Page 27 of Much Ado About Hockey

“Lame,” E.J. muttered, rolling his eyes.

And just like that, the moment fractured. The spell was broken, the weight of Jett’s words scattered by a child’s bluntness. But Karen sat there beside him, her hand still hovering near his shoulder, her thoughts still lingering on what he’d said—and the way it made her feel seen and special.

Things were changing.

She could feel something changing in her and obviously in him, if he truly felt like that. Suppose those words were true and held any substance. Time would tell - and she had nothing but time ahead of her, allowing her to slowly analyze their shared life because they would be alone in Quebec within days.

Hours later, as the evening was coming to a close, having spent lunch and much of the evening with Jett and his family, Karen rose to her feet to make her exit. She had things to do and that mental clock inside of her head, ticking off the moments that would whisk her away from this normal life to a very surreal one in Quebec, as ‘famous hockey player Jett Acton’s wife’ and an unemployed librarian with nothing but time on her hands.

His ‘get a hobby’ comment made sense now because he’d told his mom the same thing, and it led to her happiness, and obviously, his hobby of hockey had led to Jett’s own success, so in his mind, that worked for everyone… but Karen felt adrift. As she made her goodbyes, she saw Jett rise to his feet too – and was about to tell him‘not to worry about walking her out,’ but something in his face caused her to bite her tongue. It wasn’t until they were both out the front door, firmly shut behind them, that she whirled on him.

“What are you doing? Go spend time with your family while you can,” she hissed nervously, feeling slightly uncomfortable. She needed time to process all the looks, comments, winks, and smiles – and what they meant – and by following her, she felt pressured and rushed.

“I need a ride home, and I think you need to talk.”

“You don’t know me or what I need.”

“Can we not do this on my mom’s front porch?”

“Fine – we’ll do this in the car. Is that why your car isn’t here?”

“Yeah, I got an Uber and said you had an appointment.”

“I did – at the doctor’s office to make sure I didn’t have diabetes after you calling me Nutella – and I don’t have diabetes, thank you very much. What is with that, anyhow?”

He didn’t answer. He just shrugged and got in the car, leaving her standing there. That infernal shrug! Did the man not open car doors for women?

Sheesh…

She slid into the driver’s seat, turned to him, and glared. “In case no one told you, gentlemen usually open a car door for a woman.”

“Noted.”

“Like the flowers thing,” she pressed because his answer just didn’t feel like ‘enough,’ like he was hearing her even though he acknowledged what she said. “You said your mother told you to have flowers waiting – well, I’m telling you that you open car doors for women in your life. It’s polite, expected, and people will…”

“Karen?”

“Yes?”

“You really do look pretty in pink. I hope you wear more of it around me, and I’m sorry.”

Karen hesitated, unsure what to say because she wasn’t expecting any of that. Not the sweet comments, his praise, or his apology. Jett just threw her for another loop, and she was trying to figure it out in her mind… and paused. Her eyes narrowed as she gave him her most piercing stare across the center console of the car that she hadn’t bothered to start yet. “Is that genuine or another recommendation from your mother; that you flatter a girl when she’s irked at you.”

“Are you still irked at me?”

“It depends on what your next words are…”

And to her surprise, Jett’s hand was suddenly there on the side of her jaw, sliding back past her ear and sinking into herhair. That feeling, the sensation of his calloused hand touching her skin, was enough to make a banshee turn into a mute. Her lips parted at the shiver that raced down her spine, that feeling of awareness, as he leaned into her space. His breath was warm against her cheek as she closed her eyes, arching into the sensation, melting.

“I adore you in pink, love how sweet your perfume smells, and if my wife wants her man to open the car door for her – then I am truly sorry I’ve failed you…” he said softly, intimately, against her cheek, still cupping the back of her head. “Can you forgive me?”

“Jett…”

“Always tell me if I let you down…”

Oh gosh, she was coming unglued, and his mouth was much too close. Was he going to kiss her? Their kiss at the wedding hadn’t been anywhere close to this intense. It was a peck compared to these feelings.

“You didn’t…” she managed to strangle out.

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