"I'm proud of myself, too."
We stand in the parking lot holding each other while hospital staff filter past, heading home after their own shifts. Nobody stares. Nobody cares.
"You hungry?" Jackson asks after a while.
"Starving."
"Let's go celebrate. An actual restaurant, not takeout from the place down the street."
"Are we going public?"
"We've been public since Emma found the pendant, but this is just..." He grins, boyish and pleased. "...a real date. In public. Like normal people."
"We're not normal people."
"No. But we can pretend for a night."
He takes me to an Italian place downtown, the kind with white tablecloths and candles and an actual wine list instead of just red or white. We order pasta and wine, and the waiterdoesn't recognize Jackson, which seems to please him. We talk about my shift, his practice, Sofia's improving sleep schedule, and Max's continued disdain for the baby who invaded his territory.
"Are you coming to the game on Thursday?" Jackson asks, twirling linguine around his fork.
"Of course. Emma and I are bringing Sofia even though she'll sleep through the entire thing." I grin, thinking about this morning's conversation. "But Ethan's been talking nonstop about his baby sister coming to see hockey, so it'll be good for him. He wants her to watch Daddy and Uncle Jackson play."
He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "Chase is going to love that. Kid's got priorities."
"He's a toddler. Hockey and snacks are the only priorities that matter."
"Fair point."
We eat slowly, savoring each bite, talking about nothing important and everything at once. Jackson tells me about the playoffs. They're fighting for position and need to win the next three games to guarantee a spot.
"Rachel, the charge nurse, asked if I was single today," I say, changing the subject because hockey talk always makes him tense this time of year.
Jackson's fork pauses halfway to his mouth. "What'd you say?"
"Told her I have a boyfriend. She asked what he does for work, and I said he's a professional hockey player." I grin at the memory. "Her eyes got huge. Asked if you were famous."
"What'd you tell her?"
"That you're moderately famous in Hartford and unknown everywhere else."
He laughs, shaking his head. "Accurate assessment."
"She wants to know if you have single teammates."
"I'll compile a list."
After dinner, we walk through downtown Hartford. Jackson holds my hand openly, pulls me close when we stop at crosswalks, and kisses my temple when we pause to look at restaurant menus posted in windows.
"This is nice," I say. "Being normal."
"You'll never be normal, Stardust. You're too extraordinary."
"That's cheesy."
"You love it."
I do. I love him. Love this. Love that we can walk through the city without fear, without secrets.
