Page 33 of Much Ado About Hockey

“You never did either - and it’s been a while, but I can keep up,” she admitted, leaning in to whisper to him as the realtor opened the front door with a flourish.

Both of them stood there, impressed.

Jett had scrolled through the photos online more times than he cared to admit, skeptical of how perfect the condo looked. Real estate listings are always exaggerated, manipulating lighting and angles until the images barely resemble reality. But now, standing in the entryway with his hand linked with Karen’s, he realized that the photos hadn’t done it justice.

They hadn’t even come close.

The ceiling arched high above him, graceful and elegant, with broad beams that seemed to reach for the sky. Those windows — he had thought it was a camera trick some lens distortion to create an illusion of grandeur… but they were real.

Massive.

Breathtaking.

The windows spanned from the floor all the way to the ceiling, each pane letting in golden light that spilled across the hardwood floors like liquid warmth. The view beyond was framed like a living painting—city, sky, and a promise of peace that he didn’t know he needed or wanted for them… until now.

Karen pulled away, enraptured as she took in everything.

He moved closer, drawn in by the pull of it, and caught sight of a small doorway tucked into the corner of the windowed wall. It looked like it had a shallow landing, maybe just a Juliet balcony. But then he noticed the continuation, a path that angled out and around… it connected the terrace, the balcony, to everything else.

He could sneak up on Karen.

A low chuckle slipped from him, breaking the quiet. “It’s all connected, huh?” he asked, needing to confirm it with a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’s connected to the terrace that leads to the library and the master?”

“Yes, there are three points,” the realtor said brightly. “The master bedroom has a door, the office, and this narrow entrance leads out to your yard. Your condo fees include landscaping, which is done on Fridays during the spring, summer, and fall. During the winter, unless there is a massive snowstorm, they don’t touch the yard. You’ll have to let the lawn guy in, of course, because… well, you are way up here.”

“I see,” Jett said simply, nodding as he absorbed the man’s words, though his attention had already begun to drift. Karenhad wandered off, leaving Jett in the quiet center of the room. He stood still for a moment longer, the weight of it settling on his shoulders. The space, the silence, the changes to come.

He looked at the furniture he’d brought with him. A secondhand couch that had survived more than one move. A scratched coffee table that leaned slightly to the right. His things felt small here, misplaced. They felt worn, tired, and this space seemed to be designed for something…more.

Something better.

Maybe they could pick out some new furniture together?

His gaze flicked over to her, his wife who was still exploring. Was she picturing her own belongings here? Had she already made arrangements to move her things? If so, when? He didn’t remember her mentioning anything about it during the week. Not a word. But then again, they didn’t even speak. He had been getting the ‘silent treatment’ and now had questions.

Looking around, he peered into the bedrooms, glanced in the bathroom, and then opened a cupboard to see a few of his mismatched dinner plates inside. Nodding, he scribbled his name on the transportation sheet, finished signing the documents from the realtor, accepted the keys, and quickly ushered everyone out. As he shut the front door, he turned around, leaning back against it, and stared at his wife in the distance, unsure how to cross the divide between them.

“Do you like it?” he asked finally, needing to talk.

“I love it,” Karen admitted, hesitating. “It’s really a huge place.”

“I wanted us to have space – and for you to have that garden.”

“And you have your guest room for when your family visits us.”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad,” she said quietly, avoiding looking at him.

“Karen…”

“Can we not do this yet?” she began, looking at him with almost a pleading expression. “I’m feeling really on edge, and I don’t want us to end up fighting. I’m trying to be a part of this, and I thought I could handle it but parts of me are freaking out. I’m alone with a guy I barely know, barely tolerate, and we’re married – and there’s one bed. I have no car, no job, no money, and I don’t know what to do with myself.”

She did look like she was panicking – and it was driving his own anxiety through the roof, which wasn’t good for either of them.

“Shhh,” he urged, holding out his hands like he was about to pet a wild animal. “No one is going to touch you or bother you while you are here. I don’t want you to feel nervous or scared, but I’d rather this felt like home to you. We’ll fix the car issue because I feel guilty you got rid of your Kia now. You never have to get a job unless you want to, and we have a shared bank account I was going to tell you about this week but we weren’t speaking.”

“Is that your way of getting a jab in at me?”

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