Chapter 20

Hannah

The weeks since Culver got back from training, dropped his luggage on the floor, and declared his love for me have been magical, like a dream I never want to wake up from.

He made dinner every night.

We usually sat outside to share our meal, enjoying the final days of summer and talking about everything and nothing—life, music, families, the twins, friends, dreams, goals, work, hockey, whatever juicy Below Deck gossip I'd uncovered online.

We've had foot rubs and laughs on the couch and slow, late-night walks through town.

And kisses.

So many sweet, warm, wonderful kisses.

It felt so good, so freeing, to have opened up to him about my feelings. Once he told me how he really felt when he got back from LA, I knew I wanted to tell him everything, too. I want our relationship to be based on full and complete honesty, right from the very start.

Like I said, it was magical.

Until Culver tripped.

It happened one one day as he was bringing the laundry in.

Thankfully, it's only a mild ankle sprain, it hasn't made his hip situation worse, and it won't prevent him from playing once the preseason starts next week.

But he is using crutches to walk around, and the doctor ordered him to rest as much as possible.

Well, he's supposed to be taking it easy. As I've recently discovered, he's not exactly great at following doctors' orders.

My orders? With a side threat of withholding kisses?

He always follows those.

Since he tripped, it's been my turn to repay him and look after him for a change.

I've taken over cooking duties—by which I mean ordering takeout.

Foot rubs were meant to have been swapped out for me giving him nightly shoulder rubs, but since he says there's nothing wrong with his hands, he keeps giving me those anyway.

And since he was ordered to stay off his feet, our nightly walks have given way to nightly snuggles on the couch, wrapped up nice and close, alternating between watching TV and making out which usually leads to…

Well, there's nothing wrong with that part of this body, either.

When it comes to my hot girl summer list, I've saved the worst—getting drunk—until last.

Fraser's party is tonight, and I have very low expectations for how this will turn out. But the timing might actually be good. It might just be the distraction I need to not think about the one thing I don't want to think about, the one thing both of us have been skirting around—by which I mean we've been ignoring it completely.

Culver leaving.

Because while we have established several very important things—I love him, he loves me for sure, and we both very much want to be together—there is one pesky three-letter word that we haven't quite figured out.

How?

How do we make that happen?

So the plan is to get drunk for the first time in my life tonight, spend all of tomorrow nursing what I'm sure will be a horrible hangover and regretting ever adding getting drunk to my hot girl summer list, and figuring out the future stuff later.

It's a good plan.

We've just pulled up at the ballroom Fraser hired for his party and are walking up the steps outside.

Well, I'm walking, holding his crutches, while Culver hops up the five steps, his face making it clear he is well and truly over them.

He takes a breath and schools his features, regaining his composure as we reach the top.

"Have I told you that you look incredible?" he murmurs as he takes his crutches from me, and we make our way to the entrance.

"Three times at home, once on the way over, and now again, so yes, five times in total."

"Well, get ready for number six because you. Look. Incredible."

I give him a quick peck on the cheek. "Thank you. You don't scrub up so badly yourself."

I've come as Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice, and since we wanted to give everyone something juicy to gossip about—I've heard Doyle is taking bets at his store on when Culver will pop the big question after our makeout session in the gazebo, but the joke's on them since we're already married, ha!—Culver didn't come as the obvious choice, Mr. Darcy, but as Mr. Wickham instead. I bet that will set tongues wagging.

We step inside, and Fraser has gone all out. There's a jazz band playing in one corner, waitstaff decked out in sharply pressed black-and-white uniforms, and it looks like half of Comfort Bay is here.

"Ooh, I see my friends." I wave to the girls.

"And there's Milo," Culver says, tipping his head toward his teammate, who is standing by himself and looking all broody in the corner. "I'll catch up with you later?"

"Of course."

"Two things before you go. One." He pulls me in for a quick kiss. "And two…" There's a decisive tone in his voice. "Please don't drink too much without me."

"I won't. I'll have one drink with the girls, and that's it until we're back together."

"Good."

Yes, he's being a little bossy, but we've discussed this. I don't want to drink without him keeping an eye on me. We both know how much of a lightweight I am, and since he is the one who's going to have to deal with me in whatever state I get myself into, he's allowed to be.

Besides, it's not a bad kind of bossy. It's a thoughtful, concerned kind of bossy. The kind of bossy that makes a girl feel loved and safe and that, for once in my life, someone is looking out for me.

Plus, he gets this low possessive rasp in his voice, and…I really like it.

I watch as he slowly shuffles off, which has everything to do with my concern for his safety and nothing at all to do with wanting to check out his impressive backside.

I dash across the ballroom to where Evie, Beth, Summer, and Amiel are gathered.

Everyone looks amazing.

Well, except for Evie.

Not that she doesn't look great, but she's the only one not in a costume. Which is weird considering it's her boyfriend's party, after all.

"It's so great to see you all," I say, hugging them one by one.

Apart from occasional brief catch-ups with Beth and Amiel since we work on the same street, I haven't seen much of the girls this summer.

Evie has been wrapped up in refurbishing the stadium and establishing two junior hockey teams.

And Summer's been busy with work in LA. When she makes it up here on the weekends, she relieves her sister in caring for their dad so that she can have a break.

I worry about her, though. When does she ever get a break? She's working too hard, and I would know it's what I used to do. Fulfill obligations, look after everyone else, put others' needs ahead of your own.

Yes, sometimes that's what needs to be done, and as women, we tend to be the ones to shoulder the brunt of that responsibility, but this summer has taught me that being a little selfish can be a good thing, too.

Now that I've had some me-time, I feel more energized than ever. I've even started a ME spreadsheet—some things will never change—listing ideas for things I'd like to do in the future.

The five of us talk a million miles an hour as we excitedly catch up on everything that's been happening. Summer flags down a waiter, and we all grab ourselves a drink.

Amiel notices. "Ooh, you're drinking?"

"Hot girl summer," I tell her, and we clink glasses.

The conversation turns to the party and why Fraser is even throwing it in the first place.

"Something fishy is going on here," Beth says, eyeing the ballroom suspiciously.

"Sorry, it's a little hard to take you seriously since you're dressed as Marie Antoinette," Evie jokes back.

"I agree with Beth. I mean, Marie," I say. "I mean, why would Fraser throw a historical romance-themed party a week before preseason is set to start? Something doesn't add up here."

It hasn't added up since Fraser's invite popped up in my inbox a few weeks ago. I asked Culver to get more info out of him at their last training session, but he came back empty-handed.

I've even tried to glean information from him myself every time Fraser has come to the shop to order more flowers for Evie, but that man is a vault.

"To be perfectly honest, ladies, I share your suspicions. My boyfriend is definitely up to something."

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that," Amiel says smiling, because she totally did catch that.

"Oh, you mean when I said my boyfriend." Evie raises her voice. "My boyfriend, my boyfriend, my boyfriend."

The five of us laugh, and I love seeing Evie so happy. Her and Fraser's love story really is total romcom material.

But then…maybe so is mine and Culver's?

Although, can it be classified as a romcom if the happily ever after hasn't happened yet and there's still a chance it might not? That reality could plough into my romcom fantasy like an eighteen-wheel semi and smash everything we have and everything I want us to have, into a million tiny pieces?

"And why aren't you dressed up?" Summer asks Evie, which is what I would have asked if I hadn't gotten distracted by that depressing thought. I take a big swig of my champagne. "It's a little strange how the only person not in a costume is the girlfriend of the guy who's throwing the party."

Evie grins. "Guys, I am just as much in the dark about this as you are. Fraser gave me strict instructions not to dress up. That's all I know."

Me: "And you didn't ask him why not?"

Evie: "Of course I did. I asked him about a million times these past few weeks. I badgered him on a level that would make Mom proud."

Beth: "And?"

Evie: "And nothing. That man is like a vault. I can't get anything out of him."

Summer: "So you really have no idea why Fraser has gathered pretty much everyone the two of you know?—"

Beth: "Which is pretty much everyone in town."

Summer: "Right, and asked us to wear these ridiculous costumes, but allowed you to wear that amazing dress that I am so borrowing from you?"

Evie: "I honestly don't know."

Beth: "And why a historical romance-themed party? Does Fraser like historical romance?"

Evie: "That would be a hard no."

Me: "Guys, look, let's give Fraser some credit here. I'm sure he's got something amazing planned. After all, he did pull off the all-time most epic romantic gesture in Comfort Bay's history by buying Evie a hockey stadium and a junior team."

Beth: "Did you get that verified?"

Me: "That it's the all-time most epic romantic gesture in our humble small town's history?"

Beth: "Yeah."

Me: "I did. Scoured through the town records and everything. Sorry, Mr. Cooper from the late 1800s, but the love letters you wrote and left all over town have been usurped."

Summer: "Is that…for real?"

Me: "No. Of course not. Why does no one think I'm capable of sarcasm?"

Beth: "It's not that your sarcasm is bad, it's just that mine is so much better. There's really no comparison between the two."

Amiel: "Think we're getting a little sidetracked here."

Beth: "Agreed. Let's go back to grilling Evie."

We continue grilling Evie, who supplies us with no further information until a very cleavage-y woman walks up to us and declares, in a thick Australian accent, "Oh no. It's a disaster! We're both Marie Antoinettes," she says to Beth. "Except I'm way more busty."

Ah, it's Evie's former boss, Margo. I thought I recognized her. From what I've heard from Evie, she's a no-holds-barred type of person.

She says something to Evie that I don't quite catch, then looks around the ballroom. "Especially when you said the entire LA Swifts team would be here."

"Are you a hockey fan?" Summer asks.

"I'm a hockey player fan, hon. I even bought my husband an entire hockey outfit. The jersey. The shoulder pads. The helmet. The gloves."

Evie frowns. "Oh. I didn't realize Hamish plays hockey."

"He doesn't." Margo takes a sip of her cocktail through her straw, her cheeks swelling with a mischievous smile. "Notice how I didn't say I bought him any pants? Let's just say it's added a whole new level of spice to our nocturnal activities."

For one of the very few times in recorded human history, the Fast-Talking Five have been reduced to silence.

Luckily, Evie's brother Levi, dressed as a Scottish highlander, arrives, a bright smile on his face.

"Aye, it's a pleasure to see ye," he says, followed by a dramatic bow. "And that's all I've got as far as pretending to be Scottish goes."

"What a shame," Beth responds dryly. "I was so looking forward to hearing more of you butchering the Scottish accent."

"See," Summer whispers to me. "That's how you deliver sarcasm."

"Fine. I'm giving it up. Sarcasm, along with cooking, just isn't in the cards for me," I whisper back, and Summer laughs.

Evie breaks off into a conversation with Levi, leaving me, the girls, and Margo and her girls to it.

I take another sip of champagne. I'm not even half a glass in, and I already feel flushed in the face and a little woozy.

We're merrily chatting away when the jangle of a bell rings out.

The room falls quiet, and Fraser appears on a stage at the end of the ballroom. Everyone begins to make their way to him.

I excuse myself from the group and find Culver. I see that he's ditched the crutches, and right as I reach him, he lifts his hands into the air.

"I'm fine," he says in response to my raised eyebrow. "My ankle is healed, and I'm more likely to get injured if I keep using them."

"I didn't say anything."

He gets in nice and close to me, slides his hands around my waist, and says, "That's the beauty of knowing you for as long as I have, I can tell what you're thinking without you having to say anything."

I stare into his eyes. "That is pretty special."

He looks back at me, and even though we're surrounded by people—and most likely increasing their willingness to bet on a proposal before fall—Culver has a way of making me feel like I'm the only person in the world.

Fraser calls Evie to the stage, so we scoot around some people to where we can see what's going on. I snag two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter on the way.

"How are you feeling?" Culver asks as he takes one of the glasses from me and wraps one arm protectively around my shoulder.

"A bit warm and a little light on my feet."

Culver doesn't say anything, but his grip on me tightens.

I clink my glass into his. He takes a sip, his eyes never leaving me for a second.

Fraser starts talking, and I turn to face the stage. Culver presses me into him, and I lean into his body.

Fraser reveals the purpose of the party, and then…he proposes to Evie!

It's beautiful and romantic, and I get a little teary.

I glance over at Culver, and it looks like I'm not the only one.

"Are you crying?"

"No." He dabs his eyes. "It's allergies."

"You don't have any allergies."

"I do when it comes to grand gestures."

I turn to face him and look up. "All the little everyday things you do beat the grandest grand gesture any day of the week."

Culver smiles, his dimples popping out, and there's nothing but love in his eyes.

Love—and a few more of those pesky allergies. "I love you so much, Hannah."

"I love you, too." Everyone starts moving, crowding around Evie and Fraser. "We should probably congratulate the happy couple."

He sweeps his thumb across my cheek, the look in his eye intensifying. "Yeah, we probably should."

Finally breaking the gaze, he takes my hand in his, and we join the lineup. Fraser and Evie are currently speaking with Evie's dad—and her mom, who I almost didn't recognize because she's dressed up as Wilma Flintstone for some reason.

We wait behind Fraser's parents, and I try not to let my excitement show. I'm a huge fan of Mrs. Rademacher. She's an amazing actress, and even though I see her around town every once in a while, I still get a thrill out of being this close to her.

I'm so nervous and excited about being in such close proximity to a bona fide, Emmy-award-winning star that I let out a high-pitched giggle.

Yep, that second glass of champagne is really kicking in.

Thankfully, there's enough noise in the ballroom that the Rademachers don't hear me or turn around because I would die of embarrassment.

Culver hears, though. He pulls me close and presses a kiss to my hair. "Just breathe. I got you."

I breathe and manage to reset a little. But I'm still really hot in this costume, and if I blink too fast, the room starts to spin.

Finally, it's our turn.

"Congrats, man," Culver says to Fraser.

"Thanks, man."

Evie and I giggle at the display of bro-ness—yep, I'm pretty much giggling at anything now—and I give her a congratulatory hug. "I am so happy for you, Evie," I say, rubbing her back.

"Thanks. I'm happy for me, too."

Since there's a long lineup of people waiting for their turn, we leave them to it.

A buzz of energy rushes through me as I finish my second drink. "Let's dance. Ooh, let's have some more drinks. Ooh, I know, let's?—"

Culver chuckles. "I was wondering when the buzz would hit."

"It's hitting, all right. And since this is the last item on my hot girl summer list, I want to have some capital F-U-N tonight!"

I start dancing on the spot because a DJ has replaced the band, and this Sabrina Carpenter song is my jam.

"Maybe everyone else is doing it wrong," I tell Culver, who isn't dancing but is right beside me, keeping a watchful eye on things. "But I am loving this drinking thing."

I pluck two glasses of white wine from a passing server. I take a swig from mine, but Culver places his drink on the table.

He grins like he knows something I don't. "How are you feeling?"

"Great. Wonderful. And I have all this energy."

"I'll ask you the same question tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning." I take a big slurp of sauvignon blanc. "Who's got time to think about that?"

"Well, since you're tipsy, I guess now's a good time to ask you."

"Ask me what?"

"Why can't you give Elsa from Frozen a balloon?"

"Are you taking advantage of me in this slightly inebriated state to subject me to one of your dad jokes?"

"Absolutely."

I giggle and go with it. "I don't know. Why can't you give Elsa a balloon?"

"Because she'll…" He brings an imaginary microphone to his mouth. "Let it go, let it goooo."

I laugh. "Look at you go. Someone liked karaoke."

He stops singing and brings me in nice and close to him. "I'm saying this now since there's a very high probability you won't remember it tomorrow, but you're right, I did like karaoke."

"I knew it." I put my drink down and grab my phone from the secret hiding spot in my costume.

"What are you doing?"

"Recording a voice note on my phone." I open the app and speak into my phone. "Culver likes karaoke."

"I spoke too soon," he grumbles.

"And he wants to do it at least once a month from now on."

"What? I never said that."

I press stop on the recording. "Too bad. And since, as you say, I likely won't remember this conversation, all I'll have to go on is the recording."

"You're evil."

I giggle for the millionth time and pick up my drink. "You know what we should do?"

"I'm afraid to answer that question."

"Don't be such a baby." I slap his rock-solid chest. "This is easily in the top five best ideas I've ever had in my whole life."

"Now I'm really scared."

I ignore him. "We should sneak around and listen in on other people's conversations."

Culver isn't reacting by jumping up and down at my brilliant idea, which is slightly weird, but whatever.

"Why would we want to do that?"

"Because we live in Comfort Bay, and we've never once drop-eavesed."

"Uh, I think you mean eavesdropped."

"That's what I said. Everyone else does it, so why not us for a change?"

"Well…"

He's taking way too long to jump on the best idea ever train. "Well, what?"

"I have a better idea."

Better than my idea? "Okay. Let's hear it."

"Sooo, rather than doing something we don't like people doing to us, why don't we find a comfy spot somewhere, have a nice big glass of water, and try to guess what people are talking about instead?"

"That's…not bad."

Not as good as my idea, but hey.

And even though I may be tipsy, I don't like that Culver is spending so much time standing and putting weight on his foot. Sitting down somewhere and doing some improv is a smart move.

Ooh, improv. I wonder if I'm better at that than I am at sarcasm.

Guess we're about to find out.

Culver grabs two bottles of water, and we find a spot in the corner of the ballroom that gives us a good view of proceedings.

Culver kicks things off. "Over there. Bernadette and Mikey."

"Easy. Bernadette's probably saying, 'You know what we need in our lives, Mikey? We need another cat.'"

Culver chuckles. "I'm a little behind. What's their latest tally?"

"They're currently up to seven."

He lets out a low appreciative whistle. "That's a lot of felines. What about over there?"

I follow Culver's gaze to Fraser's brother, Clayton.

He's surrounded by people, as usual. The perks—or should that be pitfalls?—of being one of the biggest reality TV stars in the country and everyone's favorite bad-boy villain.

At the edge of the group is Harper, Evie's sister. She's normally super outgoing and gregarious, so it's a little weird to see her holding back and…stealing glances at Clayton when she thinks no one is looking.

"No way," I mutter, when it dawns on me.

"What?"

"Clayton and Harper."

"Where's Harper?"

I point her out.

"What are you saying?"

"She likes him."

"She's not even standing near the guy."

"Trust me." I tap the side of my nose. "She likes him."

"Tapping your nose like a weirdo doesn't make you psychic." He softly bumps against me. "Moving on." He tips his head toward Doyle. "Have you had a chance to gloat yet?"

"I rub my non-flinching excellence in his face every time I see him."

Culver grins. "That's my girl."

But I don't want to be thinking about Doyle. I'm keen to work on my newly discovered yet also incredibly potent and highly accurate psychic love powers.

My eyes land on Beth. Scanning the room, I spot Milo, gathered with a few of his Swifts teammates, looking grouchy like always.

"What are your thoughts on Beth and Milo?" I ask, rhythmically floating my hands in front of myself.

"What are you doing with your hands?"

"Channeling my inner love psychic goddess to see if I pick up on any vibes between them."

"Let me save you the trouble. Nothing is going to happen there."

"Is Milo single?"

"Yeah."

"So is Beth."

"I hope that's not the full extent of your psychic powers." Culver glances over at his teammates. "Milo's a great guy, but it takes him time to warm up to someone. And he's very…intense."

"Has he told you why he's been coming to Comfort Bay?"

"He's been coming to Comfort Bay?"

"You didn't know?"

"Apart from that one time for karaoke, no."

"I've seen him walking past the shop a few times with Willow."

"Willow Wilkins, the realtor?"

"Yeah. I figured he might be looking to buy a place in the area."

"Hasn't mentioned anything to me."

"Beth keeps seeing him, too, and she fills our WhatsApp message thread going on and on about how much she hates it."

"Isn't hate the opposite of love?"

"Oh, sweet, innocent, Culver. You really have no idea, do you?"

"No. I really have no idea what's going on right now." He chuckles, eying me with an amused warmth. "I've only met Beth a few times. She scares me."

I giggle. "Why?"

"I don't know. She seems scarily smart."

"Like she can mow you down with one pointed barb?"

"Exactly."

"That's her, all right. On the surface, at least. She's actually the nicest, most loyal person you'll ever meet once you get past all that…barbiness. Not barbiness like Barbie-ness, as in the doll…"

For some reason, I find that hilarious and start laughing uncontrollably.

The rest of the night flies by in a blur.

There's more wine.

More of Culver trying to get me to have some water.

More trying to guess what everyone is saying.

More bad jokes.

And a lot more giggling.

I'm having a wonderful time.

Why did I wait until summer is almost over to do this? Maybe I've not only unlocked my hidden psychic love connection powers. Maybe I'm also the first human in recorded history to master the art of getting drunk?

Wow. I should be studied.

"How many drinks have I drinked…drunken….druuu…?" I ask Culver as people start leaving and the DJ plays a slow song.

"Five," Culver answers.

"That's a lot for me."

He smiles. "It is."

"That's, like, three more than two."

"Uh, yeah, it is."

"See? I can do math. I think I might be completely sober."

We begin making our way toward the exit. Culver's holding his crutches in one hand and me with the other, which I personally think is nice but overkill since I am completely sober.

"Ooh, there's Evie and Fraser," I say, accidentally grabbing Culver a little too hard, and we tumble down behind a row of tables.

Okay, maybe completely sober was a bit of a stretch.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

He chuckles. "You are hilarious when you drink."

"I'm always hilarious. Apparently never sarcastic, though." Through a gap in the tables, I spot Evie and Fraser. "Ooh. What do you think they're talking about?"

Culver puts on a deep, Fraser-esque voice, "Well, honey, since I've bought you a hockey stadium, two hockey teams, and now proposed to you in this over-the-top way, I just want you to know that I'm in talks to buy you the moon. How does that sound?"

I giggle. "Stop being jealous."

"I'm not jealous." He lifts up and tilts my chin so that our eyes connect. "Because I have no reason to be, right?"

His vulnerability pierces through my tipsiness to the very core of my being. "Of course not. You're perfect, Culver. I love you so much."

"I love you so much, too." We kiss. "Now can I go back to roasting my best friend?"

"Go for it."

He sets off on this random—and hilarious—tangent of Fraser getting into a bidding war with some rich oligarch who also wants to buy the moon for his fiancée.

A high-pitched giggle escapes me.

"So then the oligarch challenges him to a hot wings eating contest which puts Fraser in a bind since the dude can't handle heat at all…"

My giggle turns into full-blown laughter.

We're both lying on the floor, side by side, laughing so much that I don't notice there are two faces peering down at us, filling my vision like a big-screen TV.

"Are you guys puppets?"

Evie opens and closes her mouth a few times. "Puppets?"

"Culver." I nudge Culver. "Is the puppet that looks like Evie talking?"

"What are you two doing back here?" Fraser asks.

"We kinda…fell."

Culver's response isn't really that funny, but for some reason, it sets me off into another fit of laughter. I hear Culver say something that sounds like, "Help me get her up," and a few moments later, he and Fraser are lifting me off the ground.

Then suddenly we're outside.

Evie hugs me extra hard and whispers something into my ear I don't really hear, but reply to with an eager, "Sure will!" anyway.

Then suddenly a car pulls up.

Culver's hand is on my head as he helps me in.

We take off.

The streets are quiet. It feels like thirty seconds later we're outside a house that looks real familiar.

My head starts to hurt a little.

Oh, the house is my house. We're home.

That was fast.

I step out of the car.

Then suddenly my house is shaking from left to right, and I lose my balance. Culver holds onto me.

I panic. "Is there an earthquake?"

"No earthquake," he says, gently guiding me toward the shaking house. "Everything is fine."

Everything is not fine.

My vision goes wonky, and I think I'm going to be sick.

"Culver!"

"It's okay, it's okay. I'm right here."

Then suddenly I'm in my bathroom.

How did I get here?

Another wave of nausea rolls over me.

Culver's crouched behind me, stroking my back, saying soothing things like, 'It's okay, just let it out. You'll feel better soon,' and 'You're doing great,' and 'Take your time. Once you're feeling up to it, I'll get you some water and you'll rest.'

Then suddenly I'm in my bed.

My eyelids grow heavy.

Culver's trying to get me out of my costume, but my limbs aren't cooperating, and I can't seem to get them to cooperate.

I fall back onto the mattress, and it's lights out.