Page 109 of In My Hockey Era
Lucy
The restaurant is the kind of place that makes me wish I’d worn a fancier dress.Not that I’m underdressed—Mia made sure of that before I left my apartment—but there’s something about the soft glow of candlelight, the gleam of crystal glasses, the quiet hum of conversation around us that just feels… elevated.
Bennett looks entirely at home, leaning back in his chair, broad shoulders relaxed, one hand lazily wrapped around the stem of his wine glass.He looks good.Annoyingly good.Black button-down rolled up to his forearms, top two buttons undone to show off a peek of his glorious chest.
I lift my own glass, taking a slow sip before setting it down.“It’s about time you took me out on a proper date.”
His lips curl slightly, amusement flickering across his face.“Oh yeah?”
I gesture to the candlelit table, the lobster appetizer, the wine that costs more than my weekly grocery budget.“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m very sentimental about all the times you’ve shown up at my apartment with takeout, and of course, I’ll always cherish that one very romantic time we spent eating nachos at the arena, but… this is nice, Wilder.”
His smirk deepens.“I had to set the bar high.Make sure you don’t go getting any ideas about trading me in for some guy who takes you to Chili’s.”
I arch a brow.“What’s wrong with Chili’s?Their southwestern eggrolls are killer.”
He laughs.“Then I’ll take you there.But only on our six-month anniversary.”
I nearly choke on my wine, barely managing to set the glass down without spilling.“Oh?We’re already making it to six months?”
His grin is lazy, cocky as ever.“Unless you plan on dumping me before then?”
He’s insufferable.And yet, warmth spreads through my chest anyway.
The server appears, placing our entrees in front of us—perfectly seared steaks, creamy mashed potatoes, a side of truffle fries I definitely don’t need but will eat every last one of.
I pick up my fork, ready to dig in, when I feel it.
Bennett’s gaze.
I glance up, and catch him watching me, his expression unreadable but steady, like he’s drinking me in.
I raise a brow.“You’re staring.”
He doesn’t even try to deny it, just shrugs and says, “Still getting used to having you back, Quinn.”
My stomach flips.
I love how he just bares his soul—says whatever’s on his mind.
Dinner passes in a blur of easy conversation.We argue about the latest ridiculous team trade rumors, I tell him about the elderly woman from work who called me “a very nice young man” because I had my hair pulled back, and he nearly chokes on his water laughing.It’s effortless, this back and forth we have.It always has been.
The plates are cleared, the last sip of wine finished, and I’m debating whether or not I have room for dessert when Bennett leans back in his chair, watching me with that unreadable look again.
“Wanna take a walk?”he asks casually.
I tilt my head.“A walk?”
“Yeah.There’s a place I saw earlier that I think you might like.”
I narrow my eyes, trying to gauge if he’s messing with me.But his expression stays frustratingly neutral.
I hesitate, just for a second.But then his hand extends across the table, palm up, waiting.
And before I can overthink it, I slide mine into his.
“Alright, Wilder.Lead the way.”
The night air is crisp as we step out of the restaurant, the glow of downtown lights reflecting off the sidewalk.My heels click against the pavement as we fall into step together, the hum of the city buzzing in the background.
