Page 181 of The Pucking Arrangement

I wait, my pulse pounding in my throat. Watching. Praying.

The apartment stretches before us—windows framing a perfect slice of Central Park, afternoon sunlight spilling across hardwood floors. Empty. Waiting. A blank canvas.

Erin takes a step, hesitant, her fingers trailing along the marble countertop. “What’s this?” Her voice is small, careful.

“An apartment.”

She shoots me a look. “I can see that, smartass.” Her gaze sweeps the room again, brow furrowed. “Why are we here?”

I don’t answer right away. Instead, I watch her take it in—the crown molding, the prewar details, the kind of Upper East Side luxury she once described with a wistful sigh, unaware I’d memorized every word.

“Remember when you said you’d live in a fancy Upper East Side building someday? When you were a real grown-up musician?”

Her head snaps toward me, eyes wide. “At my student’s place.”

“Good memory.” I step closer, pulse kicking up a notch. “You said it was a dream.”

Something shifts in her expression—realization dawning slowly, cautiously. “Dmitri…”

I pull the second key from my pocket, holding it out. “Welcome home,solnyshko.”

She goes still. Her eyes flick to the key, then back to me. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

She stops, her brow furrowing. “Wait. How the hell did you even manage this in, what, a couple of weeks? Buying in the city takes months, Dmitri. Even for you.”

I smirk. “It’s still in contract. Jacob Levinson hooked me up with his brother, a big-shot Manhattan real estate agent. Technically, we shouldn’t even have the keys yet, but hey, VIP treatment. Gotta love being a hockey star.”

Her jaw drops. “You’re telling me Emma’s dad helped you find this place?”

I shrug. “Had to promise to coach his kid’s hockey league here in the city. Like I did in Tarrytown.”

She blinks at me. “You agreed to that?”

My lips twitch. “What can I say? I’m a team player.” I close the distance between us, needing to touch her, to anchor us both. “I almost let you walk away. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Her lips part, but no sound comes out. A heartbeat later, her eyes shine with something raw, something too big for words. Panic grips my chest. Shit. This isn’t how I pictured this going.

“Hey.” I cup her face, my thumbs brushing away the tears before they can fall. “Don’t cry.”

She lets out a wobbly breath. “What about Tarrytown? What about Ris’s school? Your hockey practice?”

“Ris starts at Marymount in the fall.” I press a kiss to her forehead, breathing her in. “Where a certain cello teacher might see her between lessons.”

Her brows knit. “But?—”

“Galina’s taking the house in Tarrytown. She’ll be with Ris when we both travel. When you’re touring. When I’m on the road.” My voice roughens. “It’s all figured out,solnyshko.”

She studies me like she’s waiting for the catch, like the other shoe is about to drop. “You’re serious.”

“As game seven in the finals.”

A broken laugh escapes her. “That’s your benchmark for serious?”

“What can I say? I’m a simple man.”

She shakes her head, exasperated, yet soft. “You can’t just throw money at everything, you know.”

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