Page 49 of The Hockey Pact

Inside lay a pair of earrings—elegant diamonds in a platinum setting, tasteful and understated but clearly expensive.

"They're beautiful," I said, relief and an unexpected twinge of disappointment mingling in my chest. "Who are they for?"

"Megan," he explained. "My sister mentioned wanting something 'adult and sophisticated' now that she's finished grad school. Do you think she'll like them?"

I examined the earrings more carefully. "They're perfect—classic but not boring. She'll love them."

Caleb's relief was palpable. "Thank god. I've been to six different jewelry stores, and they all start to look the same after a while." He reclaimed the box, tucking it carefully into his coat pocket. "Jewelry shopping is definitely outside my comfort zone."

"You did good," I assured him. "Really good."

We ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sounds the muted Christmas music playing over the restaurant speakers and the occasional scrape of a chair as one of the servers set up for lunch service.

"So," Caleb said finally, "I realized we haven't really talked about Christmas."

"No, we haven't."

"The team has a three-day break," he explained. "We have to be back for practice on the 26th, but we're free from the 23rd through Christmas." He hesitated, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. "We usually do Christmas Eve at my parents' place in Minnesota, then Christmas Day with the team families who don't travel home."

He didn't explicitly ask if I wanted to join these festivities, but the question hovered between us nonetheless. I found myself genuinely wanting to experience a Matthewsfamily Christmas, while simultaneously wondering if that desire crossed some invisible line in our arrangement.

Before I could respond, the restaurant door opened again, admitting a blast of cold air and a figure that made my stomach drop—Vincent.

He paused just inside the door, clearly surprised to see Caleb. His usual smooth confidence faltered slightly before he adjusted his expensive wool coat and approached our table.

"Riley," he greeted me with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "The place looks great. Quite a turnaround from the last time we spoke."

Caleb went rigid beside me, his easy demeanor replaced by an instant guard. "Vincent. What do you want?"

"Just in the neighborhood, thought I'd stop by." His gaze flicked between Caleb and me. "I've been hearing good things about Riley’s collaboration with the arena's food service. Quite the coup for a small operation like this."

Something in his tone made my shoulders tense. "We've been fortunate."

"Indeed." Vincent nodded, his expression calculating. "It's amazing what the right... partnership can accomplish, isn't it?"

The implication in his words was clear enough that I felt Caleb's fist tighten beside me.

"Was there something specific you wanted, Vincent?" I asked, keeping my voice even.

"Just to congratulate you," he said smoothly. "It's not every day a struggling restaurateur manages such a dramatic reversal of fortune. Almost like magic—or an angel investor."His gaze settled meaningfully on Caleb. "Though I never would have predicted this particular... investment strategy."

Caleb stood slowly, drawing himself to his full height. At six-foot-two, he towered over Vincent's slight frame. "I think you were just leaving," he said, his voice quiet but carrying an unmistakable edge.

Vincent didn't immediately back down, but something in Caleb's expression must have convinced him this wasn't a battle worth fighting—yet. He nodded curtly. "Of course. I have other appointments. Riley, always a pleasure. Mr. Matthews... interesting to finally meet you."

The pointed use of Caleb's name felt like a cold pinprick. When Vincent finally left, the easy warmth of our lunch vanished, leaving a sudden, stark silence.

"He never knows when to quit, does he?" Caleb's voice was low, directed more at the closed door than at me.

"Just... don't let him get to you," I said, the reassurance feeling thin even to my own ears.

Caleb's jaw tightened. "I didn't like his tone just now. Or what he was implying. Like he knows something."

A familiar knot of unease twisted in my own stomach. "He's probably just trying to rattle us. He's good at that game."

Caleb didn't look convinced, but he let the subject drop as I gathered our lunch wrappers. "I should let you get back to work. The lunch rush will be starting soon."

As he stood to leave, I noticed the discreet shopping bag still sitting untouched beside his chair. "You forgot one."

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