Page 35 of The Hockey Pact

I smiled despite my conflicted feelings. "Years of watching Danny's games, I guess."

"The kids loved you. Annabelle was right to recruit you."

I nodded, still distracted by the tumult of emotions the visit had stirred up. The line between our contractual arrangement and something real felt increasingly blurred, and I didn't know how to navigate it.

Rather than explain this confusion, I changed the subject. "Annabelle mentioned the annual team charity auction is coming up. She said wives traditionally contribute items?"

"Right." Caleb seemed to accept the topic shift. "It's a fancy gala, raised over two hundred thousand for youth hockey programs last year. Everyone donates something for the auction—signed gear, experience packages, that kind of thing."

"What about a series of private cooking lessons?" I suggested. "I could teach someone to make a few signature dishes, maybe atHat Trickafter hours?"

"That's perfect," Caleb said enthusiastically. "People go crazy for unique experiences at these things."

We spent the rest of the drive discussing logistics for the auction item, the conversation returning to safer territory. But beneath the practical planning, I couldn't shake the image of Caleb kneeling beside Eli's bed, creating magic out of a simple cookie—or the way it had made me feel to be introduced as his wife with such evident pride.

Our arrangement had no provision for developing genuine feelings. It was a business transaction with a ticking clock—mutual benefits with a predetermined end date.

So why was I suddenly dreading that expiration date with every fiber of my being?

Chapter 12: Caleb

I adjusted my tie for the third time, scrutinizing my reflection in the bedroom mirror. The annual team charity auction gala wasn't just another public appearance—it was the Boston Blizzard's premier social event of the season. As newly appointed captain, I'd be front and center all evening.

But that wasn't why my stomach was doing nervous flip-flops.

I checked my watch again. Riley had been getting ready in the guest bedroom we'd converted into her dressing room for nearly an hour. We shared the master bedroom now—a practical decision after too many close calls with unexpected visitors—though we maintained our separate beds arrangement. Still, the proximity had created an intimacy neither of us had anticipated.

The sound of a door opening pulled me from my thoughts. I turned, and for a moment, I couldn't speak.

Riley stood in the doorway wearing a formfitting burgundy dress that highlighted curves usually hidden beneath her chef's coat. She looked stunning and slightly uncomfortable, smoothing the unfamiliar fabric with nervous hands.

"Is it too much?" she asked, misinterpreting my silence. "Annabelle helped me pick it out. She said burgundy was 'my color,' whatever that means."

I finally found my voice. "You look incredible."

A flush crept up her cheeks. "Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself."

I offered my arm with exaggerated formality, bowing slightly. "Shall we, Mrs. Matthews?"

She laughed, relaxing as she took my arm. "Lead the way, Captain."

At the venue—an elegant downtown hotel ballroom—we separated temporarily. Riley joined the other hockey wives arranging auction items while I greeted sponsors and management. Throughout the evening, I found my gaze repeatedly drawn to her across the room. She moved with confidence among the hockey wives and girlfriends, engaging in animated conversations, her laugh occasionally rising above the general din.

Several times, our eyes met briefly across the crowded space before one of us glanced away, as if caught doing something forbidden.

During dinner, Riley was seated beside me at the team's table, charming everyone with stories about her collaboration with the arena's food service to create aHat Trickconcession stand for home games.

"The real challenge," she was explaining to a player's wife, "was developing recipes that could be executed consistently without my direct oversight. We settled on three signature items that capture theHat Trickspirit but can be prepared quickly by arena staff."

I listened with pride, admiring how seamlessly she'd adapted to my world while maintaining her own identity and passions.

Midway through the main course, the ballroom lights flickered and then went out completely. There were a few startled exclamations before emergency lights activated, casting the room in a dim glow.

In the momentary chaos, I instinctively reached for Riley's hand under the table. She gripped my fingers tightly,and neither of us let go when the lights flickered back partially, leaving the room in romantic half-light.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the host announced, "we're experiencing a minor power issue. The hotel assures us they're working on it, but in the meantime, let's continue our evening by candlelight."

Staff scurried to light candles at each table, creating an unexpected intimacy as conversations lowered to match the softer atmosphere.

---