I kiss him and it doesn’t matter who sees.
“Watch out,” he jokes. “Anyone could be taking photos.”
“Don’t care.”
I kiss him again because I don’t need to hide this. “Most Brits don’t follow hockey. They won’t be interested in an ex-player.”
“Ex-player?”
There’s an alley close by. If we were in its shadows, I wouldn’t get to witness his reaction. Tonight, light spilling from Penny’s restaurant shows me the same concern I first saw when he worried over an egg. Care follows right behind it.
For me.
So does fierceness. “Is this about who you might want to sign with next? Your agent said she’d negotiate?—”
I don’t need Valentin to chase this truth for me. “There won’t be any more negotiating, with anyone. I pulled out. I’m done.”
“Not with the game.”
“Never.”
The same smile that started every video call while we were divided by the Atlantic starts to spread. Without Valentin, I wouldn’t get to see it, or what plays out across the street from us.
If the chef who joins Penny is responsible for the bruschetta she serves our parents, I’m pretty sure there won’t be anything burnt about it. Robin must say something complimentary—she turns a pretty pink and goes up on her tiptoes to kiss him.
“I wouldn’t have seen that without you.”
Valentin finds my hand, no need to hide that he threads us tight together. “You would have found a way.”
“Nope. Not without penalties that could have cost other people. None of us had to pay that price because you spoke up when I couldn’t.” That’s a good enough reason to kiss him again. “I’ll always love you for that.”
Valentin’s so pretty when he’s happy. He’s also flustered, which plays out en français. “Je t’aime plus.” I’m close enough to see that he isn’t done worrying for me. “But I remember what you told me. You wanted to bring home one more ring.”
“And I will. Look.” The ring I pull from my pocket isn’t diamond studded. It’s the opposite of gaudy, but it does have an emblem he recognises.
“The cliffs at Land’s End.”
“Yes.” I hold a relatively small circle made from gold mined in Cornwall. Tonight, it feels heavier than any trophy I’ve ever lifted. “This is the last ring I want to bring home. Building a rink with the person who wears it might take a while. Hunting down a team of reject players with him could take even longer. Years, Valentin.”
If both of our families watch me go down on one knee, I don’t notice. I’m a hockey player, remember? We’re goal oriented. Valentin is my sole focus, the one person I’d shoot this shot for.
“Want to come to the end of the world with me to document it?”
He doesn’t answer, and time stops.
I really hope I do better than Lito Dixon at adding sweeteners to this deal.
“Cornwall has ducks. Pretty sure I could find another egg for you to keep warm.”
Valentin smiles, blinking fast, his eyes damp and shiny, so I keep going.
“And I’ve been thinking about ordering another speedboat or seven.”
Now his eyes laugh, and I get the same rush as when a breakout play goes right. That helps me to grind even harder.
“Just so you know, I’m open to spite sex anytime you want it.”
He laughs out loud, and I love to hear it. I also love making this final offer.
“And I’ll learn to cook mouclade.” I tilt my head at a restaurant window. It frames another chef sharing a meal with his own husband as I try to convince Valentin to be mine. “Guysays he’ll teach me. Marry me, and I’ll cook it for you every Christmas.”
Who knows what Valentin says next in French.
I don’t need to be fluent to know what him sliding my ring onto his finger tells me.
That’s a win in any language.
The End
