“I like it.” Beck’s barely paying attention as he glances at the phone screen. But he’s still here, on the stool beside me, with my legs draped across his. It’s the antithesis of my worries about the wedding. Sitting next to him in a kitchen that looks like it should belong to a Michelin-starred chef, I feel completely content. Like I could stay on this stool forever and it wouldn’t be long enough. When the reality is, I’ll never perch here again.

And I know that’s why I took so long to decide on the stupid dress.

Chapter Eleven

Every single one of my temporary teammates is in the kitchen when I walk in, still rubbing sleep from my eyes. I halt abruptly. “Good morning?” It’s not even eight; way earlier than I want to be up on a Sunday. What are they all… oh. “Seriously?” I ask Ellie, who is closest to me.

She smiles serenely as she sips from a mug. “Good morning.”

I sigh as I open the fridge door to grab some orange juice. If they all want to watch me make breakfast half-asleep, they can feel free to observe.

But I’m only one sip into my juice when I hear Alexis exclaim, “He’s here!”

Shit. I was banking on him running late. I glance at the clock on the stove. I’m not even late; he’s early.

“What is that shit car he’s driving?” Alexis questions. I grab a breakfast bar and then follow her path over to the window to look outside. Beck’s adjusting some bags of soccer balls in the trunk of a wood-sided station wagon. I swallow a laugh. Damn him.

“I’ll see you guys later.” I grab my cleats from their usual position next to the door and head outside. It’s the perfect temperature. There’s a whisper of warmth in the air, but none of the heat and humidity I’m ordinarily greeted by.

“Nice car,” I comment as I approach.

Beck glances up and sends me a devastating smile. “Glad you appreciate it. Wasn’t exactly easy to find one. Not even a soccer mom would be caught dead in this, according to the car shop guy.”

“I didn’t think Germans had a sense of humor,” I comment, studying the admittedly ugly car. But it’s not just a joke. It’s one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me.

“How would you know? You can’t understand a word of what we’re saying,” Beck retorts.

I roll my eyes as I climb in the passenger side.