The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(104)

My hands go to my mouth in shock. “Crew, you can’t be—” My voice cracks as tears spring to my eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.” He takes my hands in his again and brings me in close. “You make me happy. This farm makes me happy. This life we could create—the thought of it brings me joy. I like football, always have, always will, but my love for you, for this land, for these memories, it eclipses that any day. I want this, you and me. This farm. Pops watching over us. I couldn’t be surer about a decision.”

“Crew, I don’t . . . I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me you’re ready to go into business with your boyfriend.”

I chuckle, and I’m a snotty, wet mess as I nod. “I couldn’t want anything else.”

I stand on my toes and wrap my hand around the back of Crew’s neck, pulling him down to me. With a wet of my lips, I lift my mouth to his—

“Hey, uh, sorry to interrupt,” Mia says from behind us. “But I have Marley and Porter on FaceTime over here, and they’re dying to know what’s going on.”

Mia holds up her phone, and Porter and Marley wave at us.

“Look, they’re holding each other. I think that’s a good sign,” Marley says.

“Oh, you should have heard what they said to each other.” Mia clutches her heart. “What a romantic spectacle.”

“So . . .” Porter says. “Are you two officially together?”

Chuckling, I look to Crew, who nods. “We’re together.” He leans down and places a kiss on my lips as Marley, Porter, and Mia cheer. “Consider me a resident of New York in a few short months once I graduate.”

“You’re really going to live here,” I say in awe.

“I’m really going to live here, Haze . . . with you.”





Epilogue





CREW





“I’m nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?” I ask Uncle Paul as he hops up and down in place.

He adjusts the collar of the red Santa suit he’s wearing. “I’ve never been Santa before. This is a big task, one you know I don’t take lightly. I’ve been practicing my ho ho hos ever since July, when you asked me. I still don’t think I nailed the baritone that is the epitome of jolly. How can I go out there and convince kids I’m the man with the plan in the red sled when I can’t ho ho ho correctly?”

“I heard you practicing this morning,” I say, trying not to laugh at the white beard that he spent an hour coloring this morning. “I thought Santa was in the other room.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“He isn’t,” Hazel says, walking up to me and wrapping her arm around my waist. I kiss the top of my fiancée’s head and hold her tight. “This morning, Crew was bragging about your Santa impression to his friend Hutton on the phone.”

“Were you?” Uncle Paul perks up. “What did you say? You know I hold Hutton’s opinion in high regard.”

“I sent him an audio clip of you, and his exact words were, ‘damn.’”

Excited and now prancing in place, Uncle Paul says, “Oh yes, oh yes, that’s the feedback I want.” He picks up his Santa hat and says, “Thank you, this was exactly what I needed.” He lets out a deep breath. “I’m going to go get into character and eat some cookies. Let me know when the crowd is ready for me.”

Uncle Paul pats me on the back and then heads downstairs, leaving me alone with a very clever Hazel.

After Hazel and I made up, she came back to Braxton with me for a few months since there wasn’t much to do on the farm tourism-wise once the Christmas season is over. She had a few of the employees watch over the animals, and she spent some time with me in the frat house. If anything can make a relationship stronger—or break it—that’s where it would happen. But I’m glad she was there, because the fallout of me not going to the combine wasn’t great.

I took significant heat from fans and students around campus, but it wore off, and I was able to settle into a routine for my last semester, taking Hazel with me to classes, and then studying with her at night. We worked on plans for the farm, how we were going to expand and try to capitalize on every season. Thanks to my marketing degree, we’ve come up with some great ideas and have formed a five-year plan on how to accomplish our goals. Our goals. Not Pops’s. Not my parents’. Ours.

I wasn’t really sure how much fun I’d have with the farm, but working with Hazel, planning everything out, I quickly realized just how right my choice was.

After I graduated, I moved out of the frat house and straight into the farmhouse. Mom and Dad joined us for the summer and Uncle Paul visited so we could go over the plans. Since they have a stake in the farm still, they couldn’t be more thrilled about our plans. We also found out Pops wasn’t necessarily truthful in his will. There was a little addendum that Mr. Earnshaw was told to hold off on reading, and that was, if everyone agreed, Hazel could have taken the farm on her own, but being the meddler that he was, Pops wanted to try to get us to open our eyes before that was an option.

I’m glad he did, because this past year has been the best of my life.