"Perfect."
They watched Vin Diesel drive cars through impossible situations, making occasional commentary, both very aware of the six inches of space between them. Puck fell asleep in the middle, purring loudly, a living reminder to keep their hands to themselves.
Around midnight, Rachel's eyes started to close.
"I should go home," she murmured.
"Drive safe." Mac walked her to the door, both of them moving slowly, reluctant to end the night.
At the door, Mac pulled her close one more time, kissing her softly. "Text me when you get home?"
"Only if you text me good night."
"Deal."
Rachel drove home through quiet streets, her lips still tingling, her skin still warm from Mac's touch. When she pulled into her apartment complex, she sat in her car for a moment, pressing her fingers to her mouth and smiling.
Her phone buzzed.
Mac:Did you get home safe?
Rachel:Just pulled in. Thank you for tonight. For listening. For giving me another chance.
Mac:Thank you for coming tonight.
Mac:Also for kissing me. That was amazing. Can we do that again?
Rachel laughed out loud in her car.
Rachel:Definitely. Good night, Mac.
Mac:Good night, Rachel. Sweet dreams.
Rachel got ready for bed, her mind still replaying the evening, the game, the reconciliation, the kissing, the feeling of Mac's hands on her skin. Mr. Darcy was waiting on her pillow, his amber eyes judging her late arrival.
"I know," Rachel told him, changing into pajamas. "I'm home late. But I have a good excuse this time."
Mr. Darcy's tail flicked.
"I went to Mac's hockey game. And then we talked. And we're trying again." Rachel climbed into bed, and Mr. Darcy immediately claimed his spot against her side. "I was stupid and I almost ruined something good. But I fixed it. Maybe. I think."
Mr. Darcy purred, apparently approving of this development.
Rachel stared at the ceiling, processing everything. The way he'd looked at her like she was everything.
She thought about Mrs. Henderson's words:That's not a man who's going to hurt you, dear. That's a man who's already half in love with you and doesn't know how to hide it.
For the first time since Brad, Rachel let herself hope.
But sleep wouldn't come. After twenty minutes of staring at the ceiling, Rachel reached for her phone, intending to read something mindless until her brain quieted down.
She opened social media, scrolling through the usual noise: book recommendations, library memes, photos from people she barely remembered from college.
Then a post caught her eye. A hockey article shared by someone from Burlington. She almost scrolled past—she'd trained herself not to look, not to care about that world anymore—but the headline made her freeze.
"Dr. Derek Matthews Revolutionizing Sports Medicine in Professional Hockey"
The photo showed him at some NHL event, surrounded by players and coaches, that same confident smile she remembered too well.
