Page 43 of Pucks, Lies, and Sticktape

His teasing expression softened instantly. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” he said quietly, as if the very idea of her thoughtfulness overwhelmed him.

“I know,” she admitted, her voice dipping into something more vulnerable. She lowered her gaze for a beat, then lifted it again, meeting his with open honesty. “But I wanted to because I’m happy.” She swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed in a way she hadn’t expected. “I’m really happy and so glad you picked me that day. Does that make sense? I wanted to say thank you for choosing me, saving me. It means a lot to me.”

His breath hitched. Something deep flickered in his expression—something tender, something raw.

“Jeannie,” he murmured, his voice rough with feeling. His fingers curled around the bag, but his eyes stayed locked on hers,unwavering. “You saved me and gave me a chance here, so it’s me that should be thanking you.”

Her chest tightened, emotion swelling between them, too large to contain. She laughed softly, trying to lighten the moment, waving toward the bag to break the weight of it. “You are making more of this than what it is…”

He chuckled, shaking his head as if he disagreed, but he still obeyed, finally shifting his attention to the gift in his hands. “Are you sure? I can wait.”

“You could open it now while I fix our plates because that smells delicious, and I’m hungry,” she urged, moving toward the small table where their dinner waited, the scent of warm food filling the cozy space.

She watched from the corner of her eye as he peeled away the wrapping, his movements slow, almost reverent. His fingers brushed over the edges of the box, hesitating for a split second before he finally lifted the lid.

His lips parted.

A quiet breath escaped him, stunned.

“What’s this…” he exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers traced the contents with something akin to awe. “Jeannie…”

She turned back toward him, her heart pounding a little harder now. “It’s just a little something.”

But he didn’t hear her. Or maybe he did, but he was too caught up in what he held.

“These are…oh Jeannie, you don’t know guys and their gear,” he breathed, unwrapping each piece with careful hands. “We’re so picky, and this—this is state of the art, straight-up, fantastic…”

Then, in a move that startled her, he tossed it wildly across the floor.

Jeannie’s mouth opened, about to protest, when she saw the skate guard wobble, roll, and then—miraculously—turn face-up on its own. A deep, childlike laugh burst from Matthieu’s lips, bright and unrestrained. He grabbed the other guard, launching it just as wildly, watching with glee as it too tumbled and landed upright.

“FREAKIN’ SWEET!” he shouted, eyes wide with wonder. “Did you see that?!”

His joy was infectious.

She found herself smiling so hard it hurt, warmth spreading through her at the sight of him so openly delighted. His face was a perfect mix of awe and excitement, but beneath it all, there was something more—something deeper, something almost reverent in the way he looked at her.

“Oh, babe, that’s amazing,” he chuckled, scooping them up just to toss them again, watching them roll upright with giddy excitement. “The guys are gonna be so jealous.”

“It took me so long because your number is engraved on the side,” she murmured, biting her lip as she watched him.

His head snapped up at that, a slow grin stretching across his face. “Ha! So the twerps can’t steal ‘em…” He let out a happy sigh, shaking his head in pure appreciation. “Not that they would, but you know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“Salas calls us the ‘Stick Mafia’ now because we’re always looking out for each other—on the ice, at home—it’s pretty nice. But I get it now because if someone touches my guards…” He flashed her a mischievous grin. “They’re gonna get shanked in the kidney.”

“Matthieu!” she gasped, half-laughing, half-scolding.

“What?” He threw the guards again, watching them roll upright before looking back at her, his grin softening into something far more intimate. His voice dropped lower, awarmth laced in every word. “You don’t know how much I love these. I hate putting my guards on because they’re a pain in the butt.”

“Well, maybe now it’s going to be easier.”

“I like that you think of me,” he said, his gaze locking onto hers with something deep and steady. “That you care…”

He shifted, circling the coffee table with an ease that sent her pulse skittering. His expression turned serious—not heavy, but intent.

“Drop the spoon, babe…”

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