“Don’t apologize,” he quickly says. “Going to hockey games was never part of our agreement. I assumed, but I didn’t have a good reason to. It’s really fine.”
I take in his warm gaze, and some of the tension eases out of my shoulders. For a split second, I want to just tell him. Explain everything. But then my mouth goes dry, a sheen of sweat breaking out across my forehead, and I let the words die on my tongue. “You’re too nice for your own good, Carter,” I say instead.
He smiles. “Not the first time I’ve heard that one. But I promise I don’t need you at hockey games to feel like I’m getting the better end of this bargain.”
I roll my eyes. “You definitely are not.”
“You haven’t met the cat yet.”
I stifle a laugh, appreciating that somehow,he’s managed to bring back a little levity to our conversation. “Should I be concerned?”
“Gordie’s great,” he says. “But he does like to chew through shoelaces, so you’ll need to keep your closet door closed.”
“Gordie,” I repeat. “After Gordie Howe? I meant to ask before, but I didn’t get the chance.”
He lifts an eyebrow, like he’s surprised by my hockey knowledge.
“I just said I don’twatchhockey. Not that I don’tknowit. Miles is still my brother.”
“Fair enough,” Carter says. “So, when I come to New York next week, we’ll just…meet after the game?”
The Jaguars’ upcoming game schedule will take the team up to Montreal, then to New York, then finally to Boston before returning them home to Atlanta. The New York game hits in the middle of my second week in the city, so Anna suggested we get together for our proposal and make sure we’re somewhere public, where a hockey fan or two might recognize Carter.
“I hope that’s okay,” I say. “Sorry I can’t come to the actual game.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I won’t have a ton of time after, but I’ll figure out a place we can go and text you the details.”
“Sounds good,” I say. “Thanks again for doing this. I’m still not sure I understand why you said yes.”
Something I can’t quite read flickers behind his expression, but then he smiles, looking a little chagrined. “I don’t know what else to say. Your art is just that good.”
“Stop it. It is not. And you have to promise you’ll tell me ifyou decide to change your mind. If at any point you don’t want to go through with it, all you have to do is tell me.”
“I won’t change my mind, Sarah,” he says. “I gave you my word.”
“Did you?”
He seems to think for a second. “I guess not officially. So here.” He holds up his pinky.
“A pinky promise?”
He nods as I link my pinky around his. His skin is warm, and despite all the touching we’ve already done tonight, the contact sends a rush of sensation up my arm.
“You have my word, Sarah. You can trust me.”
I may not understand how we ended up here or why he ever agreed to say yes. But for right now, wherever it may lead, I’m choosing to trust his pinky promise.
Here’s hoping I don’t regret it.
10
SARAH
I haveCarter’s pinky promise on my mind as Anna drives me to the airport the following morning. That, and the text he sent me late last night, long after he went home.
At first, all that came through was a picture of Gordie, sitting next to a pair of what I assume are Carter’s shoes, the shoelaces clearly chewed in half. Then his message popped up.
Carter
