Her chest tightened. She shrugged off her coat, hung it on the hook behind her door, and slid into her chair. For a moment, she just stared at the note, smiling despite herself. Then she opened her desk drawer, slipped the paper inside, and closed it again.
The neat stack of notes she’d been saving for months was starting to look ridiculous. She told herself she kept them because it would be rude to toss them.
With practiced ease, she tied that emotion up, tucked it away, and shoved it deep into the box where she kept all the feelings she couldn’t afford to deal with.
Compartmentalizing was a survival skill, one she’d mastered growing up in her family.
She took a sip of the coffee and powered on her laptop, firing off a few quick emails. Then she grabbed her phone, slipped it into her blazer pocket, and headed down the hall.
The sound hit her before she even reached the tunnel: a mix of laughter, skates on ice, and children squealing in delight.
Family Skate Day.
It wasn’t her most demanding PR event, but it was always one of the most popular. Players’ families were scattered among the bleachers and the ice alike. Sasha was already out there snapping photos for social media, and the whole arena hummed with an easy kind of joy.
For a moment, Hillary let herself breathe it in.
This was the good part.
When she entered the rink, she spotted Natalie sitting on a bench near the ice, bundled in a cozy sweater with the cutest little baby girl balanced on her knee. The sight stopped Hillary in her tracks.
She smiled as she approached. “Well, aren’t you two a picture?”
Natalie’s face lit up. “Hi! This is Winnie.” She shifted the baby, who gurgled and waved a fist. “I can't thank you enough for setting me up with this job.”
"Oh, please, you are helping us out, too. How is Sven? He's behaving himself, isn't he?"
Natalie cocked her head before nodding. "He's been a perfect gentleman. Maybe a bit cocky, but I think that comes with the territory," she said as she glanced around the ice of hockey players all skating around with their families.
"Yeah, egos kind of come with the job. But they are good guys."
"It seems like," she agreed with her easy southern charm. "Seriously, though, Hillary. Thank you. Working with this little one has been absolutely perfect," she said, bouncing the darling baby on her knee.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Hillary said honestly. “You deserve something good.”
After chatting for a few more minutes, Hillary excused herself.
She crossed the ice-side walkway until she found Sasha and Alice, both huddled together with cameras, already capturing every heart-melting moment for social media. “Need anything?” Hillary asked.
Sasha shook her head, snapping a shot of Conner pulling one of Gunnar’s twins around in a sled. “We’ve got it.” Alice gave a shy little wave, her cheeks pink from the cold, clearly absorbed in the magic of the day. Only Hillary had to do a double-take: gone was the blonde woman in a gray skirt and black sweater. She was wearing a bright green sweater covered in daisies and purple leggings, with purple hair to match. That was a change, but it suited her.
So Hillary stepped back. She let herself just . . . watch.
Murphy was out there skating with Gunnar’s kids, laughing as one of them clung to his leg, the other chasing after him with a wobbling hockey stick. He looked so natural. So at ease. No wonder he talked about wanting to coach someday. He was a born teacher, all patience and encouragement wrapped in that golden-retriever grin.
The sight tugged at something in her chest, and she tried to ignore it.
But when she was about to leave, her gaze snagged on him again, this time skating beside Natalie, Winnie safe in her arms. They looked good together. Comfortable.
The thought sank like a stone in her gut.
That—that was what Murphy deserved. Someone his age. Someone with a soft heart and a steady presence. Someone who could build a life with him without hesitation.
Someone like Natalie.
And maybe . . . maybe if Murphy was taken, if he had someone as wonderful as Natalie, Hillary could finally forget about him.
She straightened, resolve building where her chest ached.
