Page 72 of Perfectly Grumpy

“Exactly.” I nod. “You’re basically a first responder.”

“Although,” he adds, looking at the beach, “no one else knows that.”

I follow his gaze, where my entire family is taking us in withinterest. Granny is practically crowing with delight while my sister wears a smugI told you sogrin.

“Well, wearesupposed to be dating,” I say, attempting to rationalize this, even though I’m very aware of his arms around me. “This works for our cover.”

“Always thinking about the PR angle,” Tate murmurs. “That’s my Sunny.”

My heart does a strange little skip at the words “my Sunny.” Maybe it’s the muscle spasm making my heart jumpy or the lingering adrenaline.

I force myself to remember that he’s helping me through this reunion just like I’m helping his PR image. This is a transaction, not a romance. Besides, he’s still a hockey player—and I’ve learned the hard way that I shouldn’t mess with athletes. Bart is proof of that.

As we reach the shore, I wriggle out of his arms. “You can put me down now. I think I can manage.”

“You sure?” He nods toward my leg. “That was a pretty bad cramp.”

“Very sure,” I say firmly, though as soon as my feet touch the sand, the muscle begins to seize again, and I grab his arm to steady myself. “Okay, maybe not entirely sure.”

“Here,” he says, guiding me to a beach blanket. “Sit down and stretch it out.” As I sink onto the towel, Tate kneels in front of me, his hands sliding to my cramping calf.

His thumbs press into the tender muscle, working it slowly and carefully. The same hands that can deliver crushing body checks during a game are now easing my pain with surprising gentleness. It’s not meant to be romantic—I know that. But I can’t remember the last time someone took care of me like this.

“Having fun yet?” he asks, looking at me with that hint of a smile that never fails to make my stomach flip. I can sense my family’s curiosity, but all I can focus on is the way his hands move on my leg, the relief that spreads through my muscle as the crampfinally releases.

“I’m having…something,” I admit reluctantly.

His hands pause. “Good something or bad something?”

I look up at him, his face still speckled with water droplets, those brown eyes studying me with an unexpected intensity that makes my stomach feel funny.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I answer honestly.

His smile spreads, deliberate. “Let me know when you do.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Tate

I’ve been pacing outside Lauren’s room for the past hour, checking my watch every few minutes. Patty had kindly offered her bed at the lodge after our beach incident, but the complete silence from behind that door is making me uneasy. No movement, not even her cute little snore. And the whole family has been asking how she feels after the charley horse incident. I’m beginning to think she’s avoiding everyone—including me. Finally, I knock, unable to wait any longer.

“Come in,” she says, hardly sounding sleepy.

I open the door and see her sitting on the bed, a computer in her lap. “Sheriff, for the sixth time today, I’m fine,” she says. “Seriously, I feel great. No more cramps.”

I shove my hands in my pockets. “According to theEmergency Water Rescue Handbook…”

Lauren looks at the ceiling, clearly annoyed. “Tate, I appreciate your concern, but I’m not dying.”

“Then what are you doing?”

She shifts her computer away from me so I can’t see the screen. “Uh, nothing.”

“You aren’t working, are you?” I narrow my eyes. “Because no work is allowed this week.”

“It’s not work.” She shifts on the bed. “It’s just an application.”

“For what?” I lean forward, catching the wordsEmployment Applicationat the top of the screen. “Are you applying for a job?”

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