Page 45 of The Hockey Contract

Her expression shifted to something I couldn't quite read—surprise mingled with vulnerability. "Thank you," she said quietly. "That means a lot."

The oven timer saved us from another charged moment. As Sienna removed perfectly golden cookies from the oven, I found myself thinking that in all my years of living in this house, this was the first time it had ever smelled like a home.

The next morning, I woke to find a plate of cookies beside my bed with a simple note, "Thanks for your help at the bakery yesterday. –S"

I ate one before my morning workout—a cardinal sin in my usual nutrition plan—and found myself smiling at the memory of flour clouds and gentle hands guiding mine.

At practice, I skated harder than usual, channeling my confused energy into physical exertion. Coach Miller noticed immediately.

"Whatever's gotten into you, Harrison, keep it up," he barked after I executed a perfect defensive play during scrimmage. "Best I've seen you look all season."

In the locker room afterward, the guys were merciless.

"Look at Harrison, skating like he's trying to impress someone," Reynolds called across the room. "Honeymoon phase really got you, huh?"

He continued, mimicking stirring with an imaginary bowl, "And those kitchen shots, man—never thought I'd see the day. She must be something special to have the Ice Man moonlighting as Pastry Chef."

I expected to feel annoyed, but instead found myself almost proud. "She owns a bakery. I was helping."

"Helping, he says." Anders raised an eyebrow. "Is that what they call it these days?"

Even Marco, who'd been the most skeptical about Sienna, grudgingly admitted: "She seems pretty cool, though. For a civilian."

"High praise from Marco," Finn said, throwing a towel at him. "Speaking of which, Willow wants you and Sienna to come to dinner tonight. Our place, around seven."

The invitation caught me off guard. While Finn and I were friends on the ice and occasionally grabbed beers with the team, I rarely socialized outside mandatory team functions. My instinct was to decline, but I realized this was exactly the kind of normal couple activity that would reinforce our marriage narrative.

"I'll check with Sienna, but it should be fine," I found myself saying.

"Great. Willow's making her famous lasagna." Finn grinned. "Bring wine or dessert. Or both, since you're married to a baker."

In the car, I texted Sienna about the dinner invitation, surprised by the quick, enthusiastic response:

Sounds fun! I'll bring dessert. What time should we be ready?

Her easy acceptance sent an unexpected wave of pleasure through me. I found myself looking forward to the evening—a novel feeling for someone who usually dreaded social obligations.

On the way home, I realized I had no idea what constituted an appropriate hostess gift. After a brief internal debate, I did something I rarely did—I called my mother.

"Jackson?" Her surprised voice answered on the third ring. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine, Mom." I navigated through traffic. "I just need some advice."

"Advice? From me?" The shock in her voice made me wince internally. Had I really become so distant?

"We're having dinner at a teammate's house tonight. Sienna's bringing dessert, but I thought we should bring something else. Wine, maybe?"

"Oh!" My mother's tone warmed immediately. "How thoughtful. Yes, wine is always appropriate. Red if they're serving beef or pasta, white for chicken or fish."

"It's lasagna."

"Then a nice Chianti or Cabernet Sauvignon would be perfect." She paused. "It's so nice to hear from you, especially about something like this. How are things with Sienna?"

The genuine interest in her voice made me realize how rarely I shared any personal details with my parents. "Things are good," I said, surprised to find I mostly meant it. "She's not what I expected."

"In a good way, I hope?"

"Yeah." I found myself smiling. "In a good way."

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