He gives her a quick hug before hurrying out the door, and the three of us watch him leave.
“Where’s he going?” Pippa asks.
Hazel shrugs. “I’m not sure.”
My conversation with Owens back at the bar the night I got my dragon tattoo is hazy, but I remember the basics, so I clamp my mouth shut and don’t say a fucking word. Like they smell blood in the water, Hazel and Pippa whirl on me, cornering me.
“What do you know?” Hazel asks, gaze boring into me.
I put my hands up like I’m innocent. “Nothing.”
“He’s lying.” Pippa’s eyes narrow, but she’s smiling.
“He’s absolutely lying.” Hazel runs her tongue along her bottom lip like she’s thinking of all the ways she can use her mouth to torture the information out of me later.
I don’t know whether it’s a good or bad thing that I have plans for us after this.
“Streicher,” I call. He looks over, mouth twitching in amusement when he spots the Hartley sisters interrogating me. “Your fiancée needs another drink,” I say, testing the word out.
I like the way it sounds. I think I might start using it myself soon.
Streicher pulls Pippa away. She mouths I will find you while Hazel and I laugh, and I slip my arm around Hazel’s shoulder while we take in the party—our families, our friends, our people.
“Is it everything you expected so far, Hartley?”
She smiles, looking so happy and at peace. “Miller, it is everything and more.”
“We’re going to get in trouble,” Hazel hisses late that night as we sneak into the dim outdoor rink near our apartment, lit only by the moon and the stars.
“We’re not going to get in trouble.” I sit her down on a nearby bench and start lacing up her skates.
The staff know we’re here because I arranged for this months ago. They know to stay out of sight, though, because that would blow the surprise.
I move to my own skates, and Hazel gazes at the stars with a wistful smile. “Every time I look up at the stars on a cold night like this, I think about skating outside after the League Classic.”
When she turns to me, holding her hand out with that searing look of adoration, I think my heart might burst.
I press a quick kiss to her mouth but pull away. “Hold on a second,” I murmur before heading to the control box the staff showed me and flicking the switch labeled RORY.
Around the boards, twinkle lights illuminate, bathing the rink in warm, sparkling light.
Hazel stills, a tiny smile curling up on her mouth. “Rory.”
“Hazel.” I make my way back to her, holding a hand out.
With my heart beating up into my throat, I help her onto the ice and we glide, hand in hand. My focus is torn between the way her hair flutters in the wind, how her eyes glitter in this lighting, and the velvet box in my jacket pocket.
I spin her and she laughs, clutching my hands.
“I’ve been thinking,” I start, pulse beating hard in my ears.
She sends me a curious glance.
“You have your studio now, I’m with the team for probably the rest of my career,”—I signed a seven-year contract a few days after the trade rumor fiasco—“and we share a home.”
Curiosity and amusement rise in her expression.
“What’s next, Hartley?”
I wait for her response, listening to the sound of our skates hitting the ice.
“I love your smile,” she says on a happy sigh. “I love it so much, I think about it all the time.”
A chuckle slips out of me. “You didn’t answer me.”
“You’re going to ask me to marry you,” she says, lifting her chin and looking me in the eye.
Butterflies burst into motion in my stomach and I suck in a deep breath, narrowing my eyes at her, teasing her. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.” She looks so confident, so certain. “Rory, I saw the ring. And now this?” She smiles wider.
“You saw the ring?” My eyebrows shoot up, but I’m grinning.
“I didn’t mean to find it. Honestly.”
“Did you like it?” I dragged Pippa and Streicher to the jeweler about ten times to make sure the white gold band with a cluster of rare blue-gray diamonds was perfect, but if she doesn’t like it, I’ll toss it out the window and get her whatever she likes.
“Yes,” she says quietly, throat working as she glances at me. “I loved it.”
“It isn’t too flashy?”
She rolls her eyes. “It is, but—” She laughs, shrugging. “It reminds me of you.”
A sly, arrogant grin hitches on my mouth. “Huge, expensive, and gorgeous?”
She shakes her head, smiling ear to ear, and my heart lifts up into the starry sky. “Yes. All those things. Also,” her smile softens and she swallows, “one in a million. Perfect for me. Everything I didn’t realize I wanted.”
“It isn’t too soon?”
I know I’m reckless and impulsive and we should probably date for at least a year before getting engaged, but Hazel’s it for me.
Again, she smiles to herself, shaking her head. “Not for us.”
I hum, nodding with a casual air like I’m not brimming with emotion. “So, say I ask you to marry me. Then what?”
Her eyes soften. “Then I’ll say yes.”
I move so I’m facing her, skating backward, and when my hands come to her hips, I slow us to a stop, gazing down into her stunning blue-gray eyes. “You sure about that?”
“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“You can change your mind.”
She smiles. “I won’t.”
“I won’t, either.”
“I know.”
She tracks my hand as I slip the box from my pocket, and when I kneel, her eyes shine.
“Hazel Hartley, will you make my goddamned life and marry me?”
Her smile? It’s everything, and I’ll remember this moment forever.
“Yes, Rory Miller, I will.”
I take her left hand and slip the outrageous sparkling ring onto her finger before I stand and kiss the woman I love. The woman who made me into the best version of myself. The woman I fell head over heels for years ago, and who’s finally caught up.
The woman I can’t wait to live the rest of my life with. Get married to. Have kids with. Grandkids.
“I love you,” she whispers against my lips.
“I love you, too, Hartley, and I’ll never let you forget it.”
To read the bonus scene of Rory and Hazel’s wedding (and wedding night!) and get hints about future characters, sign up for Stephanie’s newsletter at www.stephaniearcherauthor.com/rory or scan the QR code below:
Hayden and Darcy’s book is next, but in the meantime, check out the Queen’s Cove series, a small town series with four hot brothers, loads of tension, big laughs, and some serious spicy praise. Keep reading for an excerpt of The Wrong Mr. Right, a spice-coaching She’s All That style rom-com with a hot surfer and shy bookstore owner.
THE WRONG MR. RIGHT EXCERPT
“So you kissed him and there was no chemistry.” Wyatt raked his hand through his hair, mouth in a hard line.