Page 107 of Coach's Temptation

Un-fucking-believable.

Natalie clears her throat, her grip tightening around my forearm like a warning. I glance down at her, softened by how fucking hard she’s trying to keep this together.

She’s so much warmer, kinder, full of light. And it’s becoming more and more obvious she got none of it from them as they move around the apartment, critiquing every square inch.

Natalie's right.

This isn’t just a shitty dinner.

This is a damn survival mission.

Regardless, I get to work in the freshly reno'd kitchen and set the dining table to perfection as Natalie continues the steady defense of her Grandmother's preserved apartment.

I place freshly-cut flowers in the center of the table, a rich bottle of Cabernet breathing just right, and a spread of carefully plated dishes I've had cooking in the oven: garlic-herb roasted chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, and rosemary-infused green beans.

I’ve even fucking timed the bread rolls so they’d come out warm, soft, and golden right as we all finally sit down around the table.

"Well, what do you think, Mr. and Mrs. Hayes?" I ask, slicing into the chicken. "Did Nat do a good job of this place, or what?"

“It's nice,” Martha says, taking a small sip of wine. “A bit rustic, but charming.”

Rustic.

Charming.

Like she’s describing adecentAirbnb, not her daughter’s goddamn home. I swallow a sharp remark and focus on carving the chicken instead.

Harold, meanwhile, chews slowly, nodding once. “Chicken’s good.”

Natalie gapes and stares at me as if to say:was that a compliment?!

I spear another piece of chicken and drop it onto his plate. Natalie shoots me a look, her lips twitching like she’s fighting not to laugh.

Conversation is pleasant while we eat, and we get to talking about Vegas and the upcoming playoff finals. I manage to skip around any mention of Team USA and the rumors, but something tells me Natalie's parents aren't exactly 'up to date' with the goings-on of the hockey world.

As we finish up, Martha dabs the corners of her mouth with her napkin, eyes flicking across the dining room.

“Well, at least you’ve finally got this place looking presentable. I still don’t understand why you didn’t just sell it.”

I set my fork down carefully, exhaling through my nose before speaking. “Well, I think it's because this apartment isn’t just a building. It’s a home.”

Martha almost ignores me, and focuses on Natalie instead. "It was your grandmother’s home. And it felt like it, too... if you know what I mean.”

Natalie sips her wine and shrugs. "I liked it, Mom. I always have."

She tilts her head, as if that should mean nothing. “Still, selling it would’ve been the smarter financial move.”

I sit back in my chair, finally letting my frustration show. “I don't think money is everything, Mrs. Hayes. And some things are worth preserving. Some people, and their memories, are worth preserving too.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn’t argue.

Because she knows I’m right.

I reach for my wine. “Natalie grew up here. She read books with her grandmother in that window seat. She learned to love the world in this apartment. So yeah, I think restoring it is the perfect tribute to such a loving home. Because some things are worth keeping.” I glance toward the hallway. “Which is why I made sure to restore the old curtains.”

Natalie’s fork clatters onto her plate and she exchanges glances between her mother and me.

“What?” she breathes.

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