17. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
Adam
I’m nursing my second cup of coffee while I wait for Jon to arrive. The moment I see him walk in, I wave him over to our table.
Once we place our order, Jon leans back in his seat, studying me closely like only he can.
“What’s on your mind, Son?” he asks, his gaze steady.
I exhale, searching for the right words. “I don’t even know where to start, Coach,” I admit, stumbling over my words and my thoughts.
"I know you, Adam," Jon begins. I nod because it's true—no one knows me better than Jon Linder.
"And I know my daughter," he continues. "I've seen the way you two act around each other. Now just relax and talk to me."
I take a breath and decide to start with the punchline instead of working my way toward it. "I'm in love with Katie," I say.
The moment I say the words, the weight lifts from my shoulders. No matter how Jon reacts, I’m relieved the truth is finally out. I love Katie Linder. Maybe I’ve loved her for years.
Jon nods slowly, as if dissecting each word, searching for its deeper meaning. "Okay," he says after what feels like an eternity. "Have you told her?"
"I have, sir," I reply. "I told her last night, right after I got home from Cortland. I was gone for a week, and I missed her. I love her."
His expression remains unreadable as he asks, "And how does she feel about you?"
"This might be hard to believe," I say, meeting his gaze, "but she loves me too."
"It's not hard to believe at all," he says. "Like I told you, I know my daughter."
"How do you feel about it?" I ask, my breath caught in my throat.
"Are you asking for my opinion, or my blessing?" Jon asks, his gaze steady on me.
"Both," I say, my voice softening. "I want your opinion because you're my best friend—actually, more like a father to me. You've been there for me in ways no one else has. And I want your blessing because, without it, I can't be with Katie."
"In that case," Jon begins, his tone steady. "I believe you’re both adults, capable of making your own decisions, especially when it comes to finding the right person to love—and possibly commit to for the rest of your life. Katherine is my little girl, and I want her to be happy. She deserves a man who will support her goals and help her fulfill her dreams. I know you, like any father knows his son. You are a good man, Adam Morgan, and I couldn't be more proud of you. You would make any woman happy, and if that woman happens to be my daughter, you have my full support and blessing to pursue a relationship with her."
***
When I walk into the house, Katie’s in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot.
"It smells amazing in here," I say, pulling a stool up to the center island.
"Wait, wait, wait," she says, holding up a spoon. "Don't get too comfortable, sous-chef, y ou're going to help me with this. I need you to chop onions, carrots, and celery."
"Yes, ma’am," I reply, smiling as I head to the refrigerator. "What kind of soup are we making?"
"Chicken noodle," she says with a grin. "I’m serving it with the baguette we picked up at the farmers' market. It’s been waiting in the freezer for some comfort food, so soup it is!"
I wash my hands and move to stand beside her as she sprinkles herbs and spices into the pot. I start chopping vegetables, waiting for the right moment to tell her I talked to Jon about us.
"How long does this need to simmer?" I ask, dropping the chopped veggies into the pot.
"About twenty minutes," she replies, covering the pot with a lid.
I reach for her hand. "Can we sit for a bit and talk?"
She glances at me, then follows me to the sofa.
"What is it?" she asks, settling beside me.
"I had lunch with your dad today," I say, watching her closely for a reaction.
"You did?" she replies. "You didn’t mention it this morning."
"I know," I admit. "I actually called him before I left Cortland to invite him."
"Oh?" she says, her tone calm, without a hint of disapproval. "Was there something specific you wanted to talk about?"
"Yeah," I say, gently tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I wanted to let him know that I'm madly in love with his oldest daughter and that I have every intention of pursuing a relationship with her."
"Really?" she asks, smiling. "How exactly did you frame it?"
"I asked him what he thought and then basically begged him to give me his blessing," I admit.
Her smile turns into a chuckle, then a soft giggle. She leans back on the couch, laughter spilling out of her.
"You're afraid of him," she says between bouts of giggles.
"It's a healthy fear," I counter. "You're his baby. I'm just the foster kid he took under his wing. What if he had said no—that I wasn't good enough for you? What then?"
"Would you have broken up with me if he said no?" she asks, her green eyes intense and searching.
"Thankfully, he said yes, and we never have to find out," I reply, exhaling a sigh of relief.
"He said yes because he knows you make me happy," she says, her gaze softening.
"No woman has ever said that to me before," I confess.
"That's because you never looked at anyone the way you look at me," she says, a soft blush spreading across her cheeks.
I lean in and kiss her gently on the cheek before whispering, "You make me happy too."
***
I got the keys to the condo two days ago, and today Katie and I are shopping for furniture.
"I don't need much," I say as we walk around the furniture store, deciding on a living room set.
"I like this one," she says, bouncing gently on a teal green sofa.
"I think it's too dark," I say. "How about that heather grey one over there?"
"I thought green was your favorite color," she says, a playful glint in her eyes.
I pull her off the sofa and wrap my arms around her.
"Green is my favorite color," I say, looking into her beautiful eyes, "but for a sofa, I prefer something more subtle."
In the end, we settle on a coastal sage green sofa and love seat that we both like.
***
With all the furniture in place, Katie walks around the living room, deciding how we're going to decorate the space—and when I say "we", I actually mean she .
"I think you missed your calling," I say, watching her in action.
"What do you mean?" She smiles, holding up a large piece of wall art. "This will look perfect above the sofa on this big wall."
"You should've been an interior designer," I say.
"Here, hand me that hammer," she says, holding up the frame.
"Actually," I begin, "we need to measure first."
"Measure?" She laughs. "Let's just eyeball it. This is about the center right here."
"We need to measure it to make sure it's actually centered on the wall," I counter.
"But I'm kneeling in the center of the sofa," she quips. "So this is the center, right here."
"Katie," I say, shaking my head.
"You know what?" she says, handing me the frame. "Here, I'll leave you to it. I'm going to go decide what to put up in the bedroom."
She dusts off her hands and walks down the hall into the bedroom.
After some precise measuring and leveling, I hang the frame with the certainty that it's perfectly centered on the wall.
I walk into the bedroom a few minutes later, and find Katie standing on the bed, trying to center yet another piece of wall art—by eyeballing it.
"Katie," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'll need to measure that before I put it up."
"I already measured it," she insists, taking a step back on the bed. "And the center is right here."
She turns toward me and suddenly loses her balance. For a split second, time slows as she stumbles, arms flailing. Before I fully process what's happening, she's flying through the air. I lunge forward, reaching out just in time to catch her, swinging her around so she doesn't hit the floor. Instead, she lands on the bed with a soft thud —and I land squarely on top of her.
I never knew a king-size bed could feel so small. Her hair fans out on the mattress, glossy and black. Her pale skin is soft and flushed beneath me. Time stands still—neither of us speaking, neither of us daring to break the spell that holds us captive in this moment.
She looks at me with such intensity, and the only thing keeping me from pulling her into my arms and—No. I remind myself, swiftly and firmly, that this is not just any woman. She is Katherine Linder. The woman I love, the woman I want to marry, the woman I want to have children with. But more than anything, she's Jon’s daughter.
“I love you, Adam.” Her sweet voice wraps around me like a melody, soft and intoxicating. Her eyes beg me to seal this moment with a kiss as her fingers trail a path from my shoulder to my lips, sending a warm thrill of excitement all the way to my soul, taking my breath away.
I lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek, and whisper, “I love you, too.” Then I lift myself off the bed and offer her my hand, helping her up.
We both smile, understanding just how much this moment is charged with intimacy—and with our growing love.
***
When I set my bags down by the door, Katie looks at me and shoots me a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
"I'm going to miss you," she murmurs, wrapping her arms around my middle.
"We'll see each other every day at the office," I reassure her. "And Thursday nights are still on for Survivor ."
"I know," she whispers. "But it won't be the same."
I lift her chin gently, making sure she meets my gaze. "It’ll be okay. I promise."
"I know," she murmurs.
"And now that I'm officially moved out..." I smile, trying to lighten the mood. "We can start dating like normal people."
"What do you mean?" she asks, her curiosity piqued.
"I respect you, Katie," I say. "I don’t want there to be any doubt about my feelings, my intentions or my respect for you and your parents."
"Is that why you haven't kissed me again?" she whispers, her green gaze searching mine.
I nod. "I don’t want any speculation or assumptions," I say. "We haven't been shacking up for seven weeks. I was your roommate and starting now, I’m your boyfriend."
"My boyfriend," she repeats, a real smile reaching her eyes. "I like the sound of that."
"Can I have a kiss before I leave?" I ask, lifting my hand to gently touch her face.
"Are all my freckles accounted for?" she teases, her eyes sparkling.
"Absolutely," I chuckle, my heart skipping a beat.