Page 38 of The Hockey Pact

I worked methodically inHat Trick's kitchen, focusing intently on each precise cut as I broke down vegetables for the evening service. The repetitive, technical tasks usually calmed me, creating a meditative space where nothing existed beyond the knife, the cutting board, and the ingredients before me.

Today, it wasn't working. Thoughts of Caleb kept intruding, disrupting my focus.

Last week, we'd spent an entire evening creating an elaborate meal together in the penthouse kitchen, falling into an effortless rhythm of shared tasks and casual touches. He'd shown surprising skill with knife work, and I'd discovered he had an excellent palate, suggesting flavor combinations I hadn't considered.

We'd eaten at the counter, comparing childhood stories—his about frozen Minnesota lakes and early morning practices, mine about kitchen experiments and hockey team potlucks. We'd lost track of time until we realized it was past midnight, the dishes still unwashed, both of us too comfortable to care.

Nothing in our contract covered the warm contentment I'd felt in those hours, or the way his laughter had become my favorite sound.

"Your husband's here," Zoe announced, pushing through the kitchen doors and interrupting my thoughts. "He brought company."

I set down my knife, wiping my hands on a towel. "Company?"

"Older couple. Well-dressed. Looking around like they're inspecting the place for health code violations."

I felt a jolt of surprise. "His parents?"

"Seems likely, given the family resemblance." Zoe raised an eyebrow. "Surprise in-law visit? How very authentically married of you."

"Thanks for the warning," I muttered, quickly removing my apron and checking my reflection in the stainless steel refrigerator door. My hair was still in its practical bun, and I wore the standardHat Trickchef's coat—hardly the polished daughter-in-law look.

I pushed through the kitchen doors to find Caleb at his usual table with an older couple—Robert and Katherine Matthews. I'd met them once before the wedding, but this visit was completely unexpected.

Caleb rose when he saw me, looking apologetic. "Surprise," he said, placing a kiss on my cheek. "Mom and Dad decided to fly in for the weekend. They wanted to see your restaurant."

"We've been dying to see it," Katherine said warmly, standing to embrace me. "Caleb talks about your cooking constantly."

Robert offered a more reserved but genuine greeting, shaking my hand firmly. "Nice place you've got here, Riley. Good energy."

"Thank you," I said, still slightly disoriented by their sudden appearance. "I'm sorry I'm not more prepared. The kitchen is slammed with the dinner rush..."

"Don't mind us," Katherine insisted. "We just wanted to see where you work. Caleb can give us the full tour."

I glanced at the clock, making a quick calculation. "Zoe can handle my station for thirty minutes. Let me join you for a bit."

I led them around the restaurant, explaining the hockey theme and highlighting some of the memorabilia displayed on the walls. The conversation flowed surprisingly easily. Katherine asked detailed questions about the restaurant's operation, while Robert shared stories of Caleb's earliest hockey mishaps that had me laughing.

When I described my idea for a cookbook featuring athlete-friendly recipes that don't sacrifice flavor, Katherine immediately offered connections to publishing contacts she knew through charity work.

"You should definitely pursue that," she said enthusiastically. "It's a perfect niche, and you have the expertise to make it authentic."

I excused myself to check on the kitchen but returned with a sampling ofHat Trick's specialties for them to try. The genuine appreciation in their reactions gratified me, particularly when Robert declared my maple-bourbon sauce "worth the trip from Minnesota alone."

When Caleb departed with his parents to show them the penthouse, I returned to the kitchen, unsettled by how naturally I'd slipped into the role of daughter-in-law. There had been moments—like when Katherine asked about holiday plans or Robert recounted embarrassing childhood stories—where I'd forgotten our marriage had a predetermined end date.

The next morning, I woke early as usual, carefully extracting myself from the king bed I now shared with Caleb. Though we maintained careful physical boundaries—a pillowbarrier minus the awkwardness of our honeymoon—I often woke to find we'd gravitated toward each other in sleep.

Today, Caleb's arm was draped across my waist, his face peaceful in sleep. I allowed myself a moment to study him—the strong line of his jaw shadowed with stubble, the small scar near his eyebrow from a childhood hockey injury, the dark lashes resting against his cheeks.

I slipped out of bed and into my robe, heading to the kitchen to start coffee. To my surprise, Robert was already there, looking out at the view of the Charles River, a mug in his hand. I had nearly forgotten that Caleb’s parents were staying with us for the weekend.

"Hope you don't mind," he said, gesturing to the coffee maker. "Early riser habit."

"Not at all," I assured him, pouring myself a cup. "I'm usually up at this hour to prep for the restaurant."

"Same with hockey," he nodded. "Early ice time gets ingrained. Even years after retirement, I can't sleep past five."

What began as slightly awkward small talk evolved into a revealing conversation. Robert spoke of Caleb's determination as a child, how he would practice for hours beyond what was required, obsessively perfecting his technique.

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