Page 37 of The Hockey Contract

"The wedding photos," I suggested. "Olivia had them printed already."

"Perfect." She moved to another aisle, examining throw blankets with a critical eye. "These will add texture to the living room."

I followed her through the store, carrying baskets as she filled them with items—candles, small decorative objects, a few books chosen purely for their attractive covers. When we reached the kitchen section, her excitement visibly increased.

"This is what I really need," she said, examining high-quality baking pans. "If I'm going to be using that kitchen, I need proper equipment."

"Don't you have all this at the bakery?"

"That's commercial grade. I need home baking supplies." She selected a set of mixing bowls, then hesitated, checking the price tag before setting them down again.

I picked them up and put them in the cart. "Get what you need."

She frowned. "These are expensive. I can make do with less."

"You're saving my reputation with this arrangement. The least I can do is make sure you have decent baking equipment."

She studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. But just the essentials."

Her "essentials" turned out to include professional-grade measuring cups, a digital scale, specialty cake pans, and an impressive array of spatulas and whisks. As she deliberated over which pastry bags to select, I noticed her eyeing a stand mixer with barely concealed longing.

"Do you need that?" I asked, nodding toward the mixer.

She sighed. "Want, not need. I have one at the bakery."

When she moved to the next aisle, I quickly added the mixer to the cart, along with several attachments she'd mentioned would be "nice to have." The look on her face when she discovered them at checkout was worth every penny—surprise followed by a smile that lit up her entire face.

"You didn't have to do that," she said as we loaded bags into the car.

"Consider it a wedding present." I closed the trunk. "Besides, I'm looking forward to the results. That protein shake this morning was pretty sad."

"Is that a request for baked goods, Mr. Harrison?"

"Consider it strongly implied, Mrs. Harrison."

The new form of address hung between us for a moment, both a joke and a reminder of our altered status. I cleared my throat, suddenly uncomfortable with the easy banter.

"We should get back. It's late."

At home, we spent the next hour arranging our purchases around the house. Sienna moved with purpose, placing throw pillows, draping blankets, and positioning photo frames with the wedding pictures Olivia had delivered earlier.

"Hold this right here," she instructed, positioning me by the fireplace with a framed photo.

I obeyed, watching as she stepped back to assess the arrangement. "Does it really matter where these things go?"

"Absolutely." She moved a candle slightly to the left. "It's about creating vignettes—little moments that draw the eye."

"If you say so." I hung the photo where she indicated. "Is this part of your baker training? Home staging?"

She laughed. "No, just years of watching Home Remodeling shows while folding laundry. My apartment may be tiny, but it's cozy."

By midnight, the transformation was remarkable. My sterile, minimalist house now looked... lived in. Welcoming, even. Sienna had worked magic with a few hundred dollars' worth of accessories, somehow making the space reflect both our personalities despite the rushed timeline.

In the kitchen, she was arranging her new baking supplies in cabinets, a look of satisfaction on her face. I leaned against the counter, watching her work.

"Thank you," I said suddenly.

She glanced up, surprised. "For what?"

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