“Oh, this should be fun,” he laughs with a playful smile on his face.

“You totally don’t have to answer,” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “No, I’m game. Am I allowed to use two memories in conjunction with each other?”

“Sure,” I shrug. “Why not?” I beam.

These past couple of weeks, Cal has been opening up and sharing more about his life, but I still tread carefully.

“The moment you got smart with me about knowing who I was, combined with Tuck’s ‘Do you know who he is? He’s Callan Miles.’ Now, that . . . was funny shit. I could hold on to the look on your face for the rest of my damn life.”

I roll my eyes. “I shouldn’t have even asked.”

We slide to a stop at a stop sign, and he turns his head toward me. “I’m kidding.” He sighs, “The one memory I would most hold onto is the moment Tuck stood on the ice and asked me to teach him to play hockey.”

My head jerks back, and a frown tugs at my brows. “W—why? There must be better memories to choose from.”

“Nope.” He turns the heat up and continues ahead. “That’s the one.”

Well, that’s unexpected. I figured there would be a memory of his late wife, and maybe there is, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. “But why? I mean, it’s not the most sentimental memory.”

“Well, it kinda is. That was the moment everything changed for us, and that’s the moment Tuck became mine.”

“Tuck became yours . . .” I repeat.

“Yup.” He pops the p. “That moment led me to falling in love with you.”

First, he’s talking about us moving in together, and now he’s placing his claim on my son? What’s next? Marriage and babies? This is all moving too fast. I don’t even know if we are going to last. Don’t get me wrong; I want us to. I love this man with my whole heart, but what if he decides to sign on with another team clear across the country?

His contract is up for renewal, and all I’ve heard from his agent is that they are considering their options. If he takes another contract, it’s not as if I’m in a position to just up and move. I have responsibilities here: to my team and to Tucker.

“You’re quiet. What’s on your mind?”

Before I can answer, my phone rings. Mom’s name flashes on the screen. I press the green accept button and place her on speaker. “Hi, Mom.”

“Thank God. How close are you? The roads are beginning to freeze, and the news is talking about a pileup on I-278.”

Cal raises an eyebrow as if to say, I told you so. “Hi Katherine. We’re almost home. I’m taking it slow, but we’ll be there in about five to ten minutes,” he says.

“Okay, sweetheart. See y’all when ya get here. Be safe.” The phone beeps three times, indicating she’s disconnected the call.

“My God, you two are so country.” He laughs.

God, he has a nice laugh and pretty teeth. Hockey guys aren’t supposed to be model gorgeous or have pretty teeth. That thought strikes up another question.

“Why do the guys on the team call you Smiley?”

He laughs. “Well, did you ever see me smiling when you first met me?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

We slide to another stop sign just outside of our estate. He turns his head and winks. “Exactly. It was Carter who startedit. My last name is Miles, and usually teammates would put a y on that, but since I was a brooding asshole . . .”

“Carter named you Smiley,” I finish for him. “That’s clever. So if you weren’t a broody ass, then they would have called you Miley?” A laugh bursts from my lips.

“Milesy, and don’t you start that shit. It’s already bad enough that the guys call me Smiley,” He laughs.

“I like Miley better . . . Ooh, or I could just call you Cyrus.”