He looked like he lived here.
"Flight's at noon," I said.
"I know. You told me twice." He didn't look up. "Also, your Cheerios are expired."
"They're fine."
"They taste like cardboard."
"That's what Cheerios taste like."
"Yours taste like Cheerios that died and someone buried them. Then, they exhumed them for one last bowl." He took another bite. "I'm still eating them."
I leaned against the doorframe. The bag sat at my feet. Thirty-six hours in California. Solo. I'd told the team I was using the All-Star break to decompress. Heath didn't know the real reason.
"So," he said, setting the spoon down. "California."
"Yeah. Few days."
"What's in California? I mean, aside from three hockey teams and Hollywood."
"Rocks. Ocean. The absence of lake-effect wind."
He smiled. "Sounds rough."
"Brutal. I may not survive."
Heath picked the bowl up and drank the remaining milk directly. It was a habit I found unreasonably attractive. He set it in the sink and turned to face me, hip against the counter.
"I'd never seen the Pacific until we flew over it on the way into San Jose," he said.
"Yeah?"
"Rhinelander to Thunder Bay to Chicago. My geographic range before the Ironhawks was basically the shape of a hockey stick." He shrugged. "Someday, I'll tag along with you. When the numbers are different."
He was planning continuity. I was planning an exit.
"You'd like it," I said. "The water's different."
"Different how?"
"Colder than you'd expect. And real waves. Walls of water that people surf."
Heath studied me. "Bring me back a rock," he said.
"A rock."
"Something from the beach. I don't care what kind. Just proof you went outside instead of sitting in a hotel room reading about fish."
"I don't read about fish. I read about marine ecosystems."
"Bring me a marine ecosystem, then."
I crossed the kitchen. Kissed him once, quick, tasting expired Cheerios and milk. He reached for my jaw for a second kiss.
"I'll text you," I said.
"You better."
