Page 195 of Check & Chase
I think about it, mentally going through our combined circles. “Small. Family, close friends, teammates. Maybe fifty people total?”
“Workable. What about colors? Theme?”
“Light greens, maybe some baby pink accents, and lots of white. Something elegant but not overly formal.”
The hotel room door opens before she can reply, Chase returning from his morning skate. He looks tired but relaxed, hair still damp from a shower.
“Maya,” I explain, pointing to the phone. “Wedding stuff.”
He raises an eyebrow, crossing to press a kiss to my forehead. “Already?”
“She doesn’t waste time,” I tell him, putting the call on speaker. “Maya, Chase is here.”
“Perfect! Chase, I need your lake house contact info—caretaker, property manager, whoever handles the place. Also, any restrictions on vendors, parking limitations, that sort of thing.”
Chase blinks, clearly unprepared for the barrage of questions. “Uh, I can email you the caretaker’s info. Guy named Frank Dobson. No real restrictions that I know of, though we’ll need to rent portable bathrooms since the house only has three.”
“Already on my list. Any strong opinions about food, drinks, music?”
He glances at me. “Not really. Whatever makes Emma happy.”
“Dangerous words,” I warn him. “I could go full bridezilla now.”
“I trust you.” He shrugs, the simple statement warming me. “Just nothing too loud.”
Maya laughs through the speaker. “Noted. How about late July? Last weekend? Gives you a honeymoon buffer before training camp starts.”
Chase and I exchange glances, having a silent conversation. We both nod.
“July 26th,” I confirm. “If you can make it work.”
“Consider it done. Now, Emma, I’ll email you some dress options. Chase, stay out of that email if you’re superstitious about seeing the dress beforehand.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he agrees solemnly, though his hand is creeping up my thigh in a decidedly un-solemn manner.
“I’ll let you two go. Game four tonight, right? Good luck! Call me tomorrow with any thoughts on those dress links.”
“Thanks, Maya. For everything.” My voice hitches as Chase’s hand slides higher.
The call ends, and I turn to Chase with narrowed eyes. “Behave yourself.”
“I did,” he protests innocently. “Didn’t make a sound.”
“Your hands weren’t behaving.” But I’m already melting as he leans in, lips brushing my neck. “We have a game in seven hours.”
“Plenty of time,” he argues, hand now fully under my shirt. “Pre-game nap doesn’t start until two.”
“Ever think maybe you should actually nap during your nap time?”
“Sleep is overrated.” He pulls back to look at me. “Emma Anderson, soon-to-be Mitchell, will you please let me make love to my fiancée before I have to go play one of the biggest games of my career?”
Put like that, how can I refuse?
I lie curled against his side afterward, listening to his heartbeat.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks.
“How insane this all is,” I admit. “A year ago, I was finishing my PT program, swearing I’d never date another hockey player after Tyler, terrified of even stepping near the ice. Now I’m engaged to you, working for the Wolves, and sitting in a hotel room in Seattle during the Stanley Cup Finals.”
