Page 48 of The Hockey Pact

I turned from the snowfall to find my sous chef and best friend regarding me with a mixture of amusement and concern. "Sorry. Just thinking about the dinner service."

"Uh-huh." Zoe's skepticism was evident as she expertly diced an onion without looking down. "And does the dinner service have broad shoulders and a killer slap shot?"

Heat rose in my cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Please." She rolled her eyes. "You've had the same dopey expression every time you zone out lately. I call it your 'thinking about Caleb' face."

"I do not have a—" The restaurant's front door chimed, cutting me off. "That's probably the delivery from Riverbank Farms. Can you check it?"

Zoe wiped her hands on a towel. "Saved by the bell. This conversation isn't over, Matthews."

The surname still gave me a small jolt every time I heard it. It shouldn't have; we'd been "married" for weeks now. But lately, it had started to feel less like a legal formality and more like... something else. Something real.

I shook off the thought and returned to prep, losing myself in the familiar rhythm of chopping, seasoning, and organizing. The methodical work cleared my head, as it always did. By the time I'd finished prepping the day's special—a braised short rib with winter root vegetables that had become a customer favorite—I was fully focused on the restaurant again.

The door chimed once more. "Got it!" I called, assuming Zoe was still dealing with the delivery.

I wiped my hands and pushed through the swinging doors to the dining room, stopping short at the sight before me.Instead of our usual produce supplier, Caleb stood just inside the entrance, snowflakes melting in his dark hair and clinging to the shoulders of his charcoal wool coat. He carried multiple shopping bags, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold.

"Hey," he said, looking shy as he stomped snow from his boots. "Surprise."

"What are you doing here?" I asked, unable to keep the pleasure from my voice. "I thought you had the day off for Christmas shopping."

He lifted the bags slightly. "I did. But I thought you might want lunch." He produced a white paper bag from inside his coat. "Bánh mì from that Vietnamese place you like."

The thoughtful gesture made my chest tighten. "You came all the way across town in a snowstorm to bring me lunch?"

"I was in the neighborhood," he said, then grinned at my skeptical look. "Okay, I wasn't. But I also need your expert opinion on something." He patted one of the shopping bags.

Zoe emerged from the back, eyebrows rising at the sight of Caleb. "Well, well. If it isn't Captain Charming, making deliveries that definitely aren't on our order sheet."

"Nice to see you too, Zoe," Caleb replied, unfazed by her teasing. "How's Max?"

Zoe's eyes narrowed. "How would I know? It's not like I keep tabs on your goalie."

"Interesting, because he mentioned you had dinner together last night."

I stifled a laugh at Zoe's momentary speechlessness. She recovered quickly, grabbing her coat from behind the counter. "I'll handle final prep, Riley. You two take your time." The lookshe gave me clearly communicated that I'd be providing full details later.

Once Zoe had disappeared into the kitchen, Caleb set the bags down at a corner table. "Is this okay? I know you're busy."

"It's perfect. We don't open for another hour." I slid into the chair opposite him. "Seriously, though, what brings you here on your day off?"

He unwrapped the sandwiches, sliding one toward me. "Can't a man bring his wife lunch without an interrogation?"

The casual use of "wife" sent a flutter through me.

"He can," I said, unwrapping my sandwich. "But this particular man usually has a tv remote in his hand on his rare days off, not shopping bags."

Caleb took a bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "Maybe I'm evolving."

"Into what? A considerate husband?" I teased.

"Something like that." His eyes held mine for a moment before he reached for one of the shopping bags. "Actually, I need your help with this."

He produced a small velvet box from his pocket and slid it across the table. "I need a second opinion."

I stared at the box, momentarily speechless. A ridiculous thought flashed through my mind—that this was some kind of proposal, which made no sense considering we were already technically married. Heart hammering inexplicably, I opened the box.

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