Yours to Keep (Man of the Year)

by Lauren Layne

  And stuffed behind the paperwork was one last folded set of papers, glossy, colored, and familiar: the cover of Citizen magazine, plus a few torn-out pages of the featured story.

  Olive stared down at Carter’s face, wistfully drawing a finger over his jawline beneath the Man of the Year text. Olive had never been one to collect posters and magazines of teen heartthrobs, but apparently she was a late bloomer.

  The inclusion of the magazine told her what she’d already suspected—that Principal Mullins hadn’t had anything to do with the microscopes. Probably hadn’t even known about them.

  They’d been a gift from a man whose heart and generosity were every bit as big as his bank account.

  Still, she was a little hurt by the lack of a personal note.

  She turned over the pages of the Citizen magazine story she’d already read several times, and paused when she got to the last page, where someone had scrawled notes in the margin:

  Fast facts about the man beneath the uniform

  Favorite wine: Zinfandel, especially shared with good neighbors

  Favorite color: Green, particularly in glitter form

  Favorite animal: Haven Lions

  Favorite possession: Jody

  Favorite school subject: Science. Because it’s damned important. And because I met a girl there my senior year. I think I love her.

  Olive read the words dozens of times. Maybe hundreds, before finally lifting her hands and swiping at her cheeks, realizing how wrong she’d been.

  She belonged in Haven, yes. But she also belonged with Carter.

  No way was she going to let him go without a fight.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Tuesday, September 8

  The doctors had warned him that despite it being a straightforward outpatient surgery, his shoulder would hurt after.

  They were right.

  But aside from the first pain pill he’d taken immediately after getting home that afternoon, he hadn’t bothered to take any others. They didn’t do much to numb the real pain.

  The kind not in his left shoulder but just south and center of it.

  The TV muted in the background, he reached for his phone again and found a few messages, most from his teammates, who’d finally been told of the extent of his injury. Four texts from his mother, even though he’d already talked to his parents three times since he’d gotten back from surgery. A Dumb and Dumber GIF from Caitlyn, because his twin knew they always made him laugh.

  But nothing from the person he wanted to hear from the most.

  He knew the microscopes had been delivered, because he’d gotten the delivery confirmation. Carter had been so damn sure it had been a baller move. Just about the only kind of grand gesture that could sweep a woman like Olive Dunn off her feet. In fact, he’d been so sure it would win her back, he’d added her name to his “approved guest” list in his building, thinking she might race into the city.

  Nothing.

  Not that he’d done it only for that reason. He’d have bought the microscopes regardless—had started researching the second she’d mentioned what an idiot her principal was. For that, he didn’t need gratitude. It was just the right thing to do, and he’d wanted to do it.

  The magazine, though—what he’d written in the magazine . . .

  He’d stupidly gotten his hopes up that putting it all on the line might give him a chance.

  Nope.

  The baseball game came back from commercial, but he didn’t bother to unmute it. He was still rooting for his team, but they were looking like a no-go for postseason, and for the first time in his life, he had something more important on his mind than baseball.

  A month ago, Carter hadn’t even known that was possible.

  He gingerly got off the couch, careful not to jostle the arm, which was once again immobile in a splint. And this time, there’d be no Olive to help him when he got tangled.

  Feeling aimless, he wandered around his apartment, looking at the bags he’d started to pack, at the couple of cardboard boxes he’d grabbed from the recycling room in his building because they looked to be in good enough condition for reuse.

  Feeling foolish for bothering.

  Feeling foolish for turning a summer fling into something it wasn’t.

  Carter absently tapped the corner of his phone against his kitchen counter. Maybe he was being ridiculous. This wasn’t high school. He wasn’t just a boy with a crush. He was a man who missed the woman he loved.

  Just call her, you idiot.

  He had started to when someone knocked at his door. Loud, impatient, and followed immediately by a rattling of the doorknob, then another impatient thump.

  Carter instantly felt every ounce of tension leave his body—forgot, even, the pain in his shoulder. He knew only one person who had such utter disdain for locked doors.

  Keeping his face neutral, he casually opened the door. “This isn’t Haven, Dunn. People don’t just lock their doors, they lock automatically.”

  “Well yeah, in fancy buildings like this one,” she said, letting herself into his apartment. “It’s like freaking Fort Knox down there. I had to show my ID, and I’m pretty sure he wanted to ask for my social security number and thumbprint.”

  “How’d you know where I lived?” he asked curiously, closing the door.

  “I faked a rash, then sweet-talked your dermatologist dad into giving me the address.”

  He laughed, because it was so Olive. “What kind of rash?”

  “Very intimate. You don’t want to know,” she said.

  “How intimate?” he said in a low voice. “I might.”

  She smiled, but it was distracted as her gaze drifted over him, locking on the shoulder. “Back in your straitjacket, huh? How’d the surgery go?”

  He shrugged his good shoulder. “Routine. The injury’s relatively straightforward, as is the surgery. It’s just the healing that’s the bitch.”

  “I’m sorry. I wanted to be here, but—first day of school . . .”

  “Right,” he said, feeling suddenly foolish for resenting her silence. “How’d that go?”

  “Pretty great, actually,” Olive said with a grin. “See, I got these amazing, brand-new microscopes . . . Oh wait. You know about that, don’t you?”

  He smiled and shoved a hand into his jeans pocket. “Why would I know about that?”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, walking toward him. Her smile turned quieter as she stood in front of him. “Thank you,” she said. “I can’t even tell you how much it meant. I want to tell you that it was too much, that I can’t accept it, but I am one hundred percent going to accept it, because it’s for the kids—”

  “And for you,” he said softly. “The kids will benefit, and I’m glad for it, but I did it because someone with as much passion as you have for teaching deserves the best tools. You deserve a hell of a lot better resources than what your shortsighted principal is giving you.”

  “I do,” she said, in typical Olive fashion. “Which reminds me, I should have said thank you last night, but I got kind of distracted . . .”

  She tapped his chest once with her finger—wait here—then went to her purse and pulled out her cell phone, flipping through screens until she found what she wanted.

  “I found this,” Olive said, handing him the phone.

  Carter took it, scrolled through the web page, then looked up. “Spell it out for the dumb jock.”

  She rolled her eyes at his self-deprecating humor, but answered him anyway. “Principal Mullins is entitled to his opinions, but it got me thinking. I have my opinions, too, and they’re good ones. The kind of big-thinking opinions very well suited to leadership.”

  “You’ll make an excellent president,” he joked.

  “Obviously. But I was thinking more along the lines of school principal. Principal Dunn has a damn fine ring to it, doesn’t it?”

  “Sure,” he said, a little confused, but no less happy for her. “I think you’d be great—”

  �
�The thing is, I need to get my master’s in education administration to do that.” She swallowed, her hands twisting slightly. “I’m applying to Columbia.” She pointed at the college website on her phone, which he still held. “Even if I get in, I need to finish this school year and wouldn’t start classes until fall of next year.” She swallowed, seeming nervous for the first time since marching in his front door—since the first time ever. “But if I did get accepted, there’s a very good chance I would need to live in New York City while I complete the program.”

  “Olive.” He tentatively reached for her. “I can’t let you—”

  “I’m not Felicity,” Olive interrupted gently. “I’m not telling you I’m skipping college to follow you around and be your groupie. I’m not an eighteen-year-old girl in puppy love looking to do whatever it takes to be near her boyfriend.”

  The hope that had just started to bloom in his chest crumbled to his feet, leaving nothing but a hollow, dead feeling.

  She walked toward him with purpose, taking the phone out of his hand and flinging it onto his couch. She stood before him and met his eyes, unflinching. “What I am is a very smart woman who’s figured out how to have the life I want with the man I want. And that man is you.”

  Carter’s hand cupped her head as his mouth crashed over hers, too elated to be cool, too in love to wait a second longer.

  Her arms went around his neck, strong and sure as she kissed him back as though they’d been separated for years instead of days.

  He finally pulled back, touching her face gently. “But what about Haven High? I know how important the school and community are to you.”

  “It is extremely important to me, which is why I fully intend to make a glorious return. As principal.”

  “When’s that?”

  “My degree will take two years,” she said, tracing a finger gently over his collarbone. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but your contract is up around that same time. Though if you plan to re-sign—”

  “I want to play baseball again, Olive. I want to finish what I started,” he interrupted gently. “But I don’t want to play baseball forever.”

  “Even if you did, I’d be right there with you. If anyone can do long distance, it’s us.”

  Carter felt a suspicious prick behind his eyes, realizing he’d found the woman—the one who loved him regardless of his baseball skill, and also in spite of it.

  Olive started looking around his apartment, a slight frown on her face. “What are all these boxes for? Are you moving?”

  “Let’s just say I’d been rethinking my rehab plan. Was thinking of maybe making Haven my home base, and commuting into the city as necessary.”

  She looked up, stunned. “You planned that before you knew I was coming here today?”

  He touched her cheek. “Not so much planned as hoped.”

  “But wherever will you live?” she asked playfully.

  “Well, I know a house I could rent, though where I really want to be is shacked up with the girl next door.”

  Olive brushed her lips over his. “I’m pretty sure we can figure something out. We’ll figure all of it out.”

  “Damn straight, future Principal Dunn.”

  “Oh, about that,” she said, leaning into him, and pressing her lips just beneath his ear. “I was sort of thinking that someday in the distant future I might be Principal Ramsey . . .”

  “Someday,” Carter agreed, pulling her closer. “But there’ll be nothing distant about it.”

  Epilogue

  Eight years later

  “Eyes on the ball, Torrie!”

  Olive grinned and took a sip of her hot chocolate. She’d heard that one before.

  It was unusually cold for early October, but nobody cared, least of all the dozen or so six-year-old girls getting their first taste of softball.

  One of them had been playing since she was in diapers.

  Olive shifted on the cold bleacher, her gaze seeking and finding the tallest person on the field by several feet. Carter Ramsey, coach of Haven High’s all-state baseball team and the Haven first-grade softball team.

  Not yet a championship-level team, but Carter had big plans.

  “Melissa! Jolie! Girls, what did we say about cartwheels in the outfield when someone is up to bat?” Carter called.

  Olive lifted her fingers to her lips to cover the smile, but not before she felt his gaze boring into her profile. She darted her gaze toward home plate and, sure enough, found her husband of seven years giving her a mock glare.

  “Girls,” Carter called, without looking away from Olive, “take a five-minute break to play catch with your assigned buddy. And remember, do not pick the dead flowers.”

  Carter never took his eyes off her as he made his way toward her, losing the battle with his fake glare the closer he got, until his eyes glowed warm, and he bent down, placing a soft kiss on her mouth. “Thought you had to work late, Principal Ramsey.”

  “Turns out some things are more important than work,” she said, lifting her face to his for a more proper greeting.

  “Eww, gross.” A tall girl with a long ponytail marched over toward them, a brown-looking weed clenched in her hand.

  Carter closed his eyes and sighed. “Torrie. What did I say about the flowers?”

  “Taraxacum officinale is more of a weed. Right, Mom?”

  “Quite right,” Olive said. “Though when your dad says not to pick the flowers, I think he includes dandelions in that.”

  Torrie nodded dutifully, then gasped as she looked down at her forearm. “Look! A ladybug.” She gave Carter a beseeching look. “You said we needed a team name. If this isn’t a sign, I don’t know what is.”

  With that, she raced off toward her friends in a gangly lope.

  Carter shook his head. “Your daughter.”

  “Our daughter.”

  “Indeed. Did I tell you said daughter asked if she could take my World Series ring in for show-and-tell on Friday?” Carter asked.

  “Which one? You can just tell her they’re too valuable, she’ll understand.”

  “Nah,” he said, smiling, as he leaned down for another kiss. “Those aren’t the most valuable things in my life.” He reached for her left hand, rubbing his thumb over the gloriously, embarrassingly large diamond ring. “One.” He turned and looked across the field to where Torrie was dangling a worm at her best friend. “Two.”

  Carter turned back to Olive and pressed another soft kiss to her mouth that lingered just a little bit hot for a first-grade softball practice, and she slowly took his hand and pressed it to her not-yet-showing belly and whispered the news she’d been dying to tell him since her doctor’s appointment that afternoon. “Three.”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Dear reader,

  Thank you so much for taking time out of your busy life to read Yours to Keep. Olive and Carter’s story was particularly fun to write, and you’re probably thinking, “Oh, she says that with every book.” I assure you, I do not. While I love the finished product of all my books equally, some stories have that little extra something during the writing process, where my fingers fly over the keyboard, where I find myself smiling long after I’ve shut the laptop for the day. Yours to Keep is one of those stories.

  If you enjoyed reading it even half as much as I enjoyed writing it, I hope you’ll check out my backlist, especially Yours in Scandal, featuring the first of “my guys” to be named Man of the Year (the hot young NYC mayor who’s mentioned a couple of times in this book). And if you enjoyed the town of Haven, be sure to check out An Ex for Christmas featuring Kelly and Mark Blakely from this book—yes, it’s a seasonal book, but it’s also a best friends–to-lovers story, which we all know is timeless!

  A complete list of my books is available on my website, and be sure to sign up for my newsletter to get notified about the third and final Man of the Year book, which, as I write this letter, is not yet titled, but I already know features an alpha guy in a suit who I think you
guys are going to love.

  Xo.

  Lauren Layne

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  And now for the list of thank-yous, because we authors need our people—I know that I’d be nowhere without mine, especially:

  Kristi Yanta, my longtime editor, who never panics, not even when I excitedly handed her the first draft of this book and described it as “a tangled ball of yarn, but a rainbow, glittery tangle!” Thank you for helping me smooth out all those tangles without losing any of the sparkle or vibrancy. You have no idea how much I appreciate you working tirelessly behind the scenes to clean up the messy, hard parts of my manuscripts to get them just right.

  The Montlake team, especially Maria Gomez, for your support of me and this series. You guys bring your A game to every single cover design, marketing plan, and copyedit, and your attention to detail never, ever goes unappreciated.

  Nicole Resciniti, my tireless agent, and Lisa Filipe, my fantastic assistant, for always holding down the Lauren Layne fort while I’m squirreled away in my writer cave.

  My author crew, especially Jennifer Probst, Rachel Van Dyken, Jessica Lemmon, and Evie Dumore, for being on the receiving end of many incoherent emails and text messages, and always knowing exactly the right thing to say.

  To my friends and family, most especially my husband: you mean so much to me.

  To all of my readers: I’m so grateful for you. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: thank you for your kindness and your love of romance.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2019 Anthony LeDonne

  Lauren Layne is the New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon bestselling author of more than thirty novels, including the Man of the Year series and the 21 Wall Street series. Her books have sold more than a million copies and have been translated into multiple languages. Lauren’s work has been featured in O, The Oprah Magazine; Publishers Weekly; Glamour; the Wall Street Journal; and Inside Edition. She is based in New York City, where she’s married to her high school sweetheart. For more information visit https://laurenlayne.com.