“Morning, Boss.”
“Morning.” She accepted the cup with a grateful hum, her gaze catching the way his eyes lingered on her. “Perfect timing.”
"What are you hard at work doing? Solving all the world’s problems?" he asked with the grin on his face she liked all too much.
"Hardly. I'm just trying to appease Jack Foster of Foster's Pizza. He wants to make sure his logo is big enough on the schedule magnets."
"Their pizza sucks," he said, shaking his head.
"They are donating a ton to the food drive."
"They have the best pizza in the city," he said, changing his tune with a grin.
"Oh shut up," Hillary said, shaking her head and grinning at him. "Good game last night?"
"Oh, were you watching?" He feigned humility.
"You know I was watching."
"Oh, so you saw my goal."
She chuckled at him. "I did. It was a good goal."
"I knew you'd like it," he said, grinning at her.
And damn it, she should be immune to hockey players’ charm. She'd been working around them for more than five years, and none of them ever had her blushing like a schoolgirl the way he did.
"I can't take all the credit, though. Playing on a line with Conner and Wes makes scoring easy. I used to have a poster of Conner on my wall when he was a kid, and now look at me."
And there it was, the reminder she needed that he was not for her. Still, the way the muscles in his forearm rippled as he played with the stapler on her desk drew her attention. When she looked back up at him, he had caught her checking him out and just smirked.
That heated moment broke when Sasha walked in. She glanced between them, eyebrows raised.
“Morning,” Sasha said slowly.
Hillary straightened a fraction, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Murphy stood, giving Hillary a wink before heading for the team meeting. Sasha waited until he was gone, then asked, “What was that about?”
Hillary’s smile didn’t falter. “Sponsorship stuff.”
"Right," Sasha said as she sat down. "I just sent you some videos to approve, but I want to touch base before the food drive tomorrow and make sure we are on track for the season opener."
Hillary nodded and tried to focus, but as she took a sip from her coffee, she couldn't help the small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
The next day,the food drive was in full swing by the time Hillary arrived on-site. Cool October air nipped at her cheeks as she moved between donors, volunteers, and community partners, making sure everyone felt seen and appreciated. The scent of coffee and cardboard mingled with the low hum of conversation, the scrape of boxes being shifted, and the occasional burst of laughter. Sasha and her new social media team were busy capturing footage of the players hauling boxes, loading cars, and chatting with families.
She hadn’t spoken to Murphy yet, but she didn’t need to. She could feel him there, the awareness like static at the edge of her skin. Every so often, she’d glance his way and find him already looking at her. Small smiles passed between them before they both turned back to their work, pretending they hadn’t been caught.
Hillary was checking in with a donor when movement caught her eye. Murphy was carrying a large box of food toward the car of a young mom juggling a baby and a four-year-old. The little boy chattered at him the whole way, then tried to “wrestle”him. Murphy laughed, crouching low and letting the boy push before scooping him up and spinning him around until the child squealed with delight. The mother’s gratitude was written all over her face as Murphy crouched again to listen to something the boy whispered, nodding solemnly before sending them off with a wave.
The sight hit her harder than she expected. This—this was the life someone like Murphy was meant to have. He’d be a great dad. And Hillary had no interest in having children. That alone should have made it easier to keep her distance, not splinter something inside her.
Then Murphy turned, catching her watching. His smile was warm, easy, and completely disarming, and for a split second, she thought she saw a question in his eyes.
She smiled back before she could stop herself, heat blooming in her chest despite the crisp October air.
Murphy made his way over, his casual, happy, flirty self on full display. “Hey, Boss. How you holding up?”
“Fine,” she said, the word coming out colder than she intended. She wished she could be more like him—warm, open—but it wasn’t in her nature.
