Cassy nodded hard, cheeks puffed with food.
“Then I’ll give her the recipe.” Mel said, then turned to me. “So, did they settle on the Stanley Cup date?”
“June twenty-eighth. We’ve got two weeks.”
“That’s a long break. Is that… ?”
“Yeah. Eastern Conference got backed up, weather delay, plus a whole thing about injury-recovery windows. They pushed the schedule so their key guys could heal.”
“Does that usually happen?”
“If there are a lot of injuries, yeah. The League’s trying to avoid another short-roster disaster like four years ago. I’m not mad about it; my guys could use the rest. But two weeks off, you worry about losing the lead.”
“I can imagine. The momentum last night was off the hook.” She paused before adding, “Though only a few people touched the trophy. That was weird.”
I swallowed a bite and wiped my mouth. “Superstition. For the Campbell Bowl on the West and the Prince of Wales on the East, it’s a thing. You win, but you don’t celebrate too much. Because that’s not the trophy you’re after. The real prize is the Cup. Touch anything before that, you jinx it.”
Mel lips curved, she tilted her head. “So you just stand near it, as if it’s radioactive?”
“Pretty much. Captains might pose, but they won’t lift it. Not until the real thing.”
“That’s oddly romantic,” she murmured. “Like holding your breath until it’s really real.”
Our eyes met again, a breath snagging between us.
“Uncle Sean, can I touch the trophy when you win it?”
Mel kicked my ankle gently under the table, then mouthed, “Sorry.”
I smiled. “Yes, Sweet, if your parents bring you to the game.”
“My dad’s coming today with Mom,” she told Mel.
Mel nodded, mouth full.
It was ridiculous how good this felt, so domestic, so damn comfortable. Playoffs without Mel in the mix didn’t compute anymore, maybe because she worked with the team, but she’d quietly rearranged everything. My work and love life had always been separate. Until her.
I didn’t want to blink and miss any of it. I wanted to savor every second.
After we finished eating, Cassy darted off to change into clothes that didn’t belong to a stuffed animal. I stood to clear the plates.
“Go shower, Coach. You smell like victory,” Mel waved me off.
I leaned closer, dropped my voice. “You mean sexy, and you still let me sit at your table?”
Her eyes flicked to mine, teasing. “Just barely.”
“And you smell like omelets. That drop of food on your chest is begging for you to take a shower too,” I said, brushing the crumb from her shirt and leaning in like I might kiss her.
“Sean!” she hissed, voice low. “We’re in the kitchen, and Cassy is down the hall.”
Her cheeks darkened in color. My favorite caffeine.
“So, you’re saving it all for later?” I whispered.
“Get out of here!” She playfully shoved my arm, but her eyes held a spark.
“At your order, Cutie.” I kissed her cheek and headed for my room, leaving her with a promise hotter than the coffee she hadn’t finished.
