An awkward silence fell between them as Libby scrambled to recover. "Which obviously isn't happening. I'll make up an excuse. Training schedule, playoff preparation, something believable."
"Why not?" Liam asked, surprising her.
"Why not... what?"
"Why not dinner?" he clarified. "I'd like to meet your family. You've met my parents. It's only fair."
Libby stared at him, trying to determine if he was serious. "You want to subject yourself to dinner with my extremely dramatic mother, my sarcastic father, and whatever sisters happen to be home? Voluntarily?"
The corner of Liam's mouth lifted in what might have been amusement. "I've faced worse opposition."
"I doubt it, but I love your confidence." She hesitated, then had to ask, even though the answer might kill her. "For the narrative?"
A pause that stretched like taffy, filled with the echo of everything they'd almost said, almost done.
"No." His voice was frayed at the edges, and something in her chest tightened at the sound. "Not only for that."
"My family is... a lot," she warned.
"So is mine."
"My sister will probably try to live-tweet the whole dinner."
"I'll bring my phone charger."
"My mother will have already planned our wedding. Probably hired a skywriter to announce the save-the-date."
"Okay," he said simply.
"Okay?"
"Sunday dinner it is."
His phone buzzed. "Eight o'clock strategy meeting," he said, checking the screen.
"You should probably get back," she said, though her voice betrayed how much she didn't want him to leave. "And I need to file my story."
He helped her off the ice, hand on her lower back, the touch burning through the jersey like a brand. They both knew this conversation wasn't over. The almost-kiss hung between them, a promise and a threat and an inevitability all at once.
As she left the rink, she could feel his eyes on her, could feel the weight of everything unsaid, everything undone.
CHAPTER TEN
"You've changed outfits four times," Jane observed from her perch on Libby's childhood bed, her medical journal abandoned as she watched her sister's fashion crisis escalate. "The sweater was fine. The dress was fine. The jeans were definitely fine."
"Nothing is fine," Libby muttered, checking her reflection again in the mirror that still had hockey stickers around its edges—Boston Steel, Team USA, and a Springfield Falcons decal she'd added just last season when they made their unexpected playoff run.
"Mom's probably practicing her mother-of-the-groom speech right now," Libby continued, abandoning the third sweater for the original one. "She's definitely already picked out her outfit for our fictional wedding. God, she might have already put a deposit down on the country club."
"The spring special is very reasonable," Jane said mildly. "She mentioned it three times at breakfast."
"Jane!"
"I'm kidding. Mostly." Jane's expression turned more serious. "Though I should probably remind you that I'm the only one who knows this is fake. Mom, Dad, everyone else—theythink you're actually dating Liam D'Arcy. Of course she's excited, Lib. It's her dream come true."
"I know." Libby sat heavily on her bed, crushing the rejected dress. "That's what makes this so complicated. They're meeting my fake boyfriend who I almost really kissed yesterday morning and now I don't know what we are."
"Do you want to know what I think?"
