“Did you hear what you just said?” Gracieasks, also in tow, her romantic heart practically pulsing from her chest, cartoon-like.
Here comes Heidi and Jess.
They’re multiplying! If only I could make the same happen with my finances.
Whit whoops. “You’re supporting your man!”
“He’s not my man. We’re figuring things out.”
“All the more reason to show up and demonstrate that you’re a team player,” Margo says pragmatically.
Ella adds, “Trust me, hockey wives know how to make a statement.”
“I’m not a hockey wife!”
“You literally are, though,” Jess says matter-of-factly.
Whit clears her throat. “Legally speaking.”
A couple of hours later, I’m at the Ice Palace, sitting in the Knights’ family suite wearing Lane’s jersey and feeling completely out of place. Sure, I’ve been here before, but not likethis. The girls occasionally bring me to games, but it’s so I don’t forget that there’s a life to be had beyond the bakery.
The arena is loud and bright and full of energy that makes my skin buzz with nervous excitement … because Lane is somewhere in this building and a secret thrill hums inside at the thought. There is no denying how handsome he is or how his deep voice wakes up a part of me I thought had gone dormant.
Bree points toward the ice where the players are warming up and singsongs, “There’s number twenty-two!”
I spot Lane immediately. Even with his helmet on, I can pick him out of the pack. Once more, he’s full of confidence and there’s no denying he’s a pro with the way he moves so fluidly, powerfully as he fires a shot into the goal during the warm-up. It’s different from the man who struggled to fit in my tiny bakery office. This is Lane Sheridan Junior, the professional athlete, and I can see why he’s made a career out of this.
“He’s good,” I admit, trying to play it cool. Certain if I venture past those two words, I’ll say something likeHe looks good too, revealing that I’m attracted to him when I know better. This will only fuel my friends’ silly notion that the accidental marriage could ever work.
Plus, there’s the promise to my father.
And let’s not forget that I should be busy bailing my bakery out of near bankruptcy.
“He’s incredible. Even injured, he’s one of the best left wingers in the league,” Cara corrects. She, on the other hand, is a hockey expert, Coach Badaszek’s assistant, in fact.
The game starts, and I get swept up in the action despite my best intentions. Hockey is fast and intense, with the Mustangs putting up a good offense. Every time Lane touches the puck, my heart rate spikes.
Utah scores first, but the Knights answer quickly. Lane gets an assist on the tying goal, and the crowd goes wild. I may or may not cheer louder than necessary. You’d have to consult Whit, seated beside me, who tugs her hat lower on her ears.
“I knew you were a Lane Sheridan Junior fan,” Ella says with a knowing smile.
“I live in Cobbiton. I’m a Knights fan,” I counter.
“A Lane fan,” Bree singsongs.
After the first period, we break for snacks. No sooner am I standing outside the suite’s entrance when a small voice behind me says, “Hey, are you Nina?”
I turn to find a boy with sun-streaked hair and serious green eyes that look remarkably familiar. He’s wearing an oversized Mustangs jersey and holding the hand of an elegant woman in her late fifties.
“I’m Kai,” he says before I can answer.
I blink a few times as the conversation with Lane comes back to me.
“Lane is your husband, so that makes you my mom, right?” he asks.
My heart goes tumbling down the hallway, through the crowd, and outside into the snow. “I ... well, it’s complicated.”
“That’s what Lane says about everything,” Kai says, frowning.
