Page 15 of Much Ado About Hockey

He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to look stern, even as heat rose to his cheeks. He could feel the embarrassment blooming and fought the urge to smile.

“No—you are thinkingmahogany.Monotonyis when something is boring,and Monogamyis when you are in a dedicated relationship—which we are not. We just met… now you have to stop making me laugh because I’m dying over here and had no idea you were so funny. Now, back to Quebec?”

Her attempt to redirect landed like a life raft in a sea of his own confusion.

“Wearein a dedicated relationship,” Jett said firmly, still frowning. His voice had steadied, his confidence returning. “I expect fidelity.” He waited, bracing for another round of laughter—but this time, it didn’t come. “I will be faithful to you and expect you to be the same. We made vows.”

She softened instantly. “Relax,” she said, smiling in that way that made his stomach flutter—gentle, kind, and understanding all at once. “I’m not the type to cheat on someone. Besides, I’d be more worried aboutyoudoing the cheating than me.”

“Why?” His brow lifted.

“Because you look like a guy who likes to party.”

“I do—but that doesn’t mean I’m a cheater.”

“No, I know,” she said with a sigh as if she was both reassured and overwhelmed. “We were going to talk about Quebec?”

He nodded, trying not to let how much that sigh mattered to him show. “I got a job, we’re moving. You aren’t expected to work because I can pay for us to have a very nice life together, and I expect fidelity,” he repeated, still a little wounded but also trying to lighten the mood. “Take time to explore the city, have some fun, and don’t forget our coffee dates.”

“And that’s it?” she asked skeptically.

“Pretty much.”

“Be your wife—on paper—and meet up for coffee dates, but other than that, I’m free to do whatever I want in the city?”

“Yup.”

“And if I wanted to spend hours studying old societies and buildings?”

“Go for it,” he said, surprised by the revelation—and yet, as he looked at her, it made sense. Of course, she would like that.

Of course, she would lose herself in quiet corners of museums or ancient streets lined with stories. She was bookish. Brilliant. Entirely opposite of him.

And yet… she was his.

At least, he hoped she would be.

“Do you like sports?” he asked, his voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and quiet hope as if her answer could somehow bridge the vast differences between them.

Jett leaned forward slightly, studying her face with the kind of intensity he usually reserved for reading the ice. He wasn’t sure why her opinion mattered so much, but it did. Every new thing he learned about her felt like sliding another piece into the complicated puzzle of who she was—and maybe, just maybe, who they could be together.

“Not in the slightest,” she retorted without missing a beat, scrunching up her nose in distaste. Then she paused, softening slightly. “I mean, if it’s what you enjoy, then I am happy for you and hope you have lots of fun doing sporty stuff.”

Jett grinned at her choice of words—sporty stuff—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He took a breath and asked, “Would you attend my hockey games?”

She blinked, looking up from whatever she’d been jotting down. “Is it required?”

The words landed like a slap, not because they were cruel but because they were so indifferent. He schooled his face quickly, but not before the sting of disappointment surfaced. It was a stupid thing to want—he knew that—but deep down, it mattered.

Most guys on the team dreamed about seeing their girl in the stands, decked out in their jersey, cheering them on like they were the center of the world. He hadn’t even let himself think about that with Karen, hadn’t dared to picture her in one of his oversized jerseys or laughing in the rink’s freezing bleachers. But now the image tried to form anyway, only to be chased off by her dispassionate response.

“Not if you didn’t want to go,” he said, forcing a shrug, the words stiff in his mouth. He told himself it was fine, that he wasn’t the kind of guy who needed someone on the sidelines clapping for him. But the truth was, he wanted to matter to his new wife—even in that small way.

“Good. I would not require you to attend a symposium regarding the surprising anthropological finds of the first settlers that is currently touring the nation.”

He blinked, part of him amused, the rest trying to keep up with her sentence. “I only understood half that sentence,” he chuckled, trying to break the tension with a joke, hoping she’d laugh with him. Instead, she just stared at him, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes.

Dismay?

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