Page 61 of Trade Deadline

Dressed in black sweatpants and a light gray hoodie, his eyes widen in surprise when he sees how busy the store is and how alone I am.

Some of the waiting customers go silent in awe, before congratulating him on the wins over the last eight days. He’s the poster boy of a polite and friendly pro athlete when several ask for a selfie before his attention lands on me again.

“Do you mind if I jump in for a minute?” He asks the lady next in line.

“No, no, of course not. Go ahead.” She flashes a seductive smile, flicking her luscious brunette curls over her shoulder.

Jealousy bubbles inside me, and I have to suppress the snarl that threatens to escape at the playful wink he throws at her, but my anger soon fizzles out as he comes up to me. He’s so fucking gorgeous, even with his forehead creasing with a frown, eyes filling with concern.

“Are you okay? I saw your text after I got out of physio.” He looks around the bakery, searching.

I sent him a text on my way into work letting him know Jacob was sick and I wouldn’t be able to meet him for coffee during my lunch break like we’d planned.

“I know you said you couldn’t meet me for coffee, so I bought coffee for you.” His nervous smile warms my heart.

He’s trying so hard, it’s cute.

He holds up a cup from a coffee shop just around the corner, a paper bag, and a small bouquet of white tulips. “These are for you. I picked up a mozzarella and tomato panini; the barista said that you could reheat it in the microwave for twenty seconds and it’ll make the cheese all gooey again.”

I spot one girl filming on her phone, but it doesn’t seem to faze him that he’s showing this display of affection so publicly. His eyes remain focused on me.

If I wasn’t already close to crying from the stress of not wanting to let my brother down, I would break down from his kind gesture alone.

Nobody has ever done something like this for me before.

So thoughtful.

And I’m already falling, hard.

“Alex?”

His words break my train of thought, his eyebrow slightly quirked as he waits for an answer. “Is it okay if I help you out?” He asks.

Would that be okay?

Sure, he could help with serving or boxing up the baked goods. It’s not a difficult task, and I’m sure the customers won’t mind having to wait to be served when they have one of Chicago Thunder’s finest behind the counter.

Can I really ask that of him, though? A fucking NHL All-Star working behind the counter?

But I cave at the sight of his pleading eyes.

“Yeah, that would be amazing, thank you.” I nod quickly. “There’s an apron in the kitchen.”

He grins and makes his way around the counter, but before he can go through to the kitchen, I stop him with my hand on his arm. I give his very solid forearm a small squeeze, trying to let him know how much this means to me.

“Thank you for thinking of me. For the coffee and the flowers and the sandwich and…” I rapidly blink away the tears forming. My voice shakes as I whisper. “Thank you.”

His eyes light up as he smiles. “You’re welcome.”

A few minutes later, Blaine joins me behind the counter wearing a white apron with“Jacob's Delicious Desserts”embroidered on the front in pink cursive lettering. He ties it behind his back and rubs his hands together. “Now, who wants some cake?”

Everyone cheers.

I chuckle under my breath, quickly going through where the boxes and paper bags are kept, then get back to serving. The line keeps getting longer when word gets out that Blaine Olsen, star forward of the Chicago Thunder, is behind the counter boxing up cookies, cakes, and donuts, and within a couple of hours, we are completely sold out. I flip the closed sign, sending an apologetic smile to everyone who comes to the door, trying not to feel guilty from their disappointed faces.

After I flick the lock, I sag against the glass, letting out a heavy, tired sigh as I close my eyes.

“Wow, that was hard,” Blaine says from one of the booths.

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