Page 103 of Across the Boards

“I’ve noticed,” he says with a small smile.

“So when I say we’re officially dating, it means I’ve thought about it. Probably overthought it. And decided it’s worth the risk.” I take a sip of coffee, suddenly needing something to do with my hands. “Despite your questionable tendency to solve problems with your fists.”

“Only very specific problems,” he clarifies. “Namely, ones that insult you.”

“Still not necessary,” I remind him. “But I appreciate the sentiment, if not the execution.”

His phone buzzes from the counter, and he glances at it with a grimace. “Coach. Apparently my punishment meeting has been moved up. I need to head to the facility in twenty.”

“Duty calls,” I say, trying not to feel disappointed at the abbreviated breakfast. “Will you be suspended?”

“Probably not. First offense this season, and Jason was clearly provoking me.” He stands, collecting our plates. “Maybe a PR thing, definitely some extra conditioning. Worth every burpee.”

As he rinses the dishes (another point in his favor—he cleans up after himself), I remember the email that arrived yesterday before all the hockey drama.

“I need to tell you something,” I say. “I’m going to be away next week. There’s a technical editing conference in Seattle I’ve committed to attend.”

He turns, leaning against the counter. “Seattle? For how long?”

“A week. Monday through Friday.” I watch his face carefully, looking for signs of displeasure or suspicion—Jason always hated when I traveled without him. “It’s been planned for months, and I’m giving a presentation on Wednesday and moderating a panel on Thursday.”

“That’s awesome,” he says, his enthusiasm seeming genuine. “Big honor to moderate, right?”

“It is, actually,” I say, surprised by his understanding. “The panel includes some major names in the field.”

“You’ll crush it.” He dries his hands on a dish towel. “Our road trip starts Tuesday—three games in four nights against the California teams. So our timing actually works out pretty well.”

No suspicion. No passive-aggressive comments about abandonment. Just simple acceptance of my professional commitments. It shouldn’t feel revolutionary, but it does.

“We can text,” I offer. “Maybe call when our schedules align.”

“Definitely.” He moves closer, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear in a gesture that’s becoming familiar. “And we’ll have our second official date when we’re both back. Something special to make up for the abbreviated breakfast.”

“Sounds nice.” I smile, still getting used to this—to planning future dates, to having someone look at me the way he’s looking at me now, like I’m something precious.

“Can I kiss you goodbye?” he asks, those blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Or is that too presumptuous for our official dating status?”

“I think we’ve established that kissing is acceptable,” I say dryly, though my heart picks up speed. “Just be careful of your jaw.”

“Worth the risk,” he murmurs, leaning down to press his lips to mine.

It’s a gentle kiss, mindful of his injuries, but there’s a promise in it that makes my toes curl against the kitchen tile. When he pulls back, we’re both a little breathless.

“I’ll call you after my meeting with Coach,” he says, reluctantly stepping away. “Let you know my punishment details.”

“I’ll be waiting with bated breath,” I joke, following him to the door.

“You mock, but I might have to do wall sits until my legs fall off. Your sympathy would be appreciated.”

“I’ll prepare my sympathetic expression,” I promise, gesturing to my face with exaggerated solemnity.

He laughs, wincing again at the motion. “See you later, Waltman.”

“Good luck with Coach, Carter.”

As the door closes behind him, I lean against it, trying to process the whirlwind of the past twenty-four hours. I’m dating Brody Carter. My ex-husband got punched on national television. I’m wearing hockey jerseys again. My carefully constructed post-Jason life has been completely upended in the span of a month.

And strangely, I don’t hate it.

---