Page 127 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
By the time we pull into the driveway, the sky’s gone soft and gray, the kind of Carolina evening that smells faintly like rain. Eli’s still buzzing from practice, talking a mile a minute about his glove saves and how good it feels to be on NHL ice. I let him talk, just listening, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his knee.
He doesn’t notice how cleaned up the house looks until I turn the key in the lock and nudge the door open.
There are flowers on the counter—his favorites, the orange ones that look like they’re on fire. The dining table’s set, candles ready, and something warm and buttery is already in the oven.
Eli steps inside, blinking. “Did we get robbed by Martha Stewart?”
I smirk. “You’ll see.”
He doesn’t make it a few feet before he stops short. “Uh…did you cook?”
“Maybe,” I say, trying not to grin.
He sets his gear bag down just as his family comes around the corner from the kitchen.
“Surprise!”
His mom’s voice fills the house before she even rounds the corner. She’s wiping her hands on a dishtowel, already misty-eyed. My mom is right behind her, a smile on her face. His dad follows, grinning so wide it’s contagious, and Jules brings up the rear, phone raised to film the whole thing.
Eli blinks, frozen mid-step. “What—how—what are you guys doing here?”
“Celebrating,” Jules declares, panning her camera dramatically. “Carolina’s newest goalie and his very patient husband! Say hi to the internet!”
Ava laughs through a sniffle, reaching for him. “You didn’t think we’d miss this, did you? Your first day with the Hurricanes?”
“It’s so nice that you and Max are working for the same team,” my mom says, giving me a soft smile. “You two really don’t know how to do anything apart, do you?”
“That’s what makes them perfect,” Ava says, giving her a fond look. “They’re two halves of the same Christmas cookie, aren’t they?”
My mom chuckles. “Maybe—but they make a pretty perfect duo.”
They both laugh, the easy kind that says they’ve known each other a while now—shared holidays, dinners, and too many phone calls trading recipes and stories. Seeing them together still gets me sometimes.
Brett claps Eli on the back. “We’re proud of you, son. Both of you.”
Eli glances at me over his mom’s shoulder, eyes wide and shining. “You did this?”
I shrug, trying for casualness. “Maybe I made a few calls.”
He crosses the room in two strides and kisses me—full, easy, completely unguarded.
Jules groans behind her camera. “Ugh, you two are so gross. Can’t even give us a warning?”
His mom shakes her head with a smile. “Leave them alone, Jules. It’s sweet.”
Eli rests his forehead against mine, voice low enough only I can hear. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Worth it,” I murmur.
Dinner turns into a blur of warmth and noise. Jules keeps live-commentating, Ava insists on a dozen family photos, and Brett retells the story of Eli’s first hockey game like it’s a legend. My mom jumps right in with her own version of my first day on the ice, exaggerating just enough to make Eli snort into his drink. Ava teases her that they should start a podcast—Moms on Ice—and the two of them dissolve into laughter that fills the whole room.
By the time the dishes are stacked and the candles burn low, Eli leans into me on the couch, head tucked under my chin.
“You really did all this?” he asks.
“Wanted you to have something to come home to,” I say.
He looks up at me, eyes tired but happy. “You are home.”
