“I want to be.”
I turned our hands so I was holding his instead, pulling him closer. “You succeed.”
The kiss was soft, almost tentative, as if we were both aware of how perfect this moment was and afraid to break it. His lips were cold from outside but warmed quickly against mine. When we pulled apart, his eyes were dark in the firelight.
“Hungry now?” he asked, voice slightly rough.
“For food?”
“Among other things.”
“Food first,” I decided. “Then other things.”
He made pasta with ready-to-eat meatballs from the freezer and a simple red sauce, adding the fancy cheese he’d agonized over in the store. We ate at the small table by the window, snow beginning to fall outside, creating a scene so perfectly romantic, it felt like a movie.
“That’s amazing,” I said with my mouth full.
He chuckled. “I literally only boiled pasta and heated up the meatballs and sauce and added cheese.”
I shrugged. “Meals don’t need to be home-cooked or even fancy to taste good. It’s warm, it’s filling and it hits the spot. Works for me.”
We finished dinner, washing dishes together in comfortable domesticity. The snow was falling harder now, thick flakes that would make the drive tomorrow interesting. But that was tomorrow’s problem. Tonight, we had this cabin, this warmth, this rare privacy.
“Want to watch the fire?” Nils asked, but there was something in his tone that suggested he meant more than just sitting on the couch.
“Yeah,” I said. “I do.”
We settled on the thick rug in front of the fireplace, backs against the couch, shoulders touching. The fire crackled and popped, casting dancing shadows around the room. I could feel the heat from Nils’s body where we touched, could smell his cologne mixed with wood smoke and the lingering scent of dinner.
“This is perfect,” I said quietly.
“Is it?”
“Yeah. Being here with you, away from everything else… I wish we could do this all the time.”
“That would be nice.”
“No sneaking around, no watching our words, no pretending we’re just coach and player.”
He was quiet for a moment. “Is that what bothers you most? The pretending?”
I thought about it. “What bothers me most is not being able to tell people how amazing you are. Like, my teammates talk about their girlfriends or hookups or whatever, and I have to sit there knowing I’ve got something better than all of them combined, but I can’t say anything.”
“Better?” His voice carried amusement.
“Don’t fish for compliments. You know you’re incredible.”
“I’m really not.”
“Bullshit.” I turned to face him more fully. “You’re brilliant and kind and thoughtful and hot as fuck. You planned this entire perfect night because I mentioned once that I’d never seen stars. You make me want to be better at everything, not just hockey.”
His expression had gone soft and vulnerable in a way I rarely saw. “Adan…”
“I mean it. Every word.”
He leaned in and kissed me, deeper this time, with intent behind it. I responded immediately, shifting to face him better, one hand coming up to tangle in his hair. The kiss grew heated quickly, weeks of careful control and stolen moments pouring into this one opportunity for privacy.
“Upstairs?” I suggested against his lips.
