Page 14 of The Pucking Arrangement

And apparently, she also sits back and laughs when a man tries to stick to a plan.

Because I’ve barely had five minutes to commit to keeping my distance, and already—already—my brain keeps pulling me right back to her.

Unbelievable.

I drag a hand down my face. No. There are a hundred solutions to this problem.

I’ll figure this out. I have a whole day.

And Pushkin can go to hell.

My hands tremble slightly as I pull up Galina’s contact. One ring. Two. My mind calculates the time difference—she’s somewhere in Asia, finally taking that luxury cruise she and Elena had planned together years ago. It took her three years after losing her daughter to find the strength for this trip. Three years of helping me raise Ris, of being the maternal presence my daughter needed while we all learned to live with the Elena-shaped hole in our lives.

“Dima!” Her warm voice floods the line, wrapping around me like a childhood blanket. Even from the middle of an ocean, she radiates that unmistakable Russian maternal energy. “What a lovely surprise! I was just thinking of calling you and Risochka.”

“Galina Petrovna.” I step away from the weight racks, switching to Russian. “How is your cruise?”

“Oh, magnificent! The ship just left Singapore. You should see the gardens here—absolutely stunning. How’s my precious granddaughter?”

My throat tightens. “About that. We have...a situation.”

I explain it all: Irina’s mother, the playoffs, and my desperate need for someone I can trust with Ris. With each word, the weight in my chest grows heavier.

“Ah, Dima.” She sighs, the kind that says she’s already calculating how to fix this for me. “Of course I’ll come. But the earliest I could reach New York would be in three weeks. We’re in the middle of the ocean.”

The faint flame of hope flickers, struggling. “Three weeks.” I drag a hand down my face. “No, don’t worry. Enjoy your cruise. I’ll figure out something temporary. When you dock in New York…?”

“I’ll be there,” she promises fiercely. “Anything for you and Risochka. You know that.”

“I know.” My voice is quiet and calmer than I feel. “Thank you, Galina Petrovna.”

We say our goodbyes, and I lower the phone, staring at the screen like it might offer me another solution.

“She can’t make it?” Liam’s voice breaks the silence.

I nod, slumping onto the bench. “She’s in Singapore. On a cruise ship.”

“Ah.”

“Three weeks.”

“Ah.”

Somewhere in the building, a door slams. Practice starts in an hour. At three, I need to pick up Ris from school. And I have no plan.

Fate, ever the fickle friend.

Liam snaps his fingers, dragging me out of my spiral. “Erin.”

My head jerks up. “What?” But I’m not really surprised. Just thrown by the fact that Liam is somehow reading my damn mind.

“Think about it. She’s finishing her degree, mostly doing small gigs. She’s great with kids—you saw that yourself. Plus…” He shrugs. “She needs the money for a new cello, and she won’t let me buy it for her.”

Something tightens in my chest. Erin. In my home. With Ris. Every day for three weeks.

Dangerous.

“I bet she has performances,” I argue weakly, even though I was just thinking how perfect she would be. Thinking how much I want her there.

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