Page 41 of The Hockey Contract

"Well, hello there, Mr. Harrison," she said, her tone overly polite. "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"Just dropping off your boss," Jax replied. "And hoping for one of those chocolate things."

"Chocolate croissants," I corrected, tying on my apron. "Coming right up."

The afternoon rush kept me busy, but I was aware of Jax seated at a corner table, alternating between checking his phone and watching me work. He seemed genuinely interested in the bakery operations, occasionally asking questions about different pastries or baking techniques.

When a flour delivery arrived—fifty-pound bags that always left Chloe and me sore from hauling them inside—Jax immediately stepped up to help, lifting the heavy bags with ease and carrying them to the storage room.

"Your husband is handy," Chloe whispered as we watched him stack the bags. "And those arms... no wonder you're blushing."

"I'm not blushing," I hissed, though my cheeks felt warm. "It's hot in here."

"Mmhmm." Her knowing smirk was infuriating. "Hot indeed."

As closing time approached, Jax surprised me again by offering to help clean up. He rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt and joined us in wiping down counters and sweeping floors.

"You don't have to do this," I told him as he carefully cleaned the espresso machine under my direction.

"I don't mind," he said simply. "It's interesting seeing how a small business operates. My parents owned a hardware store when I was growing up."

This casual revelation—the first personal detail he'd volunteered about his childhood—caught my attention. "Really? You never mentioned that."

He shrugged. "It never came up."

"So retail is in your blood," I teased. "No wonder you're so good with customers."

The sarcasm made him smile. "I worked the register every summer from age twelve until I left for junior hockey. I hated it."

"Let me guess—you didn't enjoy making small talk with strangers?"

"I was terrible at it. My dad used to say I had the customer service skills of a cranky teen."

The image of teenage Jax glowering at customers from behind a cash register made me laugh. "Some things never change."

Chloe, who had been unusually quiet during this exchange, suddenly stepped between us. "While this domestic bliss is adorable, I need to ask Jax something."

Her serious tone made us both straighten up. "What is it?" Jax asked.

Chloe crossed her arms. "What are your intentions toward my best friend?"

"Chloe!" I exclaimed, mortified.

She ignored me, eyes fixed on Jax. "I'm serious. This whole arrangement seems nice and tidy on paper, but Sienna is giving up three months of her life for this. She's lying to her family, changing her routine, living with a stranger. Meanwhile, you get your endorsement deal and go back to being the Ice Man. Seems a little one-sided."

I wanted to sink through the floor, but to my surprise, Jax didn't dismiss the question. Instead, he seemed to genuinely consider it.

"You're right that Sienna is making significant sacrifices," he said finally. "I recognize that, and I'm grateful. My intention is to honor our agreement completely—financial support for the bakery, as promised, and making these three months as comfortable as possible for her."

Chloe narrowed her eyes. "And emotionally? Because living together, pretending to be in love—that gets messy. People develop feelings."

"Chloe, stop," I interrupted firmly. "Jax and I have an understanding. This is business."

"Everything's business until it isn't," she replied cryptically, then sighed. "Fine. I've said my piece. Just be careful, both of you."

An awkward silence fell over the bakery. I busied myself with closing procedures, embarrassed by Chloe's protective outburst but also touched by her concern.

As we drove home, the tension from Chloe's questioning lingered between us.

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