Page 23 of The Hockey Pact

Later, after I'd relocated his gear to the laundry room, I fell asleep thinking about the strange dance we were beginning—two people with established lives and habits trying to mesh them together, all while maintaining the fiction of a loving relationship.

I woke at my usual 5 AM, careful not to disturb Caleb as I slipped out of the guest room where I'd been sleeping. The kitchen called to me—I had new recipes to test forHat Trick's reopening, and early morning had always been my most creative time.

Within minutes, I was lost in the rhythm of cooking, the familiar routine grounding me in this unfamiliar setting. I'd just started the food processor when I heard a startled curse from the hallway.

Caleb stood in the kitchen doorway, hair rumpled from sleep, wearing only sweatpants and an expression of deep confusion. "What the hell? It's not even six in the morning. Why is there a... symphony of kitchen appliances happening right now?"

"Sorry!" I winced, turning down the food processor. "I'm testing new recipes forHat Trick's reopening. I always do my best recipe development in the early mornings."

He blinked slowly, clearly still half-asleep. "Early mornings? This isn't early. This is still technically night for normal people."

"Chefs aren't normal people," I explained, continuing to chop herbs with practiced efficiency. "Our body clocks are permanently damaged from years of weird hours."

Caleb shuffled further into the kitchen, eyeing my workstation with bleary curiosity. "What are you making that requires... whatever that torture device is doing?" He gestured toward the food processor.

"It's a new aioli for the Power Play Pasta," I explained. "I'm experimenting with roasted garlic and fresh herbs. Want to try it?"

To my surprise, instead of retreating back to bed, Caleb moved to the coffee machine and started brewing a pot. "If I'm up, I might as well eat." He leaned against the counter, watching me work with unexpected interest. "So this is your process? Creating new recipes at dawn?"

"It's when my brain works best," I admitted, spooning a small amount of the aioli onto a tasting spoon. "Here, tell me what you think."

He accepted the spoon, his fingers brushing mine in a moment of contact that shouldn't have felt significant but somehow did. His eyes widened as he tasted the sauce.

"Wow. That's... incredible. The garlic isn't overwhelming at all, and there's something almost... citrusy?"

I smiled, pleased by his perceptive palate. "Preserved lemon. Just a touch."

"It's perfect," he said, seeming fully awake now. "Are you always this productive before sunrise?"

"Usually," I admitted. "Though I can try to use the guest kitchenette for the early morning experiments if the noise bothers you."

He shook his head, pouring two cups of coffee and sliding one toward me. "No need. I should probably adjust my schedule anyway. Morning skate starts at nine, and Coach has been on my case about showing up more awake."

"So I'm helping your athletic performance?" I teased, accepting the coffee gratefully.

"Let's call it that," he agreed with a crooked smile that did strange things to my stomach. "Though maybe we could negotiate a slightly later start time? Say, 6 AM instead of 5?"

"I think I can work with that," I conceded, surprising myself with how easily we'd reached a compromise.

By the time he left for morning skate, we'd established a tentative domestic peace, with me promising to use the guest room kitchenette for extreme early morning projects and Caleb agreeing to a designated gear drop zone in the laundry room.

It wasn't exactly a traditional newlywed morning, but somehow it felt like progress.

That night, I attended my first Blizzard game as Caleb's wife. Diane had arranged for a full makeover, insisting that my debut in the wives' section needed to make the right impression. I barely recognized myself in the mirror—designer jeans, an expensive cashmere sweater, subtle makeup, and my usual messy bun transformed into an artfully tousled style.

"Stop fidgeting with your hair," Diane instructed as we walked through the VIP entrance of the arena. "You look perfect. Natural but elevated—exactly the image we want to project."

"I feel like an imposter," I muttered, suddenly terrified of meeting the other wives and girlfriends, who had been part of the Blizzard's inner circle for years.

"You're Caleb Matthews' wife," Diane reminded me firmly. "You belong here as much as any of them. More, even, since your husband is about to be named captain."

Before I could respond, a tall blonde in skinny jeans and a customized Blizzard jersey with "PETERSON" emblazoned across the back approached us, her smile wide and welcoming.

"You must be Riley!" she exclaimed, embracing me as if we were long-lost friends. "I'm Annabelle Peterson. We spoke on the phone about the catering event, remember? I'm so thrilled to finally meet you in person!"

I returned the hug awkwardly, thrown by her enthusiasm. "Yes, of course. Thank you again for the opportunity."

"Are you kidding? You saved that event. Everyone's still talking about those adorable hockey puck sliders." She linked her arm through mine, effectively separating me from Diane. "Come on, let me introduce you to everyone before the game starts. The first time in the wives’ section can be overwhelming.”

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