Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ONE YEAR LATER…
Cooper
Something felt off, a subtle undercurrent of tension I couldn’t quite place.
I wiped down the counter, and the damp cloth collected spills and sugar crystals.
Sundays were typically my favorite workdays—busy enough to be profitable but relaxed enough to enjoy the routine of the shop, to savor the small interactions with regulars and the satisfaction of a well-made espresso shot.
But I couldn’t put my finger on what was different that Sunday.
Maybe it was the unusual congregation of my friends scattered throughout the shop. Garrett and Ethan occupied a table by the window. Garrett’s deputy sheriff’s uniform was exchanged for civilian clothes, but his posture was still unmistakably alert as he held Ethan’s hand and spoke in low tones.
Mason and Caleb lounged on stools at the bar against the wall, heads bent together in a conspiratorial whisper that cut off abruptly when I looked their way. Caleb offered an overly enthusiastic wave that made my suspicion spike.
Landon sat with his boyfriend, Matt, at a table. Landon nursed a double espresso and checked his watch every thirty seconds with the nervous energy of someone waiting for an overdue train.
My brother, Ryan, had claimed a four-top near the back, with my six-year-old niece, Lily, beside him. Her legs swung beneath her chair as she concentrated on what appeared to be a very important coloring project, her tongue caught between her teeth in fierce concentration.
Friends and family filled almost every chair.
“They’ve been here for almost an hour,” Jessica murmured beside me, startling me from my observations as she restocked the display case with fresh pastries.
Her eyes, lined with perfect winged eyeliner despite her early start, darted meaningfully around the room.
“All of them. Arrived within ten minutes of each other.”
“Weird.” A prickle of unease traveled up my spine. “Did they say why?”
Jessica shrugged, the movement too casual in a way that immediately set off alarm bells. “Nope. Just ordered their usuals and spread out like they’re casing the joint for a heist.”
I laughed, but the sound felt hollow. “Great. Now I’m paranoid.”
“Paranoid about what?” Jessica asked innocently, but the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her.
“You know something,” I accused, and pointed the cleaning cloth at her like a weapon.
She arranged her features into a mask of wounded dignity. “I’m just doing my job, boss. Speaking of which, I should probably man the register.” She retreated with suspicious haste and left me standing there with narrowed eyes and mounting curiosity.
I was about to follow her—to demand answers with the authority of someone who signed her paychecks—when the bell above the door jingled with frantic energy.
Jack burst into the shop like a hurricane making landfall, his usually confident stride harried and urgent, laptop clutched to his chest like a lifeline.
His honey-brown hair was windswept, cheeks flushed with exertion, his eyes wide with panic.
My heart dropped, and my stomach clenched with immediate anxiety. After everything we went through last year—the security breaches, the constant vigilance, the arrest—that look on Jack’s face could only mean one thing. Trouble.
“Cooper!” he called out. He spotted me behind the counter. “We have a problem. The Coffee Cove’s website—it’s been hacked.”
I felt the blood drain from my face. I dropped the cloth onto the counter. “How?” Horror crawled up my throat. “Shaw is behind bars.” The name still tasted bitter on my tongue.
Jack’s expression was grim, his jaw set in that determined way I recognized meant he was in full cybersecurity-expert mode. “Come and see,” he said, already moving toward the one empty table near the center of the room. He set his laptop down and flipped it open.
I made my way around the counter, vaguely aware that the shop had fallen silent, all background conversations suspended, the only sound the soft folk music playing from the speakers overhead.
My palms turned clammy. My heartbeat accelerated with each step.
A hack meant exposure, vulnerability—all the things Jack had worked so hard to protect us from.
Jack pulled out a chair, and the legs scraped against the hardwood floor. “Sit,” he instructed, his voice tight with an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher.
I sank into the seat and braced myself for the worst: compromised customer data, malicious code, threats against the business I’d built. Jack stood at my side and positioned the laptop in front of me. The screen glowed brightly.
What I saw made no sense.
The Coffee Cove’s homepage had been completely transformed. Instead of our usual clean layout with the menu and hours prominently displayed, photographs filled the screen—dozens of them, arranged in a collage that spanned years. My breath caught as recognition dawned like a punch to my gut.
There were Jack and me at the farmers’ market six months ago, laughing over something—I couldn’t remember what now.
Us at the Valentine’s Day dance, when our temporary relationship could have ended, my eyes locked on his with an emotion that had been anything but a conclusion.
A candid shot from college, the two of us sprawled on my dorm room floor surrounded by textbooks, much younger but unmistakably us.
Photos from birthdays and holidays, from casual moments and milestone celebrations—a visual timeline of our lives intersecting over the past seventeen years.
Some I recognized; others I had no memory of.
But most shocking of all was the text emblazoned across the center of the screen in a font that matched The Coffee Cove’s logo perfectly.
Will you marry me, Cooper McKay?
Below the question were two buttons, simple but impossible to miss: “Yes” and “Yes.”
My mind went completely, utterly blank. The world narrowed to the screen in front of me.
Everything else—the shop, the friends whose presence suddenly made sense, the strange tension in the air—faded to insignificance.
My heart slammed against my ribs with such force I was certain it would bruise.
Blood rushed in my ears like ocean waves.
“Jack,” I whispered, his name barely audible even to me. I turned to look at him. He watched me with an intensity that stole what little breath I had left, his eyes dark with vulnerability and something that looked remarkably like fear.
“The website.” My voice broke on the words. “You did this?”
He nodded once, a short, jerky movement. “With some help,” he admitted, and in my peripheral vision, Mason gave a subtle thumbs-up. “I’ve been collecting those photos for months. Some from our friends. Some from Ryan. Some from my own files.”
Seventeen years. We’d known each other for seventeen years, circling each other like planets in separate orbits, coming close but never quite aligning until last year.
My hand trembled as I reached for the touchpad. My fingertip hovered over one “Yes” button as the screen blurred before me. I pressed down. The soft click sounded thunderous in the hushed shop.
Immediately, the screen exploded with digital confetti in every color imaginable, cascading down over the photos while a new message appeared:
Turn around.
I swiveled in my chair and nearly fell out of it in my haste.
And there was Jack—no longer beside me but behind me, on one knee on the hardwood floor I’d swept just hours earlier.
The surrounding coffee shop seemed to hold its collective breath, the silence absolute except for the pounding of my heart.
Lying in Jack’s outstretched palm was a ring: black matte metal with a shiny gold inlay that caught the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows.
“Cooper McKay,” Jack said, his voice steady despite the emotion shining in his eyes, “I’ve been in love with you since we were nineteen years old. I just didn’t always show it. Will you be my partner for the rest of our lives?”
“Yes,” I breathed. The word escaped as if it had been waiting its whole life to be spoken. “Yes, Jack.”
I dropped to my knees in front of him. Around us, cheers erupted—Garrett’s deep whoop, Mason and Caleb’s synchronous applause, Lily’s delighted squeal, Ryan’s proud laughter—but they felt distant, separate from the bubble that seemed to enclose just the two of us.
Jack’s hands trembled slightly as he took mine and slid the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly, the weight unfamiliar but immediately right, like it had always been meant to be there.
“I love you,” I whispered, the words inadequate for the emotion expanding in my chest, threatening to overflow.
His answering smile was radiant. Years of uncertainty and pretense melted away as he cupped my face in his hands. “I love you too.” And then his lips were on mine, warm and familiar and perfect.
The kiss tasted of promise and seventeen years of waiting. When we finally broke apart, reluctant but aware of our audience, Jack rested his forehead against mine, his breath warm against my lips.
“We need a new bargain,” he murmured, voice low enough that only I could hear.
“The Husband Pact.” I chuckled. “No rules. No expiration date.”
“I’m in.” His lips curved in a crooked smile.
Lily clapped her hands and demanded a cookie, Jessica wiped at her eyes, and our friends converged around us with congratulations and barely disguised I-told-you-sos.
But in that moment, all I could see was Jack—my best friend, my lover, my fiancé—looking at me like I was the answer to a question he’d been asking his entire life.
After years of friendship, after four temporary weeks and finally finding our way to each other, we had arrived at this moment of perfect clarity: it started with an impulsive kiss, but it ended with lasting love.