Page 29 of Perfectly Grumpy

“You look good with her,” I say. “And I know a good match when I see one.”

She tilts her head, studying me. “And what exactly is your success rate in matchmaking?”

I grin. “One hundred percent. And I have a feeling you’re next.”

Lauren laughs in disbelief. “Oh, no.Notme.”

“No? Then why do you look like you’re already in love?”

She points a finger at me, but she’s smiling now. “Stop trying to make me catch feelings, Sheriff. Not happening.”

“Whatever you say, Sunny,” I say with a smirk.

Because it already is happening. She just hasn’t figured it out yet.

ELEVEN

lauren

When I return home after the shelter photo shoot, my sister is waiting on the steps leading up to my apartment.

“There you are,” she says, glancing up from her phone with relief. “I was starting to wonder if you’d forgotten. Did you get my text?”

“Yep, but I was in the middle of a photo shoot,” I say, scrambling for an explanation. “Sorry, I completely lost track of time.”

Olivia grabs her bag from the floor. “You know the only time I have five minutes to even form a coherent thought is when I drop my kids off at preschool.”

My nephew and niece, who are four and five, are adorable little tornadoes of tumult. I love being their fun aunt, but let’s be real—they’re tiny terrors. Preschool is Olivia’s one chance to drink a hot cup of coffee and have an adult conversation that doesn’t involve negotiating with a toddler over why Goldfish crackers aren’t an acceptable breakfast.

“I thought you had it on your calendar?” she says.

I skim over my schedule, and sure enough, buried under a mountain of meetings, content approvals, and social media strategies, there it is:Coffee with Liv to plan the reunion.

“Oh. Right,” I say. “Totally had it on my calendar.” It’s notlike me to forget meetings. But something about watching Tate with those puppies made me lose track of everything else. A fact I’m definitely not sharing with my sister.

Olivia hands me the coffee she ordered for me. Our lives have taken completely different paths—my sister, the devoted mom juggling nap schedules and snack preferences, and me, the career-driven PR strategist.

“So, what’s the Crushers’ PR genius working on now?” she says, walking into my apartment. “Shirtless hockey guys?”

I laugh. “No, actually—puppies.”

Olivia gives me a sideways glance. “Puppies?”

I nod, flipping my phone around.

She squints at the screen. “Wait. Is that…Tate?”

“Yep,” I confirm.

Olivia looks at my screen again. “Okay, but look at that puppy. So cute. No wonder you went out with him. And now you’re looking at puppies together? I thought you were never dating an athlete again.” She flops onto my couch.

I sit in an armchair opposite her. “First of all,no onewas looking at puppies together.It was a PR shoot. For work.”

“So you’re not dating him?” She lifts an eyebrow when I hesitate. “Because I distinctly remember someone giving me a speech about ‘never again getting involved with athletes’ after the last disaster. Something about, and I quote, ‘learning from my mistakes.’”

I press my lips together, remembering the way I spun the story about those online pictures to avoid the family reunion. “It’s…complicated,” I finally say.

“Complicated,” she repeats. “So you ARE dating him. I knew it! This must be getting serious.”

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