By the time I pull into Kristy’s driveway the next night, the sky’s gone soft and lavender, the kind of spring dusk that hums with quiet relief. Her porch light glows warm, and when I knock, she yells, “It’s open!”
Warm light spills over the living room, all mismatched throw blankets and candle wax that smells like citrus and cedar. It feels good just stepping inside—like exhaling for the first time all week.
Kristy’s barefoot, hair in a messy knot, pouring wine with the focus of someone solving the world’s problems one generous pour at a time. She glances up when she hears me.
Kristy takes one look at me and groans. “You look like someone who’s been through emotional overtime.”
“Something like that,” I say, dropping onto her couch. “Please tell me you opened the wine.”
She waves the bottle like a trophy. “I was born ready.”
She studies me over the rim of her glass, eyes narrowing.
“So… what’s his name?”
I hesitate, staring at the swirl of wine before I say it. “It’s Declan.”
Her brows shoot up. “Captain Tremayne? That Declan?”
“The one and only.”
“Oh, sweet mercy.” She leans back, one hand to her chest in mock shock. “When you said you had dinner plans a few weeks ago and then he backed out, that washim?”
A laugh slips out despite myself. “I didn’t plan on it. But once we started spending time together, it just… happened.”
“Okay,” she says softly, nodding her head and leaning in closer. “Tell me everything.”
And I do. I tell her we’re keeping it quiet for now and about how we’ll disclose it once he’s cleared. About Erin and Sophie walking in during dinner. About David finding out.
Every word feels equal parts confession and release.
Kristy listens without interrupting, eyes steady and kind. When I finish, she exhales low. “Okay. That’s a lot.”
“Yeah.” I take another sip, the burn grounding me. “I know it’s complicated. I know the rules. But it doesn’t feel wrong.”
“It’s not wrong,” she says. “It’s messy. There’s a difference.”
That makes me laugh—a small, tired sound. “Messy I can handle. But hurting Sophie? Or risking my job? That part scares me.”
Her expression softens. “Then stick to your plan. Be careful until he’s recovered. You’re doing the right thing, Charlotte. It sounds like Sophie just needs time, and she will come around.”
The words land exactly where I didn’t know I needed them.
I set my glass down, fingers tracing the condensation ring it leaves behind. “I’m more worried about Sophie than anyone. She’s confused, and I hate that I’m part of that.”
Kristy nods slowly. “Of course she’s confused. Her world’s shifting, but you can love her through that. She’ll feel it.”
For a moment, the air settles between us—soft, honest, full of the kind of friendship that doesn’t require fixing anything.
Then Kristy grins, breaking the tension. “Also, can we take a second to acknowledge that you are dating the grumpiest, hottest man in professional hockey? I mean, if you’re going to cause mild chaos, at least it’s premium chaos.”
I laugh for real this time, the sound loosening something that’s been tight for days. “You’re terrible.”
“Maybe. But I’m right.” She raises her glass. “To complicated, infuriatingly hot men, and the women brave enough to deal with them.”
I clink mine against hers. “To bad ideas that feel right anyway.”
We drink, the laughter fading into easy silence. Outside, the night deepens, and for the first time all week, the ache in my chest doesn’t feel quite so heavy.
