Page 44 of The Hockey Contract

She jumped slightly, hand going to her chest. "You move too quietly for someone your size."

"Sorry." I moved to the refrigerator for water. "What are you making at midnight?"

"Chocolate chip cookies." She continued measuring. "Stress baking. It helps me process."

"Process what?"

She shrugged. "Everything. The photoshoot. The attention. This whole..." She gestured vaguely between us. "Situation."

I watched her methodically cream butter and sugar, her movements confident and practiced. There was something mesmerizing about the way she worked, a rhythm and purpose I found myself drawn to.

"Teach me," I said suddenly, surprising myself as much as her.

She looked up, confusion clear on her face. "Teach you what?"

"How to make cookies." I set down my water and approached the counter. "If I'm going to be photographed baking, I should probably know the basics."

A smile tugged at her lips. "The great Jax Harrison wants baking lessons at midnight?"

"Is there a better time?"

"Fair point." She pulled another mixing bowl from the cabinet. "Wash your hands. Baking rule number one."

For the next thirty minutes, I followed her instructions, measuring flour, apparently it matters how you scoop it. Adding chocolate chips, there's a right amount, and then there's the correct amount, which is more. Learning the importance of not overmixing, it makes cookies tough, apparently.

"Now for the most important part," Sienna said, demonstrating with her bowl. "Creaming the butter and sugar properly creates tiny air pockets that make the cookies light instead of dense."

I mimicked her movements, but apparently not well enough.

"No, like this." She moved behind me, reaching around to place her hands over mine on the mixing bowl. "You need to press the butter against the side of the bowl, then fold it back into the sugar."

Her body pressed against my back as she guided my hands, her chin nearly resting on my shoulder. The clean scent of her shampoo mingled with the vanilla and butter, creating an intoxicating combination. I found myself hyperaware of every point where her body touched mine—her chest against my back, her arms alongside mine, her breath warm against my neck.

Suddenly, my grip slipped on the mixing bowl, sending a cloud of flour into the air between us. A patch landed directly on my dark t-shirt, standing out starkly against the fabric.

"Oh!" Sienna pulled back, laughing. "Sorry about that."

Without thinking, she reached out to brush the flour from my chest, her fingers lingering longer than necessary. The simple touch sent an electric current through me. I inhaled sharply, caught off guard by my body's immediate response to her proximity.

Her eyes met mine, her hand still resting lightly on my chest. For a moment, neither of us moved, the atmosphere between us suddenly charged with something beyond our carefully maintained boundaries.

Then she laughed—a slightly nervous sound—and stepped back. "Hazard of baking lessons. Flour gets everywhere."

The moment broke, but the memory of her touch lingered as we finished the cookies in a strange new tension that hadn't existed before. We worked side by side, careful not to brush against each other again, our conversation reduced to basic instructions and brief responses.

When the cookies were finally baking, filling the kitchen with their sweet aroma, Sienna leaned against the counter, arms crossed protectively across her chest.

"So," she said, breaking the awkward silence. "Did you learn anything?"

"Several things," I replied, meaning far more than just baking techniques. "Mainly that there's a reason I stick to protein shakes."

That earned a genuine laugh, easing some of the tension. "You did well for a beginner. Not bad hand-eye coordination for a hockey player."

"High praise from a master baker."

Her smile softened. "Hardly a master. Just carrying on my grandmother's legacy."

"You sell yourself short." I surprised myself with the sincerity in my voice. "What I saw at the bakery today—the way you connect with customers, how you talk about your recipes, the care you put into everything—that's special, Sienna. Real skill, not just inherited recipes."

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