You’re perfect is scribbled across the mirror in Tanner’s writing.

He has this sense when I’m struggling. I guess I’ve been transparent the last few weeks. Next to his writing, I add my own note on the steamed mirror for Tanner to see the next time he gets out of the shower. My finger slides along the smooth surface, smiling at the thought of him finding my words.

When I’m done, I need you like a heartbeat reads on the mirror.

When I back up to open the bathroom door, I smile as it disappears.

I put on the pink dress from our very first date, which I just found when I unpacked my boxes. I try to even do my hair the exact same way I did over two years ago.

Tossing on the apron Brad gave me as a going-away gift—smart-ass bastard—I take a hefty breath to begin cooking a meal to prove my worth.

An hour later, I’m shuffling between the cutting board, the stove, and the sink. Sweat is dripping in between my cleavage and I’m positive my makeup is streaking down my face.

Glancing at the clock, I have five minutes before Tanner will walk through the door. I rush over to the table, setting it with our generic white dishes and our only two wine glasses. After lighting votive candles in a line down the middle of the table, I toss the flowers I bought in a glass jar since we don’t have a vase. Stepping back, I’m impressed. It looks nice and romantic.

As I’m smiling at the table I accomplished to decorate, Tanner’s key twists in the lock, and I lean against the counter in the kitchen, so I’m the first thing he sees. With my hand on my hip, I deny the urge to bite my lower lip from how anxious his entry makes me.

The door opens, and I’m surprised to find he showered at the center. He’s all decked out in a charcoal pinstriped suit, holding a vase full of flowers in his hand.

My shoulders slump, and my smile widens. “You remembered,” I whisper, my throat tightening.

He takes me in, and then his eyes flick to the table all set for a romantic dinner. “I was going to take you out.” He places the flowers on the table next to my makeshift arrangement. “It looks beautiful.” Wrapping his arm around my waist, he pulls me to him, his face nuzzling in my neck. “Not as beautiful as you though.”

“Aw, aren’t you the sweetest?” My hands reach up, feeling his damp hair.

His hands tighten, and he lifts me off the ground.

“I missed you,” he softly says.

I love the way he makes me feel so wanted.

He kisses my neck and places me back down on the ground. “So, what do we have?”

He walks into the kitchen, and just as I’m about to tell him, I notice smoke lingering in the air.

“Hey, babe?” he asks, opening the oven door. A billow of smoke rushes out.

“Oh my God!” I scream right before the smoke alarm blares throughout the apartment.

Tanner rushes over and opens a window, and as the expert I’ve become in the kitchen, I turn on the fan above the stove, grab a dishtowel, and wave it below the alarm. Tanner calmly walks over, reaching up and pressing the sounding alarm to shut it off.

I freeze in place, watching him take charge. He takes the dish out of the oven, puts it in the freezer, and waves his hand in the air to dissipate the smoke. Looking at the table, the tears well up in my eyes because of another failed attempt. I tried to show Tanner how much I love him. My fingers swipe the few spilled tears on my cheeks, and when Tanner gets the situation all under control, he laughs, walking over to me.

“I guess I still get to take you out to dinner.” He chuckles again.

The misery festers in me and emerges, and tears pour out of my eyes. My head falls into my hands, and Tanner rushes the last few steps toward me.

“Hey.” His arms wrap around me while his head dips down to entice me to look at him. “It happens, baby. I took care of it.”

His sentence breaks me, and my slow trickling of tears turns to sobs gushing out.

“That’s it,” I stutter. “You always take care of me,” I admit the insecurity I have when it comes to our relationship.

“I love taking care of you.” He grabs my hands and pushes them away from my face. His thumb and forefinger cup my chin, and he tilts my face up to meet his. “What’s going on?”

I close my eyes, building up the courage to be honest with him. “I can’t even cook you dinner.”

I wail, and he laughs.

I push him back and stand up. “I’m serious, Tan. I’m a disaster in anything house-related. Brad pokes fun at me all the time about if I’m pregnant and barefoot.”

Walking around the table, I blow out the candles and begin stacking the unused dishes.

“Brad’s an ass, and he should worry about his own life for once.”

When I go for the flowers, Tanner’s hand rests on my forearm. “Baby?” he asks.

I stop. “You go out and swim and work your endorsements, and I sit around here all day, living off of what you make. I feel like a kept woman.”

I slump down in a chair, and Tanner pulls his own chair over to position himself right in front of me.

“Oh, Piper. You sacrificed so much to join me here. You gave up your opportunity back home to teach. I promise you’ll find something out here soon. Just so you know, every day when I get in my car after practice, I’m thankful you’re here, waiting for me.” He takes my hands in his.

“But I’m like a leech stuck to your back, and one day, you’ll want to take a stick and fling me off.” My head falls again.

He shakes his head, a smile threatening to break at my drama. “Jeez, baby, you’ve really got a way with words.”

He laughs again.

“Relationships are give-and-take. This is only one chapter, and if we’re lucky, we’ll have a lot of years together.” He tips his head to see my face.

“It doesn’t change the fact, I can’t even make you dinner,” I admit again.

A small smile crosses his lips. “I couldn’t give a shit if you cooked me dinner, ironed my shirts, or whatever fifties housewives did. All I need is you. You keep me going, keep me swimming. You know, every day, on my last swim, my pace is faster than the others because I know I’m closer to coming home to you.” He tightens his grip on my hands.

“Are you sure you don’t mind that I’m not domesticated—at all?” I ask him.

“Nope. You know what I do mind though?” he asks.

I scrunch my eyebrows at him. “What?” I whisper.

“The fact that you go to the grocery store or to the mall, and nobody knows that your heart is taken,” he says.

My head inches back. He’s making no sense. “Do you think I would—”

“I think it’s time we fix that.” His hands leave mine, and he digs in his pocket before bending down on one knee.

“Tan,” I sigh, my hand running across my heart. It hurts from how much more it grows for this man in front of me.

“Piper Ashby, you’ve been my friend and my lover, and I dare you to be my wife.”

My body melts into the hard chair as he takes my hand, separating my fingers. I suck in a breath when he positions the round white metal on the tip of my finger. The tears build up again, and they slowly release from my eyelids.

My voice gets caught in my throat as I envision myself, all those years ago, writing Piper McCain in notebooks. Now, this boy is waiting patiently for my answer on bended knee.

Overwhelmed with happiness, I choke out, “I’ll take that dare.”

acknowledgments

THERE ARE NUMEROUS PEOPLE THAT helped me bring Love Surfaced into your hands.

The first (yes, you have to share first place), my two nightly sprinting partners—K.L. Grayson and Mia Kayla. You both pushed me by cracking your whips, and never let me toss my manuscript in the trash. The hours of brainstorming and encouragement you both gave me while writing Piper and Tanner, will never be forgotten. There’s no way I can convey how fortunate I am for your friendship. You are my rocks in this crazy book world—plain and simple.