Page 44 of Spring Break with a Slap Shot

My body tenses involuntarily, and Harmony notices. Her eyes meet mine, curious but not pushing. We haven't talked marriage. Six months feels too soon, but also not soon enough. The thought doesn't terrify me like it should.

"Let the man enjoy shacking up before you marry him off," Harmony says lightly, saving me from responding. "Besides, I need to make sure he can load a dishwasher properly before I commit to forever."

I dip my head to her ear. "I'll show you what I can load properly later," I murmur, just to feel her shiver against me.

"And there's the Dakota we know," Ryder laughs.

A server passes with a tray of champagne, and I snag two flutes. I hand one to Harmony, raising mine in a toast.

"To new beginnings," I say, eyes locked on hers.

"To new beginnings," she echoes, clinking her glass against mine.

The moment feels significant, like we're sealing something important. Six months ago, I was the team's resident fuck boy, allergic to commitment. Now I'm moving in with a woman who knows my fears and loves me anyway.

"Looks like Coach is giving the club president an earful," Asher observes, nodding toward the railing where Coach Mac's gesturing has grown more animated.

"Probably about using the facility for youth hockey outreach," I say. "He's been on that crusade all summer."

Harmony watches him with thoughtful eyes. "I like your coach. He reminds me of my advisor in grad school—gruff exterior, marshmallow interior."

"Don't let him hear you say marshmallow," I warn. "He'll have us doing suicides until we puke."

We drift toward the bar for refills, Harmony's hand in mine. The yacht club's deck is getting crowded as the sun begins its descent, painting the water in shades of gold and orange. A jazz quartet has set up in the corner, adding a soundtrack to the perfect evening.

"Happy?" I ask her as we wait for our drinks.

She studies me, those green eyes seeing straight through to the question behind my question. Am I enough? Are you sure about this? About us?

Her fingers brush my cheek, and I feel a spark – static from the dry air, but it jolts me nonetheless.

"Deliriously," she answers simply.

The bartender slides our drinks across the polished mahogany. I'm about to suggest we find a quiet corner to watch the sunset when I spot a familiar blond head entering the deck area. Kaleb Jensen, looking uncharacteristically nervous, which is weird enough to make me stare.

"Is that Kaleb?" Harmony asks, following my gaze.

"Yeah, but—" I stop mid-sentence when I notice he's not alone.

A petite brunette stands beside him, her hand clasped firmly in his. She's wearing a vintage-looking sundress and combat boots, an artistic misfit among the country club crowd. Her wavy brown hair is pulled into a messy bun, and she's laughing at something Kaleb says, her entire face lighting up.

"Holy shit," I mutter. "Kaleb brought a date."

Harmony raises an eyebrow. "Is that unusual?"

"Kaleb doesn't date," I explain, still staring. "He hooks up, sure, but he doesn't bring women around the team. Ever."

Our resident Viking looks different somehow—less rigid, more relaxed as he guides his mystery girl through the crowd. He spots us and changes direction, heading our way with determination.

"Incoming," I warn the others, who have also noticed the anomaly that is Kaleb Jensen with a woman in public.

"Afternoon," Kaleb says as they reach us, his voice carrying that hint of Canadian that gets stronger when he's nervous. "Nice day for it."

The girl beside him surveys us with curious blue eyes. There's something familiar about her face that I can't quite place.

"This is Hazel," Kaleb continues, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. "Hazel, these are my teammates—Dakota, Asher, Ryder. And Dakota's girlfriend, Harmony."

Hazel gives a small wave with her free hand. "The famous roommates. Kaleb's told me so much about you all."

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