Page 20 of The Pucking Arrangement

“I can handle that,” I offer quickly. Maybe too quickly. “Except Wednesday pickups. I have my Marymount girls from three to six.”

“I’ll cover Wednesdays,” Sophie jumps in without missing a beat. “And any evenings Erin has performances. My classes are mostly mornings this semester, anyway.”

“Perfect.” Dmitri nods, then slides his phone across the table to show me a number that makes my breath catch. “This compensation works for you?”

“That’s…” I swallow hard. “Yes. That works.”

“And cello lessons?” Ris bounces in her seat, her eyes wide with excitement. “You’ll teach me now?”

Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I can’t help but smile at her. But when I glance at Dmitri, his expression softens in a way that makes my heart do a completely unauthorized somersault.

“If your papa agrees?—”

“We discuss music lessons separately,” Dmitri interrupts, his tone firm but laced with warmth. There’s something final about the way he says it, like he’s drawing a line in the sand. “Professional arrangement.”

Professional. I need to tattoo that word onto my brain so it sticks.

“Here is her detailed schedule.” Dmitri slides a folded piece of paper across the table, his fingers brushing mine in the process.

The touch is brief—barely a second—but it’s enough to send a jolt up my arm, lighting up every nerve ending like a Christmas tree. My breath catches, and for one wild moment, I’m convinced he felt it too because his eyes flicker, darkening.

Liam notices.

It’s subtle—the way his shoulders stiffen, the quick glance between us, and the faint narrowing of his eyes. But it’s there.

“Great! All settled!” Sophie’s voice cuts through the charged silence, too cheerful, too knowing. Her tone has that teasing edge that makes me want to crawl under the table and stay there forever. “Between the two of us, we’ve got all the coverage figured out.”

Liam clears his throat, and his captain face is firmly in place now, all calm authority. But his gaze lingers on Dmitri for a second too long, then shifts to me, filled with quiet concern.

“Settled,” Dmitri repeats, his voice steady, but his fingers flex on the table like he’s trying to release some of the tension from the moment.

“Perfect,” I manage, though my voice is thinner than I’d like. My fingers tighten around the paper like it’s a lifeline.

Liam says nothing, but his silence feels loaded, like he’s cataloging every glance, every flicker of tension passing between us. His jaw works as he leans back, his eyes bouncing between Dmitri and me one last time before Sophie sweeps the conversation forward.

But the accidental touch lingers on my skin.

Dinner flows easily after that, with Ris chattering about her activities, Dmitri filling in details, and Sophie and Liam offering helpful tips. But I keep getting distracted by little things.

Like the way Dmitri’s fingers curl around his water glass. Or how his biceps flex when he reaches for the salt. Or the soft Russian endearments he murmurs to Ris that make her giggle.

“Erin?” Liam’s voice cuts through my daze. “You got all that?”

“Huh? Oh, yes.” I straighten quickly. “No sugar after six, homework before play, and don’t let her practice figure skating moves in the house.”

“That was ten minutes ago,” Liam mutters under his breath.

But Dmitri watches me with quiet intensity—something like approval, and maybe something more. Something that steals the air from my lungs.

Three weeks,I remind myself.Just three weeks.

Helping my brother’s friend. Helping the Defenders. Getting halfway to a new cello.

That’s all this is.

“Papa, can Erin start tomorrow?” Ris practically vibrates with excitement, hands clasped like she’s making the most important wish of her life. “Please? I’ll show her my room and my books and?—”

Dmitri’s gaze drags me back to reality. “Does that work for you?” His voice is steady. Certain. Like he already knows my answer. “Not much time to prepare. Move things.”

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