Ari softly says, “I’d stay right here.”

“Same,” Laney agrees. “The moment is great, but to truly appreciate it, you have to experience the journey. And honestly, the journey? It’s pretty damn great.”

For once, Miles doesn’t have a comeback. He just nods, his eyes scanning the group, and raises his glass a little higher.

“To the journey.”

We follow one by one, voices soft and sure.

“To the journey.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

DELANEY

It’s been several months since Max and I started officially dating, and honestly? It’s been great. Besides moving from my bedroom into his, not much has changed. Everything has been wonderful—and, if I’m being honest, that’s what worries me.

Max says it’s just my old insecurities creeping in, trying to convince me that the other shoe is going to drop and this incredible life will fall out from under me. He keeps telling me that when it’s right, the other shoe never falls.

We’ve had this conversation so many times now that I keep a sticky note he wrote me taped to the bedroom mirror. It says:

No shoe left behind.

It makes me smile every time I see it. No one else would understand it, but I do—and I get the meaning loud and clear. I'm not sure why I used the falling shoe metaphor to describe ourrelationship in the first place. But it stuck. And we’re going with it.

A couple of days after theNo shoe left behindnote, Max left me another one:

Our shoes work together to make the perfect pair.

Cheesy. And equally adorable.

One of the things I love most about Max is that he doesn’t play games. He says exactly what he’s feeling, no matter how silly or sentimental it might sound. I hate to admit I’m the kind of woman who needs that… but I do. At least right now. I hate that I still have these insecurities, but they’re there. He sees them, and instead of pulling away, he doubles down—showing me, in the smallest, most consistent ways, that he’s in this for real.

Even the cynical part of my brain can’t ignore the truth—he wouldn’t go through all this effort for something temporary.

Max has the morning off—a rare event. He told me to sleep in and said he’d take care of the baby. I’ve managed to sleep maybe an hour later than usual, which is impressive considering my brain’s trained to rise before the sun. Years of early mornings will do that to you. And in my experience, most kids don’t sleep in… which means neither do I.

Later this afternoon, we’re heading to my apartment to box up more of my stuff and bring it here. It’s a very expensive apartment I’ve barely used. I think I’ve stepped foot in it only a few times since moving in last fall. For a long time, I kept it as my safety net, just in case this placement didn’t work out. But I’m starting to realize that by holding on to it, I was quietly waiting for things to fall apart here.

I’m trying to be better. Trying to trust what I know to be true, that I belong here with Max and Caroline.

If the worst did happen—if everything fell apart—I know I’d be financially okay. I’ve added a solid chunk of money to my savings thanks to Max’s generous pay. I could afford another place. I’d figure it out.

But I don’t want to prepare for failure anymore.

I want to believe this is it. Because it feels like it is.

Heading into the bathroom to brush my teeth, I find the first note stuck to the bathroom mirror, neon pink and impossible to miss:

Warning: Objects in the mirror are cuter than they appear. Especially when wearing my shirt.

I roll my eyes, but my lips betray me, curling into a grin. I’m still in said shirt—Max’s navy Crane Hockey tee, oversized and worn soft with time—and I definitely don’t hate the way it smells like him. I threw it on after some very toe-curling events last night.

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