Page 33 of The Hockey Pact

"Already did." Zoe grabbed the freshly plated dish. "The place is packed, Riley. Again. We haven't had an empty table all week."

I allowed myself a moment to appreciate this fact as I moved to the next order.Hat Trickwasn't just surviving—it was thriving. The reopening event last week featuring Blizzard players had generated buzz throughout Boston, and the end of the endless road construction had finally made the restaurant accessible again.

But the real draw, if I was honest with myself, was the connection to the Blizzard's new captain. Being Caleb Matthews' wife had turnedHat Trickinto the unofficial hockey hangout spot in the city.

"Chef," Tomas, my new line cook, called out. "Order in for three more Breakaway Burgers and a Penalty Box Poutine."

"On it," I responded, falling back into the rhythm of the kitchen.

Two hours later, the dinner rush was beginning to subside when I spotted him through the pass-through window—Vincent, the predatory loan shark who'd been pressuring me before my arrangement with Caleb. He was sitting at the bar, sipping what looked like an expensive scotch and surveying the restaurant with calculating eyes.

My stomach tightened. I hadn't seen him since the charity gala where Caleb had first proposed our arrangement. Back then, I'd been desperate enough to consider his high-interest loan despite suspecting his "additional terms" involved more than financial commitments.

As I debated whether to confront him or ignore his presence, the kitchen doors swung open, and Caleb walked in with Max and several teammates. They'd just returned from an away-game victory against Pittsburgh, still riding the high of a comeback win.

Caleb's face lit up when he saw me, but his expression quickly hardened as he followed my gaze to the bar. Without a word, he changed direction, heading straight for Vincent.

I couldn't hear their conversation over the kitchen noise, but it was brief. Vincent knocked back his remaining scotch and left within minutes, throwing a dark look over his shoulder as he exited.

When Caleb rejoined the group in the kitchen, I raised a questioning eyebrow.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing important," he said with a shrug. "Just reminded him that my wife doesn't need his loan services anymore."

My wife. The possessive phrasing sent an unexpected warmth through me. It was just part of our act, I reminded myself. Just maintaining appearances.

"Well, thank you," I said, turning back to the grill. "Though I could have handled it."

"I know you could." He stole a potato wedge from a nearby plate, dodging my slap. "But why should you have to when your adoring husband is right here?"

"My adoring husband is going to lose a finger if he keeps stealing food before it's ready," I threatened, but I was smiling.

The team's enthusiasm turned the already lively restaurant into a full-blown celebration of their road win. I created impromptu specials named after players who had scored, starting with "Peterson's Power Play Pasta" and "Matthews' Mighty Meatballs."

When someone called for a toast, I found myself raised onto a chair, glass in hand, facing the packed dining room.

"To the Boston Blizzard," I began, "for bringing home a win... and for bringing me so many hungry customers."

Everyone laughed and cheered.

"And to their captain," I continued, finding Caleb's eyes in the crowd. "For leading on the ice with the same dedication and heart that he brings to everything else in his life."

Caleb's expression softened in a way that made my chest feel tight. This wasn't for show anymore. These words were just for him.

"To the captain!" Max shouted, raising his glass.

"To the captain!" the room echoed.

Hours later, after the last customer had left and most of the staff had gone home, Caleb and I lingered in the empty restaurant. I was teaching him how to properly care for the expensive Japanese knife he'd bought me as a reopening gift.

"You have to maintain the right angle," I explained, demonstrating the sharpening motion. "Too steep and you'll damage the edge. Too shallow and it won't sharpen properly."

Caleb stood close behind me, watching over my shoulder. "Show me again?"

I repeated the motion, hyper-aware of his proximity. When he reached around to try it himself, his chest pressed against my back, his arms bracketing mine as he gripped the knife and stone.

"Like this?" he asked, his breath warm against my ear.

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