“It’s heartburn, Eli. It’s not like I’m bleeding from the ears.”
“Well, do you need anything?” He glances behind me. “I read about how heartburn can hit you hard in the first trimester and leading into the second. You should be propping yourself up on pillows. Also, do you have any yogurt? That might help. Or some sugar-free gum. Want me to go grab you some? There’s a convenience store around the corner that’s still open. I can run to it if you want.”
I place my hand on his arm and shake my head. “No, that’s okay, really. I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, but thank you. You must be tired.”
He pulls on the back of his neck. “Adrenaline’s still kicking me. It was a battle tonight.”
“I saw that. Congrats on the win. You’re a clear favorite to win the wild card.”
“Three more games and we’ll find out.” He lets out a deep breath. “It’s been a fucking year. I know I shouldn’t be saying this, but I’m ready for it to be over. I kind of wish we could just win the cup now and then go up to Banff. I could use the relaxation.”
“You have quite a journey to win the cup. Have you forgotten the two-month-long process of the playoffs?”
“Don’t remind me,” he groans. “We have a long way to go, but it will be worth it.” He lifts his duffel bag on the bed and says, “Now that you’re awake, do you want your gift?”
“Uh, obviously.”
He chuckles. “Okay and remember, not quite rabbit turd, but not much better.”
“Expectations are at an all-time low.” I hold my hands out in front of me.
He unzips his bag, reaches in, and then places something in my hands. When I look down, I see a candy bar, but not just any candy bar, a Snickers bar, limited edition cinnamon bun flavor.
“I have no idea if it’s good, but when I was getting myself a Gatorade in the hotel gift shop, I saw it and thought you had to try it. I truly hope it’s good.”
“This was so thoughtful,” I say as I lean forward and wrap my arms around him. One of his arms goes to my back, and when I give him a squeeze, he does the same. It’s brief, and there’s absolutely nothing romantic to the hug, but for that moment, when the palm of his hand is stretched out over my back, and his fresh soap scent is flooding my space, I have this pang of awareness. The same type of awareness I had when I first saw him at the bar on his birthday. This masculine, charming, amazingly smelling man is talking to me. Well, not just talking to me anymore, but giving me gifts because when he saw it, he thought of me.
It’s so kind.
It’s so crazy.
It’s not something I’d ever expect, so when I pull away, I feel an overwhelming sense of emotion start to tighten my throat.
Don’t cry.
Please don’t cry.
Not over a candy bar. I’ve already humiliated myself enough.
Keep it together.
But when I look up at him, and our eyes lock, I know there’s no way I can stop it from happening.
My eyes well, and immediately, he takes my hand in his.
“Don’t cry. It’s really just a stupid gesture. Nothing to get emotional about.”
“Too . . . late,” I say as I wave my hand in front of my face. “God, this is humiliating. I honestly can’t control it.”
He lifts his other hand to my face and gently wipes away the tears that have fallen down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry. I know this must be uncomfortable for you.”
“It’s fine,” he says.
