We decided, why wait?
We both know what we want.
To grow this family.
I squeeze Abby’s hand harder as the Renegades defense holds the other team to only a yard.
It’s third down.
The game is nearly over.
My man’s team is in the lead.
If the Renegades defense can shut the other team down for good.
On the next play, the opposing quarterback lobs a Hail Mary pass that makes my heart crawl up my throat.
But there’s no one open, and just like that, my boyfriend wins his third Super Bowl!
“Daddy!” Abby shouts, thrusting her arms in the air.
“He’s the best,” I cheer, elated and euphoric, along with the rest of my friends.
Confetti falls.
Music blares.
And the winners rush to celebrate on the field.
It’s wild and exhilarating, and since I feel like I’m dancing in the sky, I can’t even imagine the emotions swirling through the man I love.
A few minutes into our sideline celebration, Emerson grabs my arm then nods at Abby.
“Look who’s here.”
Emerson tugs me, and Abby by extension, to the sidelines. In a flash, I’m grinning and I can’t stop.
My guy is there for us, waiting, like he was a few months ago after the game in San Francisco.
Harlan reaches for me, and I hop down into his arms. Emerson lifts up Abby, and Harlan scoops her into his arms next. “Hey, little bear, what did you think? Was that boring?”
“Not at the end when you won,” she says, matter-of-factly.
As he holds his little girl, he turns his gaze to me. “Did I go out in style or what?”
“You sure did,” I say, beaming. “I am so proud of you.”
“Good. Because this is the perfect time to ask you something.”
What on earth does he have to ask me on the field teeming with reporters and teammates and Gatorade and noise and music, and . . .
My hand flies to my mouth.
Harlan has dropped down to one knee.
Abby squeals.
The sweaty, game-winning guy of my dreams has a velvet box in his hand, and I’ve no idea where it came from. Emerson? But who cares, because he’s talking.
Loud and clear.
“I love you so much, Katie Madigan. And I planned to ask you this whether we won or lost, because you’re what I want beyond this moment. For all time. For always. I love you madly. Will you marry me tonight?”
I blink, stunned.
Utterly stunned.
“Tonight?” I croak.
Abby cheers. “Say yes, say yes, Katie!”
I laugh, and the sound is chased by sobs, and holy hell, I’m crying.
“Yes, Katie. Tonight. We’re in Vegas. Our friends and family are here. I want you to be my wife, and I want us to be a family, and I don’t want to wait any longer.”
You know what?
He makes the most excellent points.
I fall to my knees, join him on the grass, and wrap my arms around him. “Yes. I say yes. Let’s do it.”
Abby jumps up and down, and we both pull her in for a hug.
Sometime after midnight, we make it to the chapel at The Extravagant with a yawning seven-year-old and the whole crew.
“Told you the pink sparkly sweatshirt was the way to go,” Emerson says with a wink as I walk in wearing a simple white dress.
The sneak.
She’d packed the dress and handed it to me when we returned to the hotel to shuck off my game clothes so I could put on this.
Now, she’s holding a bouquet of tiger lilies. “And these.”
I clutch them close to my heart, then walk down the aisle and pledge to love Harlan Taylor for the rest of my life.
When the justice of the peace turns to the groom, decked out in one of his tailored suits, and asks if he’ll love, cherish, and honor me for the rest of his days, he says, so easily, so happily, “I do.”
He says it with love and passion and trust.
That’s all I could ever want.
Epilogue
Harlan
* * *
More than a year later
* * *
I whip up eggs for my wife. Brew her some coffee. Slice her a peach. Set the goodies on the breakfast plate as she nurses the baby.
What a sight.
Katie looks so good as a mom. Who would have thought?
Well, this guy.
Katie looks good doing pretty much everything.
And she’s aces at doing most stuff too, so she’s mastered parenting already.
“Look at you. Such a pro in no time,” I say when the baby finishes, and Katie burps her on her shoulder.
“Yes, sign me up for five more,” she quips as she pats our daughter’s back.
“Don’t tempt me,” I say drily, then set the plate in front of her. “Gimme Mia. I need some snuggles.” I make grabby hands, and Katie gives me the baby.
Our five-month-old makes the sweetest sigh as I hold her close. “There. Wasn’t that delicious?” I glance at Katie, nodding to her plate. “Now, eat your breakfast, sweetheart. You have a busy day teaching those ballplayers downward dog. Bet they’re not as fun as football players.”