Epilogue
Tara
Eight Months Later
The smell of fresh sawdust and possibility fills my lungs as I push through the glass doors of what will soon be the Cedar Falls Chaos… or Rookies training facility. Six months ago, this was just another empty warehouse on the outskirts of town. Now it's becoming something extraordinary.
The sound of power tools echoes through the cavernous space, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter from the construction crew.
I weave between stacks of lumber and rolls of synthetic ice material, my boots crunching on wood shavings as I make my way toward the back office where Cam's voice carries over the din.
"—and I'm telling you, if we don't get the boards regulation height, some hotshot from Denver's going to show up and make us rebuild the entire rink," he's saying into his phone, that familiar mix of authority and charm that makes even contractors want to please him.
I pause in the doorway, just watching him.
He's got blueprints spread across a makeshift desk, his hair disheveled from running his hands through it, and there's a smudge of something that looks suspiciously like ice cream on his shirt.
The sight makes my chest warm with that particular brand of fondness reserved for watching someone you love completely in their element.
When he spots me, his entire face transforms. The stressed team owner melts away, replaced by the man who still looks at me like I'm the best surprise he's ever gotten.
"Gotta go," he tells whoever's on the other end of the line. "My favorite person just walked in."
"Your only favorite person, I hope," I tease, setting down the bag I've been carrying.
"Well, Levi's pretty high on the list too, but you've got better legs."
"Charmer." I cross to him, automatically straightening his collar even though we're surrounded by construction dust and the gesture is pointless. "How's the empire building going, Mr. Wilder?"
His hands find my waist, pulling me closer with the casual possessiveness that still makes my pulse skip. "Slowly but surely. The ice system should be installed next week, and the locker rooms are actually starting to look like locker rooms instead of concrete boxes."
"And the team?"
His grin turns predatory in the best possible way. "Tryouts start in three weeks. I've got calls coming in from players who want a shot at making history with an expansion team. Some kid from Minnesota keeps leaving me voicemails about how he's going to be the next Gretzky."
"Are you going to give him a chance?"
"Hell yes. Anyone cocky enough to compare themselves to the Great One deserves at least one look." He tugs me closer, until I'm pressed against his chest and can feel the steady beat of his heart. "Besides, I have a soft spot for people who aren't afraid to dream big."
The familiar flutter of attraction starts low in my belly, the way it always does when he gets that particular glint in his eye. Eight months of being engaged to this man, and he still makes me feel like a teenager with her first crush.
"Brought lunch for my favorite team owner," I say, nodding toward the bag I abandoned. "Or should I say, my favorite sexy, unemployed construction supervisor?"
He throws back his head and laughs, the sound echoing off the bare walls. "Unemployed? Woman, I'll have you know I'm very gainfully employed. This facility isn't going to build itself."
"Mm-hmm. And how exactly does one supervise construction while eating ice cream at ten in the morning?"
His face goes sheepish, and he glances down at the telltale stain on his shirt. "Rocky road. For research purposes. We're considering adding a concession stand, and I needed to test the local suppliers."
"Of course you did. Very thorough of you."
"I'm nothing if not dedicated to my craft."
I laugh, shaking my head as I retrieve the bag and start unpacking the sandwiches I picked up from Mane Street Bistro. "Mrs. Whitmore asked me to tell you that if you keep ordering her turkey club every day, she's going to start charging you a frequent customer fee."
"Worth every penny. That woman makes magic between two slices of bread."
We settle into the rhythm we've perfected over the past months—him updating me on the facility's progress while I listen and ask the right questions, both of us stealing bites of each other's sandwiches even though we ordered exactly what we wanted.
It's domestic in the best way, comfortable without being boring.
"My dad called this morning," he says around a bite of turkey and swiss.
I pause, my own sandwich halfway to my mouth.
Cam's relationship with his father has been evolving since we got engaged, but it's still a work in progress.
Dr. Erik Wilder doesn't quite know what to make of his son's new life, and Cam's still learning to hear concern instead of criticism in his father's questions.
"Good call or 'Cameron, you need to think about your future' call?"
"Surprisingly good. He wanted to know if we'd set a date yet, and when I told him we were thinking fall, he offered to help with the venue."
My eyebrows climb toward my hairline. "Your dad wants to help plan our wedding?"
"I know, right? Apparently your dad made quite an impression when they met last month. Something about 'finally understanding what it means to watch your child choose their own path.'" He does a decent impression of his father's precise, slightly accented English.
The mention of my father makes something warm unfurl in my chest. Julien Delacroix has been true to his word about stepping back and letting me live my life.
He calls once a week, asks about the town and my work with genuine interest, and hasn't once mentioned the trust fund he set up or the standing offer to run the Denver office of Delacroix Industries.
"I like the idea of a fall wedding," I say softly. "October, maybe? When the leaves are changing and everything's gold and red."
"Perfect. We can have the reception here, once the facility's finished. Nothing says 'happily ever after' like celebrating in a hockey rink."
I burst out laughing. "Cameron Wilder, are you seriously suggesting we have our wedding reception in your training facility?"
"Our training facility," he corrects with mock solemnity. "And hell yes, I am. Think about it—we'll have the biggest dance floor in three counties, built-in seating, and if Uncle Pete gets too drunk and starts his war stories again, we can just put him in the penalty box."
The mental image of my father's business associates mingling with Cedar Falls locals in a hockey rink is so absurd it circles back to brilliant. "You know what? I actually love that idea."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. It's perfect. It's us."
He leans across the makeshift desk and kisses me, soft and sweet and tasting like mustard and promises. When he pulls back, his eyes are serious despite the smile on his lips.
"I love you, Taralyn Delacroix."
"I love you too, Cameron Wilder."
The sound of approaching footsteps interrupts the moment, and we spring apart like teenagers caught making out under the bleachers. Levi appears in the doorway, his hair damp with sweat and his Henley clinging to his chest.
"Please tell me you two weren't christening the office," he says with disgust. "We haven't even finished construction yet."
"Just discussing wedding venues," Cam replies innocently.
"In here?" Levi looks around the bare-bones space with its exposed pipes and concrete floor. "You're both certifiably insane."
Levi shakes his head and grabs a bottle of water from the cooler in the corner. "I came to tell you that the league office reps from Breckenridge are here early. They want to walk through the facility before the final inspection tomorrow."
Cam's entire demeanor shifts, the relaxed boyfriend replaced by the focused businessman. It's fascinating to watch, the way he can slide between personas without losing the essential core of who he is.
"How early?"
"They're pulling up now."
"Shit." Cam runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles. "I look like I've been wrestling with power tools all morning."
"Because you have been wrestling with power tools all morning," I point out, reaching up to smooth his hair down. "You look fine. You look like a man who's hands-on with his business, which is exactly what they want to see."
He catches my hand, pressing a quick kiss to my palm. "What would I do without you?"
"Probably show up to important meetings covered in ice cream and sawdust."
"Hey, the ice cream was research—"
"Go," I laugh, giving him a gentle push toward the door. "Dazzle them with your vision and your charm. I'll clean up here."
He hesitates for a moment, and I can see the flicker of nerves he's trying to hide. This facility, this team—it's his dream made manifest, and the inspection tomorrow will determine whether the Cedar Falls Chaos… or Rookies, becomes a reality or remains a beautiful possibility.
I step closer, close enough to see the gold flecks in his brown eyes, and let all my confidence, all my faith in him, show in my expression.
"You've got this," I tell him quietly. "You were born for this."
The anxiety melts away, replaced by that familiar cocky grin that made me fall in love with him in the first place. "Damn right I was."
He strides out of the office with Levi beside him, their voices fading as they head toward the main entrance. I can hear the murmur of new voices, the professional politeness that comes with first meetings and big decisions.
I finish cleaning up our lunch, taking my time to give Cam space to work his magic.
Through the office window, I can see him gesturing animatedly as he leads a small group of suited officials through the facility.
Even from this distance, I can tell he's in his element—confident, knowledgeable, passionate about what he's building.
My phone buzzes with a text from Lily: How's the hockey empire coming along?