Page 32 of Lace 'em Up

It’s small talk.

But it feels like more.

Probably because we’re not arguing for once.

But also maybe…because it is more.

“Yeah,” I say after a moment, answering his question about work. “Lots of emails and then I worked a bit on the planning for our fundraising gala.”

He takes a bite, decimating half of the cookie with that one action. “The one for Chrissy’s charity?” he asks around it.

“Yes,” I say. “Though it’s also going to benefit my dogs.”

Blue eyes softening further. “I’m glad.” He juts a chin toward the hall, and I turn to see a sleepy-eyed Zeus laying like a little potato in the opening. “I wouldn’t have him if not for the work you do.”

My heart squeezes. “He’s a good boy.”

“The goodest.” A wink before he moves to the doggy cookie jar, and I watch the sleep clear from the pup’s golden-brown eyes, see the razor-sharp focus snap into place as King pops open the top of the container, reaches inside.

Click-click. Click-click.

Zeus is in front of him in a flash.

“It’s the last one, bud,” King says, holding out the treat.

Zeus takes it like the goodest boy he is—gently. Then he spends the next few seconds chomping noisily, leaving a trail of crumbs in his wake that he deliberately licks up. But even though the little-legged fluffer is adorable and normally I could watch him just be a dog for hours, I find my gaze drawn to King. He’s gone to a cabinet near the hall that leads to the garage, pulls a binder off the open shelf there, and sets it on the counter. A flick opens the cover and then he’s flipping to a page?—

“What’s that?” I ask.

He snags a pen from the little cup on that same shelf. “What’s what?”

I tilt my head in the direction of the binder. “That.”

“My Life Planner.” Said matter-of-factly.

Both like this is common…and like I should know what a Life Planner is.

My brows shoot up, nearly to my hairline. “Your Life Planner?”

He lifts and drops one big shoulder in an approximation of a shrug as his eyes scan the page. “Yup.”

“Your Life Planner?” I don’t know what that is, just that the name makes it seems intense and far too much work.

“Yup,” he says, jotting something down in it.

“I don’t understand.”

His gaze flicks to mine. “It’s a binder I use to keep track of everything I need to keep track of—shopping and road trips, appointments and shit that needs to be done on the house.”

“Oh.”

This big, giant hockey player with the hard body and black eye from practice and beard that’s thick and rough that I want running over my naked skin, has a binder he uses to plan his life?

I just?—

“How? Why?”

“What?” His tone is light, eyes dancing, obviously enjoying my shock. “Do Prickle Princesses not organize their own lives?” A tap to his chin. “Oh no, of course they don’t. They have servants for that—tiny, fluffy servants who are magically trained to complete the most common of household tasks.”

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