Page 48 of The Hockey Contract

"Yellow. Not bright yellow—more like buttery, warm yellow." I made a note. "Favorite food?"

"My mom's lasagna." His answer came without hesitation. "Specifically her recipe with the three different cheeses and homemade sauce that takes all day. You?"

"Fresh bread, right out of the oven, with good butter. Simple but perfect." I smiled at his raised eyebrow. "What? I'm a baker. Bread is fundamental."

We continued through the basics. His favorite movies were old black and white films, surprisingly, while mine were romantic comedies. He liked classic rock, while I preferred indie folk. He read historical nonfiction, while I devoured mysteries. He played hockey but watched basketball, while I didn't watch sports but had done competitive dance as a child.

As we moved beyond surface details, the conversation deepened.

"Tell me about your brother," I suggested, remembering a photo I'd seen in his office. "He's younger, right?"

Something in Jax's expression softened. "Alex. Three years younger. He's a high school hockey coach in Minnesota. Complete opposite of me—outgoing, funny, everyone's favorite."

"You two are close?"

"Very. He's the only one who..." Jax paused, considering his words. "Who sees past the 'Ice Man' stuff. Never bought into that narrative."

I found myself genuinely interested, not just collecting information for our charade. "Does he play professionally too?"

"Could have. Had the talent." A shadow crossed Jax's face. "Blew out his knee senior year of high school. Three surgeries, but it was never the same."

"That must have been hard for both of you."

Jax nodded, his eyes distant. "It was. I felt guilty, continuing my career when his was over before it began. But Alex isn't the type to wallow. Got his teaching degree, found his calling coaching kids. He's happier than most pro players I know."

The vulnerability in his voice, the genuine affection for his brother—these weren't rehearsed details but real emotions I hadn't expected from the usually guarded Jax.

"What about your parents?" I asked. "What should I know?"

"My dad, Robert, was a hardware store owner, but hockey was his passion. Never played professionally, so he channeled that into coaching youth leagues. He's... intense. Expects excellence, doesn't sugar-coat criticism." Jax twisted his wedding ring absently. "My mom, Nancy, is the peacemaker. Kindergarten teacher, eternal optimist, makes friends with everyone she meets. They're opposites, but it works somehow."

"How will they react to me?"

Jax met my eyes. "My mom will love you instantly. She's been worrying about me being alone for years. My dad..." He hesitated. "He'll be reserved at first. Protective. He doesn't trust easily, especially when it comes to me and hockey."

I nodded, filing away this information. "What about when you were a kid? Any stories I should know?"

Something close to a smile touched his lips. "I was obsessed with becoming a professional hockey player from age five. Had my whole career planned out. Used to make Alex be the goalie while I practiced shots for hours. Poor kid."

"Always the serious one, even then?"

"According to family legend, I once made a presentation at age nine explaining why I should be allowed to attend an elite hockey camp. Complete with statistics and a cost-benefit analysis."

I laughed, trying to picture a miniature, earnest Jax with a presentation pointer. "Did it work?"

"Of course. I was very thorough." His almost-smile widened into something genuine. "Your turn. Tell me about growing up with professional photographers as parents."

I hugged my knees to my chest, surprised he remembered that detail from a previous conversation. "It was... unpredictable. They traveled constantly for assignments— some major publications. I spent a lot of time with my grandmother while they were away."

"That's how you got into baking?"

I nodded. "Grandma Rose made it an adventure. We'd pretend we were scientists, experimenting with recipes. She'd let me measure ingredients, even when I made a mess. It was the steadiest part of my childhood—flour, sugar, butter, the bakery schedule."

"You miss her," Jax observed quietly.

"Every day." I swallowed the unexpected emotion. "The bakery is my connection to her. That's why I'm so determined to save it, no matter what."

"Even if it means marrying a stranger?"

---