Page 70 of Cross Check Hearts

“Yeah, I could eat.”

“Then I’ll whip something up for us. Come on.” He climbs out of bed, pulling his pants back on.

My clothes are on the floor too, but I spot his shirt first and roll out of bed to grab it and throw it over my head. When he glances over and sees me in it, a beaming smile splits his face.

“As much as I love seeing you naked, I could get used to seeing you wearing that too,” he says as he saunters over to me and pulls me into him to kiss me. I linger in it for a few seconds, feeling every inch of my body responding to his kiss and touch, but pull back before we’re tempted to tumble back into bed. Declan smirks. “Right. We’ve got dinner to make.”

He takes my hand in his and walks me out to the kitchen where he pulls out one of the bar stools tucked under the island. He pats it. “Have a seat. I’ll take care of the food.”

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?”

“I appreciate it, but I’m good,” he says and makes his way to the fridge to check what I have on hand. I’m more than a little embarrassed to admit that it isn’t much, but I’m so busy with school and my yoga classes that I rarely have time to cook anything. I usually don’t buy much for the same reason because it all ends up going bad before I ever have the chance to cook it.

“Kind of slim pickings, isn’t it?” Declan asks with his head still in the fridge as he pushes things around looking for anything he can use.

“Yeah, it’s probably obvious, but I don’t cook much.”

“I kind of thought that might be the case. But that’s alright. I’m sure I can come up with something,” he says and walks over to the small pantry on the other side of the kitchen to open it. It’s even barer than my fridge is. I use it so infrequently that part of me is surprised bats didn’t fly out. “Aha, here we go. Can’t beat a simple spaghetti.” He reaches for the sole box of spaghetti noodles on the shelf and closes the door behind himself.

“But I don’t have any pasta sauce. Or at least not that I know of.”

Declan breaks open the box of noodles to check they haven’t gone stale, but he must be satisfied with them because he smiles and walks them over to the stove.

“No, but you do have these tomatoes that are starting to turn, so I think I can work with that,” he says and points at two tomatoes I have sitting on the windowsill above the sink. One of my yoga students brought them to me from their garden, and I’ve been meaning to use them to make some BLTs, but it just never happened.

“Good thinking.”

Declan starts opening cabinets, looking for a knife and cutting board, so I direct him where to find things then listen to the soft sound of his knife against the cutting board as he dices the tomatoes. “You have any garlic or onion hiding in here anywhere?”

“No, but I have garlic powder and onion flakes in the spice rack.”

He smirks. “That’ll have to do.”

He pulls a pan from the rack hanging on the wall and sets it on the stove, then picks up the olive oil dispenser next to it to coat the pan while it heats. When it’s ready, he uses his knife to slide the tomato chunks into the pan, and they sizzle to life. He adds good amounts of garlic powder and onion flakes, fills up a pot with water and starts it boiling, then turns to me and leans against the counter while he has a break.

“So I got an offer to give a speech at one of the high schools here,” he says. “Bear River High.”

“What, really? That’s amazing. What do they want you to talk about?”

“I think they just want me to give something motivational. You know, show the kids they can do anything if they put their minds to it. But I don’t really want to do it.”

That surprises me because it sounds exactly like the kind of thing he’d enjoy and be good at. “Why not?”

Declan laughs and shakes his head. “I fucking suck at public speaking thanks to my dyslexia. I don’t know how I’m supposed to inspire these kids by struggling to read a speech I wrote,” he says and my heart clenches in my chest. I hate hearing him talk about himself like this.

“That’s not true. You’re amazing. I mean, you’re the newest player on the best team in the NHL. That’s not nothing.”

Declan stares at me for a second like he wants to say something smart back, but the words won’t come. Instead, he turns to stir the sizzling tomatoes and check on the water. I don’t want to press him if he’s feeling uncomfortable, so I decide to change the subject.

“You’re not the only one getting extra work. The owner of the yoga studio, Patricia, wants me to take on even more classes, but there’s no way I can. I’m way too busy with school.”

“Then you should tell her that. Or maybe make a compromise that you’ll do more when the semester is over?”

“That’s not a bad idea, but I don’t know if she’ll go for it. Ugh, I wish I could just open up my own studio, then I wouldn’t have to worry about any of this. I could just do classes at times that work for me.”

Even as the words come out of my mouth, I feel silly for saying them. Whatever else happens for me, owning a yoga business isn’t likely to be in my future. It’s not like a yoga business is going to pay anywhere near as much as being a lawyer will. But even if that wasn’t the case, starting a business feels so far away, so out of reach.

“I mean, I know having my own business would be harder than just teaching classes. But I don’t have the business acumen for it anyway, so it’s a moot point.”

---