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448 pages, Paperback
Published May 26, 2025
My near-sighted vision reveals that this guy is gorgeous.
Strong jaw, piercing blue eyes and the fullest lips I’ve ever seen on a man. They look like pillows that would be soft and plush, yet unyieldingly firm if necessary.
Even with his hair wet, I can see it’s sandy in color with some natural highlights from the sun.
He’s shirtless, as one might be while swimming in the ocean, with beads of water dripping down his golden skin. He smiles at me, a devastating smile that combined with his five o’clock shadow has me panting.
Maybe I did drown out in the water after all because my body feels all light and tingly, like I’m floating outside myself.
“It’s Prince Eric!” Ten four-year-olds squeal in unison.
“He rescued the mermaid!” one girl shrieks excitedly.
“No, she’s supposed to rescue him,” comes a disapproving voice.
“Break the suction? How are you going to do that?” she asks.
I lift my hands out in front of me.
“With your freakishly large hands?” Her eyes bulge. “How are you going to get those inside?” She motions toward her hips. “They’re not going to fit. It’s too tight.”
“Hi, Mae. I’m looking for someone.” I glance toward the dining area. “Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Freckle under her left eye and a small scar on her chin.” Mae blinks at me, and I realize I should find less obsessive ways to describe Summer’s face. “She looks like an angel, but is feisty as hell. I think she was here earlier so she might have already left.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a swish of a blonde ponytail.
Summer.
“Found her.” I point in Summer’s direction.
“Hmm. I’d be jealous if you were my girlfriend and eating dinner with another guy.”
“Well, good thing I’m not.” She motions to the kitchen again. “You want dinner or not?”
“Summer loves pickles,” Darcy offers, setting her plate down and sliding in next to Summer in the booth.
“What else does Summer love?” I ask.
“Dogs, the beach, art,” Darcy grins, “oh, and Edgar.”
“Yes, I’ve heard about Edgar.” A tight smile forms on my lips. “He’s a lucky guy.”
Fuck Edgar.
“Summer?” Rory calls out, interrupting the quiet between us.
“What?”
“I’m sorry today was rough.”
I swallow thickly, Rory’s words bringing up the emotion I’d been working hard to suppress.
“I’m here if you need me.”
I suck in a silent, shuddering breath.
The tears I’ve been holding back are too heavy to keep at bay any longer, so I bury my face into my pillow and let everything out.
“Hey.” Rory’s soothing voice floats over my side. He’s standing at the side of the loft. “You can tell me to fuck off, but I can’t lie down there and listen to you cry.”
“Because it’s too loud and you can’t sleep?” I sniffle.
“No. Because it’s breaking my heart.”
“Oh.” I bite my lip to stifle the emotion that his words bring.
“What do you need, Summer?”
When Rory showed up last night, my instinct was to turn him away. I’d even rehearsed it in my head a dozen times, but when I’d seen him standing there, hopeful, and sincere, all my practiced words scattered. Because pushing Rory away is exhausting. He’s got too much resolve.
Rory’s lips twitch, likely fighting the desire to break out into a huge, conspiratorial grin, except he had no way of knowing I was going to do this because up until ten seconds ago, neither did I. He stands and wraps an arm around my waist. One of those muscular forearms he possesses, and I do my best not to squirm with giddiness at the contact. It’s a challenge. After all, my body is highly aware that we’ve never touched like this before, but we can’t let them know. It would ruin the fun.
Rory clears his throat. “Mom, Dad. This is Summer.” He beams down at me before turning the same proud smile back on his parents. “Summer Shields, my wife.”
“It’s empty.”
Summer opens her eyes briefly to roll them at me. She takes another shallow breath before answering. “Yeah, I know. It’s not a big deal.”
Her cavalier attitude sends a jolt of frustration into my blood. “Not a big deal? You’re literally wheezing.”
“I’m not wheezing. I’m just…breathing with personality.”
“The medication is cheaper with insurance?” I ask.
“Yeah, but I don’t have it. And while I’ve researched it, my monthly premiums are too high for me to maintain.”
I can’t believe this is her reality. I’d pay ten times the cost if it meant she could breathe without fear. And then the thought hits me, so obvious I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.
“Marry me.”
“What?” She scoffs. Then when she realizes I’m dead serious, “No.”
“You proposed earlier.”
“I didn’t propose. I said we were already married.”
“Which is a repercussion I’m going to have to deal with when my parents find out it’s not true.”
“Rory—” Summer starts after me, but I turn and guide her to the corner of the pharmacy.
“I’m not in the mood to argue,” I say, more gruffly than I intend to. But while she’s been treating this whole thing like it’s normal, I’ve been going out of my mind with worry.
My hand cups her jaw.
“Damn it, Summer. You may be the one who can’t breathe properly, but watching you struggle and feeling so fucking helpless is god damn torture for me.”
Rory proposed.
In the pharmacy parking lot.
Okay, it was more like a demand.
Breach of independence!
“Yeah, well,” I smile back, “I think you’ve got potential, Flipper.”
I move to tap him on the nose, but before my finger lands, he catches my wrist and presses his lips to my palm. “Thank you, Wildflower.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest squeeze. It also reminds me we need to agree on the most important rule of all.
“Just so we’re clear, you’re not allowed to fall in love with me.”
“Okay.” He smirks. “That means you’re not allowed to fall for me, either.”
“Not a problem.” I pull my hand back to break the connection between us.
It’s silent for a minute, before I add, “Don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t.” He stretches again, sighing with exhaustion. “I’m going to be the best fake husband.”
With his hands still holding me up, Rory’s eyes scan the length of me.
“Wow, Summer. You’re stunning.”
If I hadn’t felt pretty before, I do now, and that only adds to my confusion.
I hate the effect Rory’s words have on me. The way his eyes lighting in approval makes my stomach flutter with excitement. How it used to be that way with Tripp until I realized he only wanted me by his side to show me off. He didn’t actually care about me.
“Yeah, well, Winnie wouldn’t let me wear a t-shirt and biker shorts.”
Rory chuckles, turning me toward the courtroom door and opening it for me to enter.
“You could’ve shown up in a trash bag, and I still would’ve said ‘I do’ without blinking.”
“You’re only admitting your desperation,” I tease as he takes my hand. He pulls me along toward the front of the room where the judge is seated behind the plain wooden bench talking with another couple.
The air carries a faint scent of old paper and lemon-scented floor cleaner.
Rory’s lips twitch in amusement, before he shakes his head. “Nah, it’s because it doesn’t matter what you’re wearing. You walk into a room, and I notice. Every damn time.”
At his words, I nearly trip down the court room aisle, but I don’t fall because Rory’s got me.
I’ve never been kissed like that. Now, I’m questioning if I’ve ever been kissed at all.
Finally, I’m able to open my eyes and focus on Rory. His lips are flushed, his breathing a little uneven, but that familiar golden retriever grin flickers back into place.
While my brain is spinning its wheels trying to figure out what just transpired, Rory isn’t fazed at all. It’s almost like he knew this would happen.
“I object,” I whisper.
Rory just grins knowingly. “We’re already past that part, wife.”
Her eyes widen, and she pulls the blanket tighter around her.
“Oh my god, did they see?”
I want to reassure her, but there’s no doubt that they did. It was the first thing my eyes had connected with when I walked in the door. Those tight nipples pressed against the soft cotton of her tank top.
I wonder if there’s a medical spa service for extracting the image of my wife’s nipples from these guys’ brains. I’d spare no expense for that procedure.
“Possibly.”
If it were me walking in alone, I’d chuckle, but there’s nothing funny about my teammates seeing my wife half naked.
“We didn’t see anything,” Charlie says, covering his eyes.
“That’s a lie.” Logan claps. “Encore!”
“Yeah, but you just moved into my house today, so technically you’ve never walked home from the café to our place before.”
“Our place?” My brows lift.
“Used to be mine. But you live there now. Mine plus yours equals ours.”
He’s logical. He’s sweet. And he’s exasperating.
All I can do is shake my head.
He drops to his knees, settling in at my feet.
“What—” I start, but in the next moment, his intentions are clear when his hands gently wrap around my wrists before slowly guiding them to the sides of his head.
The moment my fingertips touch his hair; I’m startled by how intimate it feels.
My eyes find his and he nods in reassurance before giving me that devastatingly handsome smile of his.
Now, I notice everything about her.
The way she hums when she’s sketching in her notebook. The way she tugs the sleeves of my hoodie over her hands when she’s cold. The way she kicks her toes against mine under the table like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
She’s driving me crazy without even trying. Every small, unguarded thing she does just makes me want her more.
“What about exertion?” Rory asks, typing something into his phone. “What type of activity, if any, is off limits or needs to be monitored?”
My annoyance grows because I could have easily answered these questions.
“Again, that’s Summer’s call. There’s no activity I would limit as long as she’s got her inhaler on hand and has been using it regularly. Mild, daily activities like walking, hiking, and moderate aerobic exercise should be fine.”
Rory glances down to his phone again.
“What about sex?” he blurts out.
My eyes bulge at Rory’s question, but Dr. Lasgo doesn’t miss a beat. “Sex is not an activity that would need to be limited or refrained from. Again, it’s Summer needing to monitor what she feels is a comfortable situation.”
I shoot Rory a glance. Are you done?
Dr. Lasgo continues. “Though there are some intimate situations that could be triggering. Choking or breath play are not recommended.”
“Got it. No choking or breath play.” Rory looks so serious as he types on his phone.
Is he taking notes? I watch his brows crease with concentration. Yeah, he totally is.
“Wait. Why were you on the couch?” I ask, trying to collect my thoughts. “I thought you’d be in bed asleep.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Why?”
He glances away, but I can just make out the slightest flush of his cheeks in the dim lighting. His eyes find mine again.
“Because you weren’t here. My brain can’t relax until I know you’re home.”
I have zero control of the giddy smile that creeps across my face. His announcement shouldn’t make my pulse pound. It should set off alarm bells, but if there are any, I’m too tipsy to notice.
“I’ve been forced to look. It’s all right there.” She motions to me.
“And if I put a shirt on, you’ll be totally fine? No distractions. No problems.”
“It would help,” she murmurs. “But there’s still your face.”
“What’s wrong with my face?” I run a hand along my jaw, looking for the issue.
“Nothing. That’s the problem.”
I shake my head, holding in a laugh. “You’re going to have to be more specific. If I don’t know the problem, how can I fix it?”
“There’s nothing to fix. That’s the problem, Flipper. You’re gorgeous. Your smile is perfect. And that dimple is obnoxious. It’s always winking at me. Also, those eyes of yours are too mesmerizing.” She drops her head back against the glass cabinet.
For the first time since we met, Summer’s guard is down. If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.
Instead of taking the seat across from me, she sits down on the bench next to me.
“One orgasm and we’re sitting on the same side of the table?” I tease, remembering how she told me we would never be a couple who sits on the same side of the table at restaurants.
She lifts a brow. “Please. I’m just avoiding the sun glare.”
I thought I was on the sunnier side but maybe the sun shifted. I glance across the table at the shady side I’d reserved for her. Still plenty of shade.
“Do you want me to move to the other side?” I ask as she peruses the menu.
Under the table, her knee brushes against mine.
“No.”
“Like a damn fantasy.” He steps closer, and my body hums in response to his proximity, making me even more aware that I’m not wearing anything underneath these overalls. “Paint-splattered. Messy hair and glasses. And practically falling out of these overalls.”
“I know. I’m a mess. I should go shower.”
Yeah, I’m thinking of getting another tattoo and want to see what it would look like.”
My eyes roll toward the ceiling. “God, please no.”
“A mermaid with a pink and purple tail and long blonde hair.” He brushes one of the loose strands from my messy bun out of my face. “The wilder the better. And glasses. Don’t forget the glasses
I shake my head, but my smile persists because when Rory is smiling at me, I feel at ease.
“Didn’t you know mermaids don’t wear glasses?” I smirk.
“Mine does.” His finger glides along one leg of my glasses before it teases along the shell of my ear. I disguise the quiver his touch causes as simply being chilled by the early evening breeze coming in from the cracked sliding door overlooking the beach.
Mine does.
How can two simple words make my heart race so uncontrollably?
“Summer,” Rory’s voice is soft. “You’re Covey.”
It’s not a question but more him saying it out loud to process.
He moves closer to the paintings lining the floor of the closet and brushes his fingers along the edges.
“Of course you are.”
My heart hammers in my chest. “What does that mean?”
A self-effacing laugh escapes from his lips. “I’ve been quietly obsessed with Covey ever since I found the painting of my house. Not because it was my house, but because of the way it made me feel. Raw and grounded. Like I could breathe a little deeper even when everything else was chaos.” He turns to meet my gaze. “It’s the way I feel when I’m with you.
But the real story isn’t something I’m ready to share in a press room.
The real story is a girl with paint under her fingernails and a dog that snores louder than a human. It’s late-night grocery runs and beach days and the jars of pickles she keeps stocked in our fridge.
The real story is that, for the first time in my life, I’m not just swimming toward the wall.
I’m swimming toward someone.
When I press inside Summer, I’m home.
Maybe that sounds cheesy, but it’s exactly how I feel. Like no matter how long it took me to get here, it’s where I’ve always belonged.
Seeing her again after these days apart, it’s like every nerve in my body wakes up the second I touch her. The way she feels in my arms—soft, warm, perfect—isn’t something I’ve ever let myself crave this badly before. But right now, it’s undeniable.
“Excuse me. What are you doing?” I jerk back.
“Showing you what it would be like if we were married.”
“Um, no.” I turn to scowl at him. “We wouldn’t be a same side of the booth couple.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s weird.”
“I like being close.” He props a muscular arm over the back of the booth behind me. “Physical touch is my love language.”
“Of course it is.”
“What’s yours?”
… “Personal space.”
“It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing. You walk into a room, and I notice. Every damn time.”
“So let me get this straight,” I drop my voice low, “because I don’t want to put words in your mouth, but you’re annoyed that I’m too good looking.”
… “Yes. It’s frustrating. I never planned on getting married in the first place and now, I have to deal with a hot fake husband.”
… “And I’m too nice to you?”
“Something like that.”
She has no idea how much nicer I want to be. How much more I would give her if she’d let me.
The man I am when I’m with Summer isn’t the swimmer, the competitor, or the guy everyone expects me to be. With her, I’m just me – vulnerable, exposed, and completely hers.
I’m not just the girl with the secret. I’m not just the artist or the traveler. I’m the woman who feels seen by the man who’s always been right there, waiting for me to let him in.
“I want you, Summer. Nothing has ever felt simpler.”