“What if I promise to behave?”
“You’re incapable of behaving.”
“What if I promise to only make moderately inappropriate comments?”
“Shep.” My voice is gentle but firm. “This is our first official dinner. Let us have it without commentary.”
He deflates slightly, but nods. “Fine. But I expect a full report Monday. Details. Descriptions. Possibly a commemorative photo.”
“You’re exhausting,” I tell him.
“That’s my brand.” He grins. “Congratulations, though. Both of you. For real.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. Shep hides behind jokes and chaos so consistently that it’s easy to forget there’s a real person underneath.
“Thanks,” I say. And mean it.
The locker room finally empties. Gisele and I are left alone in the quiet space, surrounded by the evidence of practice—abandoned water bottles, forgotten gear, the familiar smell of ice and sweat.
“So,” she says.
“So.”
“You kissed me in front of everyone.”
“I did.”
“Without hesitation.”
“Without hesitation.” I pull her closer. “Is that okay?”
“It’s more than okay.” She loops her arms around my neck. “It’s what I’ve wanted for as long as I can remember.”
“Then I’m sorry it took so long.”
“Don’t be sorry.” She shakes her head. “Just... be here. Now. That’s enough.”
“I can do that.”
“Can you?” There’s a teasing note in her voice. “Because historically—”
I kiss her again, cutting off whatever she was going to say. Not because I don’t want to hear it—but because I’ve spent three years using words to avoid action, and I’m done with that. I’d rather show her than tell her.
When we break apart, she’s slightly breathless.
“Okay,” she says. “You can do that.”
“Told you.”
“Don’t get smug.”
“Too late.”
She laughs, and the sound echoes off the empty walls. I could stand here forever, holding her, listening to that laugh. This is what I was so afraid of—letting myself need someone this much. But now that I’m here, the fear feels distant. Manageable.
Worth it.
“I should let you go,” she says eventually. “You probably have captain things to do.”
