Page 54 of Much Ado About Hockey

“See?” he exclaimed, chuckling and pointing at her. “That’s why I’ll keep you – you’re learning.”

“Don’t press your luck with this,” she warned softly, looking at him and seeing him immediately fold as his arrogant look melted, giving her a shy smile.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied softly – and then winked. “You look beautiful in pink.”

“Are you trying to butter me up now?”

“Is it working?”

“No. I think I might need a little more,” she scoffed loftily, testing him to see if he had something else up his sleeve waiting to be unveiled.

“How about a kiss, someone to top off your coffee, and two tickets to the museum today, followed by a romantic rendezvous in a private garden overlooking the city?” he offered, his smile knowing as she met his eyes, marveling at the man before her.

“That sounds amazing.”

“Your husband is amazing,” he corrected softly, leaning toward her for that kiss – to which she happily met him halfway, pausing just before their lips touched. She wanted to be careful, to acknowledge how much she appreciated all of this effort and how touched she was.

“Yes, he is,” she breathed softly, brushing her lips against his tenderly, almost like the brush of butterfly wings, afraid to hurt his wounded lip. “I think I’ll keep you.”

“I’m yours,” he promised, kissing her once more – regardless of his injury.

Standing in the museum beside Jett, Karen clasped his arm as she gazed in disbelief at the soaring ceiling and the textiles carefully preserved behind clear cases. All of this was right up her alley: drinking in every single moment, reading every plaque, listening to every audio description that played as you pressed a button.

She was in heaven – and bless Jett, he held her hand and feigned interest at every single pause in her exploration within the building. As she gazed at the worn jacket that had epauletsstitched with care, holding them fast to the shoulders, she felt Jett’s presence as he leaned in.

“This dude must have been tiny,” he whispered quietly. “I’d have busted those seams with these ‘guns’.” He curled his arm, kissed his bicep, and winked at her.

And she held back a chortle of amusement as she turned her face slightly, smiling at him. He hadn’t moved an inch and was still infinitely close, definitely in her space – and so, so very welcomed. His eyes held hers for what felt like forever before he spoke again.

“My, my… you sure have beautiful eyes, Nutella. Wanna get outta here?”

“Are you finished already?” she whispered, her eyes dropping to his lips and wishing he’d kiss her again like he did this morning.

“Is there a broom closet near here?” he breathed, his own gaze resting on her mouth.

“Why?”

“Kids shouldn’t see the amount of kissing I wanna do to you right now.”

“Probably not – it’s a museum,” she chuckled softly, reaching up to gingerly touch his face – only to have him turn into her hand, kissing her palm. She marveled at the way he closed his eyes and seemingly melted at her touch like it meant a lot to him. “We can go.”

“Good. Let’s go do some serious ‘necking’ in the car. The windows are tinted,” he invited, muttering the words into her palm before sliding a look toward her and smirking. “Interested?”

“Very,” she confessed breathlessly and saw a flicker in his eyes. “What’s that look for?”

“I just think you are amazing and boring at the same time,” he chuckled, waving a hand at the coat nearby that had heldher fascination, giving her enough warning to brace herself for whatever iota of wisdom he was about to impart. And she wasn’t disappointed as he openly spouted off for everyone within earshot.

“Bringing my wife here is like ogling a supermodel who wants to count birdseed in a feeder… sheesh.”

Jett uttered it in French,loudly, and while she was stunned at his words – she was just as shocked that he referred to her as a supermodel. He was proclaiming her a supermodel for anyone else to hear, praising her publicly, while at the same time calling the museum boring.

Several people chuckled and looked their way as his gaze held hers. He stepped back, looked her up and down, and nodded.

“You need a pink string bikini because I could see you on the cover of the swimsuit magazine. I swear on all this junk and ancient trash in here that you are the hottest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on…”

Again –in French, so everyone understood– creating a scene.

“Enough,” she whispered, tugging his hand and pulling him out of the room. “You’re embarrassing me,” and hesitated as it hit her what he was doing for her benefit – “and flattering me at the same time. I don’t know whether to get angry or shove you into the wall and kiss you senseless right now.”

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