“Um, idea,” Justin piped up hesitantly, eyeing the mountain of cookies. “Why don’t we all take a photo and tag your girl on Instagram to tell her ‘thank you’ from the Coyotes?”
“Love it,” Tate said immediately, grateful for once that the younger man had spoken up. “And thank you.”
“Thankyou,” Justin echoed, grinning as he shook Tate’s hand before tugging him forward. He held up a cookie, snapped a photo with Tate in frame, and added slyly, “I’m gonna tag you both.”
The floodgates opened.
Suddenly, half the team was swarming around him, jostling for space, taking goofy selfies with crumbs on their faces, snapping shots of each other holding cookies up to their helmets. Someone shoved one through the bars of a mask and struck a serious pose; Dominic flexed with a cookie balanced on his bicep, wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. Even Coach got in on the act, grinning as someone captured him mid-bite.
Tate laughed until his stomach hurt, shaking his head at the chaos but secretly loving it. Every click of a camera, every smile, every chorus of“thanks, Nettie!”felt like a gift he could send back to her, proof of how much her kindness had rippled outward.
This—this collection of silly, heartfelt moments—would be the bestthank youhe could ever give her.
And deep down, Tate knew it was only the beginning.
CHAPTER 28
NETTIE
“What is going on?”
Nettie’s voice cracked into the stillness of the breakroom, though no one was around to hear her. She stood frozen in the doorway, her tote bag slipping precariously from her shoulder. She had only meant to grab her lunch, maybe unwrap the sandwich she’d packed, and scroll through a few bookish reels before diving back into work. But the moment she tapped her phone awake, her entire world shifted.
The screen blazed with notifications.
Threethousandcomments.
Sixthousandfriend requests.
The numbers blurred together, dizzying, climbing so quickly that it looked like her phone was infected with some strange virus. Her thumb hovered uselessly over the glass as though afraid to touch it, afraid the numbers might multiply further just by her breathing too hard.
Her lips parted, a sharp inhale catching in her throat. Her heart galloped into her ribs.
Her tote bag slipped off her arm with a thump, landing on the linoleum floor, but Nettie didn’t even flinch. She was too busy staring, wide-eyed, as her jaw slowly dropped.
Then, just as suddenly, her shock cracked open into a smile. A disbelieving, giddy smile that made her cheeks ache instantly.
Of course.
Tate.
The realization came in a rush, flooding her system with warmth that no amount of fluorescent breakroom lighting could dim.
Tate Cassidy—Gina’s brother, hockey legend, fan favorite, man of a million headlines—was having his team pose with the cookies they had made together. Big, tough men in jerseys, grinning for the camera, proudly holding her little sugar-dusted creations like prized trophies. And every single one of those pictures was tagged with her name.
Her.
Nettie’s heart gave a breathless leap.
She flicked her thumb upward, scrolling through messages so fast her eyes could hardly keep up.
Are you Tate Cassidy’s girlfriend?
Can you share the recipe?
Hey, think you could slide me some free game tickets?
And others… cutting, cruel, venom slipped through in the way only strangers on the internet knew how to deliver. Her chest pinched, a cold flicker of hurt threatening her bright bubble. But Nettie was quick, faster than she had ever been with her phone. She deleted. Blocked. Buried those voices before they could sink their claws into her joy.
