Her grin spreads. “I like you. Eden, can we keep him?”
I slide a plate across the counter. “Don’t worry, Liz. I plan on staying.”
Eden groans, right as her phone erupts on the counter. Then mine.Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.A flood, and it’s barely seven.
She checks hers, winces, and answers on speaker. “Jess?”
Jessica’s voice fills the kitchen, scratchy with sleep but buzzing with glee. “You and Nate are trending. Front-row jersey cam. Warm-ups glove-to-glass. Tunnel hug. And the shot where you’re wrapped around him? It’s everywhere.”
Eden covers her face. “You’re kidding.”
“I’ve already had two reporters ping me. And the fan accounts? They’ve turned your tunnel hug into a highlight reel.”
“You’re on speaker, by the way,” Eden mutters.
Jess just cackles. “Figured. Russo, your hashtags are multiplying by the second. And for once, it’s good press.People are calling it the league’s fairytale—goalie finally drops the mask, lets the girl in. Media loves you two.”
Eden groans. “Let them have their fun. It’ll blow over.”
“Sure,” Jess says, “but until it does, you should ride it. This is the kind of story fans eat up.”
I arch a brow at the phone. “See, this is why I don’t try to understand social media. It’s just chaos with better lighting.”
Liz, perched on a stool with coffee, chimes in, “Chaos that benefits you two? We’ll take it.”
There’s a beat before Jess bursts out laughing. “Is that Liz? Oh, of course she’s there. Morning-after debrief?”
“Front row seat,” Liz says smugly. “And he cooked breakfast.”
“It was scrambled eggs,” I mutter.
Liz waves her fork at me. “Scrambled eggsandsteamed sweet potatoes. At seven a.m. Who does that?”
“Professional athletes.” Jessica snickers. “Pretty sure it’s in their contract.”
“All right, ladies, I’m out,” I say, standing to stack the dishes.
Liz leans into the phone. “And he’s cleaning. Did you hear that, Jess? He cooks and cleans.”
My phone buzzes again: Finn with fifteen ring emojis. Adam withDoc said no favorites but I’m specialand a GIF that I hope the girls don’t catch. Then my mother:Finally. Bring her to Sunday dinner. The Carvers will be there too. No excuses, Nathaniel.
Eden’s screen lights again:from Mom: Leo sent photos. You look happy. Call me when you have a minute. Also, what is a ‘thirst trap?’ Aunt Paula asked.
Eden snorts. “Aunt Paula needs an internet filter.”
Liz points a finger at us. “Call your mothers. It’s the decent thing to do.”
We eat. We text our moms. My phone lights up with ten heart emojis from Ma. Eden groans, cheeks pink, while Liz steals a second helping of sweet potatoes and declares herself chair of the Russo Retention Committee—meetings to be held in this kitchen.
After breakfast, Eden ties her hair up and disappears into the bathroom. When she comes back, she’s Eden-in-the-world again: leggings, soft tee, zip hoodie, the little compass I gave her at her heart. My queen of careful hands.
“How’s your schedule today?” I ask.
“Two follow-ups, one eval. Lots of paperwork.” She kisses me lightly. “You?”
“Film in the afternoon, skate later. I’ll walk you.”
Liz salutes us with the coffee mug. “Bring her back in one piece, goalie.”
