"Wait. Let me finish." Camille leaned forward, needing Lou to understand. "I know the complications. I know my public profile makes everything harder. Cameras follow me everywhere, and if someone catches us together—in a way that looks romantic—the tabloids will have a field day. My family, my sponsors, everyone will have opinions. It could affect the team, affect your career, affect everything we've both worked for."
"So what are you proposing?"
"A secret." The word tasted strange on Camille's tongue, too close to the hiding she'd done her whole life. But this was different. This was chosen. "Just for now. Just until I figure out what I want, who I am, without the entire world watching. We keep things private. Careful. No public displays, no suspicious behavior, nothing that could raise questions."
Lou was quiet for a long moment. The coffee shop hummed around them—the hiss of the espresso machine, the murmur of other conversations, the particular soundtrack of a place where people came to connect. When Lou finally spoke, her voice was careful.
"You're asking me to hide with you."
"I'm asking for time." Camille reached across the table, stopping just short of touching Lou's hand. "I'm asking you to be patient while I figure out how to be brave. I know that's selfish."
"It's fine."
Camille blinked. "What?"
"It's fine." Lou's mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "I've been hiding my whole life, Camille. A few more months isn't going to break me. And if it means—" She paused, something vulnerable flickering across her features. "If it means I get to be with you, even in secret, I can handle that."
Relief flooded through Camille so intensely that tears pricked at her eyes. She'd been so afraid Lou would refuse. So certain that asking for secrecy would feel like an insult, a demand to shrink rather than an invitation to grow.
"Thank you." Her voice came out thick with emotion. "I know it's not what you deserve. But I promise—this isn't forever. I just need time to find solid ground."
"I understand." Lou's hand finally moved, crossing the distance between them to cover Camille's on the table. The contact was electric, sending sparks up Camille's arm and into her chest. Lou's fingers were warm, slightly rough from years of gripping hockey sticks, and the weight of her palm against Camille's knuckles felt like an anchor.
"You're sure?" Camille's voice cracked slightly. "Because I would understand if you didn't want to—if this was too much to ask?—"
"I'm sure." Lou's thumb traced a slow circle against Camille's wrist, and even that small movement sent heat cascading through her body. "I've been invisible my whole life, Camille. Hiding with you, for you, that's different from hiding alone."
The distinction landed somewhere deep in Camille's chest. Not hiding alone. The simple acknowledgment that they would be in this together, navigating the shadows as ateam rather than as separate people pretending not to know each other.
"Take whatever time you need. I'm not going anywhere."
The conversation shifted after that, easing into something lighter. They talked about hockey—the upcoming away games, Mara's latest tactical adjustments, the improvement they'd both noticed in Rowan's positioning. Lou explained the history of Phoenix Ridge's failed qualification attempts, the years of disappointment and near-misses that had hardened the veteran players into cautious optimists at best.
"We've been close before," Lou said, stirring her coffee absently. "Two years ago, we missed by a single game. Lost in overtime to Minnesota, and that was it. Season over. Another year of hoping next time would be different."
"But this time feels different?" Camille asked.
Lou's eyes met hers, steady and sure. "This time we have you. And Rowan. And Mara, even if she is a sadist." A small smile curved her lips. "And we have Astoria's money. Actual resources, actual support. It's the best chance we've ever had."
"No pressure, then."
"None at all." Lou's smile widened, and Camille's heart did a complicated flip in her chest.
They talked about Phoenix Ridge the city—its odd charm, its working-class roots, the way it seemed caught between past and future. Lou pointed out neighborhoods Camille should explore, restaurants that served food worth eating, hidden corners of the city that tourists never found.
Lou's dry humor emerged gradually, like sunshine through clouds. She made observations about their teammates that made Camille laugh—genuine laughter, not the practiced version she deployed for cameras. She listenedwhen Camille talked about her career, her ambitions, the constant pressure of being visible, without offering solutions or judgment. Just presence. Just attention.
It felt like a real date. The first real date Camille had been on in years, maybe ever. With Mario, everything had been calculated for maximum visibility—restaurants where photographers were guaranteed to be waiting, events designed to generate headlines. Nothing had ever been just for them. Nothing had ever felt as simple and warm as sitting in a quirky coffee shop with someone who made her laugh.
Someone she was allowed to want without pretending otherwise.
At some point, Camille's phone buzzed with a notification. She reached for it without thinking, her elbow knocking the device off the table. It clattered against the floor, and they both bent to retrieve it at the same moment.
Their hands met.
Camille's fingers brushed Lou's knuckles, and the contact sent a jolt through her body that had nothing to do with static electricity. Lou's skin was warm, her touch grounding in ways that made Camille want to hold on and never let go. Their eyes met across the narrow space beneath the table, faces suddenly inches apart.
The world shrank to the space between them. The coffee shop noise faded to silence.
