ME:Snacks require specificity.
GRACE:The kind that aren't vegetable-based.
She sent back a photo of her scrubs and a face that was eighty percent terrified, twenty percent ecstatic.
ME:Noted.
Grace’s going to be extraordinary. She already is.
April 7 | Cedar Falls | Home
West comes home at six-thirty.
I'm at the kitchen table, laptop open, vendor spreadsheetcolor-coded within an inch of its life. Pink for confirmed. Yellow for pending. Red for vendors who are testing my patience.
He drops his bag. Walks straight to me. Kisses the top of my head and then folds me into his arms from behind—chair and all—because this is something we do now.
"Hey love." His chin rests on my head. "How's Tara's wedding coming along?"
"Under control." I manage.
His arms tighten slightly. "Liar."
"Controlled chaos." I tip my head back to look up at him, which is a tactical error because from this angle he's all jaw and warm eyes and the particular expression he gets when he already knows the answer and asked anyway. "Better?"
"Accurate." He drops another kiss—this one to my temple, casual as punctuation.
Then, he moves to the fridge. Pulls out leftovers. His shoulders are tight—the specific tension that means he spent the afternoon doing something mentally exhausting.
"How was Hendricks?"
Hendricks is the veteran AHL coach in Montana. West has on-going zoom calls with him once a week—whiteboard sessions, the intensive education of a man learning a completely new job from someone who's done it for twenty years.
"Good." He heats the food. Leans against the counter. Crosses his arms.
Don't look at the arms. We've discussed this.
"Overwhelming." He exhales. "He keeps saying I need to stop thinking like a center and start thinking like a head coach."
"You have two months."
"That's not much time. I used to see the whole ice. Now I have to see everyone."
"I'm sure you'll get there."
He looks at me. I hold his gaze.
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure you'll figure it out. I'm not sure you'll enjoy the process."
His almost-smile becomes an actual one. Small, reluctant, completely lethal. "Fair."
The microwave beeps. He brings his food to the table. Sits across from me.
"How's the florist crisis today?"
"Settled. Alternate flowers chosen and thankfully confirmed to be available."
