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I clapped softly. “Okay. We still have room to work. Yes, please add the bracelet.”

“Wonderful,” the associate replied with an easy smile. “I’ll return shortly with a curated watch collection.”

I sipped my champagne and scrolled through messages while I waited for her to return. Hart had sent me a gym selfie. His dark hair was damp with sweat, plastered against his forehead. A fitted black compression shirt stretched obscenely across his chest and shoulders. His headphones rested around his neck while he held the phone at arm’s length. The man didn’t even bother to smile. He wore a broody expression that somehow managed to be both intimidating and unfairly attractive.

I zoomed in on the faint sheen of sweat tracing his jawline.

“This man is just disrespectful,” I muttered into my champagne glass.

Another message came through.

Sweet❤️ : Send me another foot picture.

I giggled.

Me: No. We aren’t starting that.

Sweet❤️ : Damn. You’re stingy. Send me something.

I took a picture of one of my receipts and sent it to him.

Sweet❤️ : Good girl.

I was about to respond and tell him something nasty and disrespectful when a text from my dad interrupted.

Daddy: Hey, Pumpkin. Can you swing by the house on Monday? I want to talk to you, Danielle, and Snoh about something.

My thumb hovered over the screen, and the smile I’d been wearing all afternoon quietly disappeared. A knot settled low in my stomach. Dad wouldn’t call a meeting like this unless something was terribly wrong.

Me: Sure. Are you okay?

Daddy: I will be. See you Monday.

I was still staring at my phone when the sales associate returned with a tray of luxury watches. My previous excitement died as the worst possibilities ran through my head. A few minutes ago, I was trying to decide between gold and silver. Now, I wondered what kind of bomb my dad was about to drop on all of us.

***

Andre’s bustled with its usual energy when I stepped inside. Crystal glasses clinked as conversations drifted through the dining room. Servers navigated between tables with ease and smiles—the complete opposite of the night I subbed when the team was just praying to survive.

A smile tugged at my lips.

Hart had built this with DeAndre. And I was satisfied that long after his jersey was framed, the arenas emptied, and someone else wore his number, this place would still be here. Families would still celebrate birthdays, coworkers would toast promotions, and first dates would become marriages over bottles of wine and stories of first date jitters.

There would be no more red-eye flights, weeks spent away from home, or late nights spent propped up against the headboard with ice wrapped around his shoulder. Instead, there would be dinner service, inventory days, vineyard visits, menu tastings, and a life that finally belonged to him, not everyone else.

I smiled at a familiar hostess before slipping between candlelit tables. I stopped the moment I stepped onto the patio. Flashbacks to the night I met Hart made my heart race. We’d locked on each other like heat-seeking missiles, and in my head, I told myself, this was either a bad idea or a really good fucking idea. Turns out? It was one of the best ideas of my life.

I sat at the table set for one, and it wasn’t long before Hart joined me.

His face reddened, and he shoved his hands in his pockets.

I raised a brow. “You good, Sweet Hart?”

He shook his head. “Not in the slightest. You look like money well spent,” he whispered, raking his eyes over me.

I blushed invisibly and tried to maintain a cool façade. “I spent it all.”

He nodded. “Good. I got a lot more where that came from.”