“Got a list?” I grin. “Nerd.”
“Obviously.” She scrolls, voice crisp. “Rule one: no falling in love. Nonnegotiable.”
“That’s not rule one,” I say. “Rule one is lots of PDA. Bristol Bay is full of gossips.”
She blinks. “Definelots.”
“Hand-holding. Hugging. Kissing. Constant skin-on-skin.” I keep my face straight while my brain files a panic report. If we’re going to sell this to my folks and Hannah, I’m going to be all over her in public.
“You could have led with that,” she says.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Her ears go pink. She types something into her phone, then, “Fine. Rule two: no sex.”
I choke, recover. “Okay.”
Monk mode it is. Public cuddles, zero follow-through. I can do that. I’m a professional athlete—I have discipline.
I’m so fucked.
“Rule three: no telling teammates or staff.”
Then I lay down the one that matters. “All the time, Joy. In public, we’re on.”
She swallows. “All the time.”
Traffic crawls. Red lights paint the dash. My palms sweat. Blood roars in my ears.
She grabs her phone and types fast—thumbs flying—then hesitates, staring at the screen.
“You didn’t tell your family yet?”
She shakes her head.
“You don’t have to call right now,” I say.
“It’s better if I do it now.” A smirk plays on her face. “Besides, this is exactly what’s expected of me, right?”
She hits call and puts it on speaker.
“Darling.” Her mother’s voice could cut glass even through the static.
“Hi, Mother. Quick note, I’m not coming home on the twenty-fifth. I’m spending Christmas in Alaska…with my fiancé.”
Silence. The kind that has weight.
“Your what?”
“My fiancé. Wesley Kane. You’ll meet him at the opera on the twenty-seventh. Let the trustees know. I texted Lila the details. Love you. Bye.”
She hangs up before her mother can fire back. The phone starts buzzing again. She silences it, drops it into her bag, and exhales—a quiet, satisfied rush.
Then her fingers find mine. The move is casual enough to fool a stranger. Her palm fits too perfectly, her thumb brushing once, twice before she looks up.
The city lights slide across her face—gold, shadow, gold again. Her pupils are dark, huge. Her lips part slightly, and I track the movement like it’s a puck dropping.
“Wesley?”
