Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
I couldn’t even breathe. “What?”
“Let’s get out ahead of it. I’ll meet him too. I’ll admit the truth, and we’ll go to a news outlet we trust with the real story—if it’s okay with him and his mom.”
The room began to spin. “Oh my God, Tyler. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
Picking up my ice water again, I took several big gulps. “So . . . what does this look like?”
“I’d go with you on Saturday.”
“You would?”
“Yes. Unless you think that would unfairly blindside them.”
“It’s going to blindside them no matter what.” I paused to think about it. “But I think it’s a good thing. Robin’s letter said in the wake of losing his father, she felt like Chip was searching for family ties. And we know he admires you.”
“It’s still going to be a huge shock.” He frowned. “And they could say no. They could say they want no part of a media story.”
“How are we going to handle that part of it?”
“I’d contact a local reporter Sadie and Josh know and give her the scoop. I think that’s probably the best way to shut down gossip.”
“When did you talk to Sadie about it?”
“This morning. I invited myself to their house for breakfast before they left for work.”
My jaw dropped. “You’re really serious about this.”
“I am.” He squeezed my hand. “I want to do right by you, and by Chip. I’m not gonna lie and say I’m ready to be his father, but I feel protective of you both. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make this easier, no matter how uncomfortable it is for me.”
My eyes filled, and I had to let go of his hand to fish a tissue out of my purse. “Really?” I said, dabbing at the corners of my eyes.
“Yes. Running away from this wasn’t going to solve anything. It was me taking the easy out.” He paused. “I’ll be honest—if you’d never wanted to meet him or put our past out in the open, I might have been fine with it. But you know what? I keep thinking about this—I’ve enjoyed every single minute of the time I’ve spent with Chip. I’m not sorry he turned out to be my biological son. In fact, I’m proud of it. I just don’t feel much like his father.”
I reached out for his hand again. “It’s okay. I don’t feel like his mother either. It’s not going to be that kind of relationship. But maybe we can get to a place where we feel . . . something like family to each other.”
He turned his palm to mine and laced our fingers. “I’d like that.”
Something occurred to me. “Will you see him at practice before Saturday?”
“I’ve decided to stay away from the team for the time being. I’ve got enough to do here, and I think this situation is awkward enough. I told David I’d officially start next season.”
“Okay.” I suddenly pictured Tyler and I standing on the Carswells’ doorstep with a ticking bomb in our hands that was going to explode in their living room. Did I owe them a warning? Was this the right thing?
As if he knew I was nervous about what was coming, he squeezed my hand. “Hey. Look at me.”
I met his eyes.
“Everything is going to be okay,” he said, and his grin wasn’t the cocky smirk of a hotshot teenager, but a genuine, reassuring smile. “We’ve got this.”
My heart soared—he believed in me. He believed in us.
The next day, I texted him an invite to dinner at my house. He messaged me back saying he’d only come if I sent him a grocery list for making spaghetti sauce and allowed him to cook for me, which I did.
It took much, much longer than necessary.
He made a gigantic mess in the kitchen.
He put in too many red pepper flakes.
He didn’t cook the pasta long enough.
He burned the garlic bread.
He made me close my eyes, then he surprised me with a bowl of cherry ice cream topped with amaretto sauce for dessert.
“How did you get this?” I asked after one taste. “It’s from Cloverleigh Farms, isn’t it?”
“Well, I had to buy the ice cream from the grocery store,” he confessed. “But the sauce I picked up from the restaurant. I know it’s your favorite, and I wanted to watch you lick the spoon again.”
I licked more than the spoon that night.
Apparently, taking it slow with Tyler Shaw was not a thing I could do.
He just did something to me.
Always had, always would.
Twenty-Six
Tyler
On Friday, I crossed several things off my seemingly endless to-do list. Met with a realtor and looked at several properties for sale in the area, broke the news to Anna that I was moving back to Michigan (I may have shed a tear), and contacted my real estate agent in San Diego about putting my house up for sale.