Page 79 of From Maybe to Baby

“I’m known for my commitment to...” Her voice trails off as I plant a kiss behind her ear, a spot I know will make her forget her train of thought. “To... professionalism...”

“Distance?” I suggest, my tone playful.

“Something like that,” she laughs, turning to wrap her arms around me, her earlier professional poise giving way to something far sexier.

Together, in the quiet of the kitchen, I remind myself to enjoy the moment. I know all too well how quickly things like this can end.

Stumblingupon the house listing was purely accidental. Alexa left her laptop open on the kitchen counter, the browser open to a real estate page showcasing a five-bedroom Victorian in Pacific Heights. It's the kind of place with a backyard with more bathrooms than there are days of the week, and that screams birthday parties. The chef's kitchen looks ready to take onAlexa's ambitious meal-prep experiments, and the designated home office is tailor-made for her writing. Then there’s the playroom, painted in what Jace would undoubtedly declare "princess colors." It is, without a doubt, a home built for a family.

She snapped the laptop shut the moment she caught me peeking. "Just some research for my article on San Francisco neighborhoods," she muttered.

"Digging pretty deep, aren't you?" I teased, leaning in closer.

"Exactly." Her cheeks turned a shade pinker as she re-opened her laptop, shifting to another tab about local school ratings. "It's about analyzing the family-friendly housing market. Very professional."

Before I could rib her about her newfound interest in the San Francisco housing market, my phone chimed with a calendar alert—a reminder of next month’s team publicity event, the annual holiday shindig where players' kids get to meet Santa. Last year, Lukas asked Santa for a power play for Christmas. This year, he’ll probably ask for a hat trick, despite my constantly reminding him that one player scoring three times in one game is pretty rare.

"Dad," Lukas later asks. "Can we show Lexa the fancy tree in Golden Gate Park? Last year it was HUGE and had real hockey pucks on it."

"And the pretty lights," Jace chimes in, abandoning her coloring book to join her brother's campaign. "Lexa has to see the pretty lights. And help us with the cookies. And the stockings. And?—"

"And everything," Lukas concludes, his eyes wide with anticipation. "Forever."

That word hangs in the air, and I wait for Alexa to grab her things and run for the door.

Instead, she pulls up her own calendar, plotting her schedule with the precision of a five-star general.

"The festival's timing is perfect for the holiday piece I'm working on. Plus, capturing the team's family photos will add great context to the story."

"Very timely of you," I remark.

"The most professional timing," she agrees.

Another open browser tab catches my eye—flight deals for New Year's weekend, perfectly aligned with our away game in Boston.

It almost looks like she’s syncing travel coverage with the hockey schedule.

But she wouldn’t do that. Would she?

"You’ve been busy,” I say, raising an eyebrow.

"Essential research," she quickly responds, closing those tabs too, but not before I catch a glimpse of notes on which Boston hotels are nearest the arena. "Winter travel logistics are crucial, especially for families. Plus, dealing with East Coast games requires managing some unique time challenges for kids."

She’s using the word 'family' a lot more these days. It doesn’t seem to phase her much anymore, at least not like it used to. Nor did Lukas asking if she’d be there for his birthday, or Jace wondering aloud if Alexa could help with the Christmas decor.

"We should sync calendars," she suggests later that evening, once the kids are asleep. "You know, for... article planning purposes. Your playoff schedule could impact various demographic studies."

"Sounds incredibly organized of you."

"I am a professional," she quipped. "Your game days are a bit of a puzzle, though. Did you know most school events are scheduled during your afternoon practices?"

"Sounds like a challenge."

"Nothing a good system can't handle." Was she color-coding her calendar? —blue for home games, green for away, pink for the kids' activities.

"Purple for house viewings?" I ventured, watching her closely.

She paused, her face unreadable for a moment. "That was just..."

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