Page 135 of Perfectly Grumpy

“Are you sure you can handle a baby?” Sloan asks with a little wink.

“If I can handle a fifty-mile-per-hour puck, I can definitely handle her,” he says. Sloan passes her to Vale, who treats her like she’s made of crystal.

“Just watch her head,” Brax says.

“You’ve been a parent for, what…thirty-seven minutes and you’re already telling me what to do?” Vale says with a laugh. He finally manages to settle baby Rosie into his arms—just in time for her to let out a wail that could shatter glass.

“Looks like no one in the house is getting any sleep,” Brax says.

“I’m wearing earplugs,” Leo announces as he strolls in, Victoria and Lucian behind him. “Almost as bad as living above Delilah and that demon parrot. If Big Bertha calls me ‘meathead’ one more time?—”

“The bird’s growing on you,” Victoria interrupts.

“That bird is the worst housemate ever,” Leo says. “And I lived with these clowns.”

“Hey,” Tate says, offended. “I’m the quiet one, remember?”

“You are literally the one who made spreadsheets for chore duty,” Leo replies.

Tate holds up his hand. “That was to keep the peace.”

“How did you get permission to come back here?” Brax asks Leo. “I thought the nurse said no more visitors.”

“You can thank Rourke for that. But guess who showed up right after?” Leo grins. “Janie Bennett. Just as Rourke was trying to get permission to get the whole group in here. When she heard him, she must have thought he was hitting on the nurse, because her face turned red, and she promptly left. Rourke looked like a man whose heart had been ripped out of his chest.”

“Hey, Tate, do you want to hold the baby?” Vale asks.

Tate smiles. “Sure.” At first, he looks terrified, like he’s holding something way too fragile for his massive hockey-player hands, but then something shifts as he cradles her against his chest, rocking her carefully. The same gentle hockey player I saw playing with Camden and Kaylie and then patiently teaching kids how to handle their Nerf guns suddenly emerges again, his expression softening as he gazes down at her.

And I just stand there, soaking it all in, a fuzzy feeling in my stomach. Because there’s nothing more heart-tugging than a tough hockey player snuggling a tiny baby.

I take out my phone, but before I snap the picture, Iremember something. And this time, it’s too important to ignore. “Tate,” I say. “I know how much you hate pictures, and after everything we’ve been through with cameras and PR—I want you to know this is for my dad, so I can tell him Mom’s name lives on.”

He looks up, and there’s no hesitation. “Of course, Sunny. I’d be honored.”

And the smile he gives me is a real smile, finally. The kind you only give to the people who know you. The kind that heals the stories that broke your heart.

It seems impossible that joy can fill in around the broken edges of our stories. But it happens, in some kind of miraculous, unexplainable way. Already I can see that his story—our story—is the kind you never want to finish. Every stubborn argument, every game we played together, every time we let the other person see the broken but real parts of our hearts. I wanted to know why he builds walls with facts and rules, why he carries Hope’s memory in four simple beads, why he reads fantasy novels about impossible love. Now I know. He was waiting for someone worth breaking his own rules for.

When I snap the picture, I realize this picture is not just for Dad. Maybe this moment is for my whole family, to show how love is a circle, rather than a finite line. It’s an endless loop, living on in the people we’re lucky enough to call family.

Tate glances around the room, suddenly aware that all eyes are on us. “So, did anyone get a shot from our big moment tonight?”

“Only about a thousand fans,” Leo says. “Give or take.”

Lucian lifts his phone. “It’s already trending, beating out your last viral moment. Congratulations, Sheriff, you’ve officially dethroned the PR queen.”

Tate winks at me. “Never sawthatcoming.”

“Well, I never saw you as a baby person,” I say. “And look at you. You’re my fun, baby-snuggling, book-loving nerd now. If I wasn’t already in love, watching you hold that baby just sealed the deal.”

Leo groans. “Okay, gross. Someone break them up.”

Tate shoots him a grin. “Jealous?”

“You know what, Sheriff?” Leo says, strolling across the room. “When you moved in, I figured you were a no-fun, rule-enforcing robot.”

“And now?” Tate asks.

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