Page 27 of Playing for Keeps

Emerson slides me half the apple, and I place my hand on top of hers. “What’s up? Something’s different about you.” When she shakes her head, I raise a brow at her. “You were just staring out the window in the dark, and now you’re slicing up fruit like a robot. Talk to me, Salty.”

I bite into the apple, and she slumps forward, shaking her head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I can’t work with the music program. I can’t work anywhere.”

I slide onto the stool across from her. “What do you mean? Why not?”

“I have no work experience. You can’t gain experience without experience. Apparently.”

“Hmm.” I pop another apple slice into my mouth and nudge the cutting board toward Emerson, who hasn’t had any yet. “I know what you mean. This is actually my first job, too.” She huffs. I laugh. “Isn’t that wild? First job? Pro hockey goalie.”

“My first job was supposed to be with the symphony. So, I guess it’s not wild to me.”

We munch on fruit until the apple is finished. I scratch my neck, deep in thought. “You’ve played gigs before, though. Don’t those count as jobs?”

“You’ve played games before, too.”

“Fair. I got endorsements in college, though. Small ones.” I hold up my thumb and forefinger close together, recalling the low four-figure checks from video games and, once, a soup cracker deal. I pat her hand. “You’ll figure this out, Emerson, because you’re tough and smart. But let me know if I can do anything, okay?”

She shrugs, still looking down, but she agrees to cuddle with me on the couch while watchingYellowstone,so the evening still ends on a good note.

Emerson’s mood is low the next few days, but by Friday she seems to be all business. The plan is for me to rush home after practice, jump into my tux, and she’ll arrange for a car to get us to the gala. I have half a mind to walk since it’s only a few blocks up the hill, but my bride will be in heels, and that hardly seems fair.

We haven’t talked about anything substantial for the rest of this week, and we haven’t hooked up again either. It’s as if we’re really married now, stuck in the rut of routine. But a man can dream about his curvy wife in her sexy dress, right?

By the time I get myself situated on Friday, she’s dressed and smelling amazing. A scarf is draped around her shoulders, and her hair shines, cascading down her back in loose waves. I can’t focus on my tie after seeing her. It feels like the dress has become sexier since I last saw her try it on. Or perhaps she has just grown more beautiful the more I get to know her.

“Salty. Damn.” I swallow.

A gorgeous pink flush creeps up her cheeks, but she says, “You look nice, too, husband.”

“You’re not going to give me a nickname? I worked so hard on yours.”

Emerson snorts. “I’m not really a nickname person. You might be the only person I know who uses one.”

“Ah, babe. You can do it.” I finally get the tie sorted and dust off my shoulders, giving a little spin as she assesses me with a nod and a smile.

She sticks her tongue out. “What about Smalls? Because you’re so big…”

I wink at her. “I remember telling you to always remind me of that.”

We talk about nicknames as we wait for the elevator, as I open her car door, and as we pull up to the event. We get ushered into a new therapy suite in the hospital for kids with injuries. I learn that they have the most up-to-date rehab equipment for pediatric patients.

“Mr. and Mrs. Stag? Right this way.” A staffer greets us at the door. Emerson seems ready to just brush inside, but I pause.

“My wife is Ms. Saltzer.”

The young woman’s brows shoot up. “My apologies, sir. I will make a note of that for next time.” She hurries off, muttering into her headset.

Emerson frowns. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did. They had your name wrong. What if there were place cards?”

She rolls her eyes. “Gunnar. Your whole job here is to make people feel comfortable.” She gestures around the room. “These are the wealthy donors. You are the face of the organization. They can call me Mrs. Stag.”

“Well, I would like them to call you Ms. Saltzer.”

She’s about to snap back at me, but someone else approaches us at high speed. Another staff member, by the looks of it. “Mr. Stag, we were hoping we could get some photographs with you and some of the patients before things get rolling in here, if that’s okay?”

I nod. “Of course.” This is why I’m here. Kids and puppies. Or just the kids, I guess.

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