Page 58 of The Overtime Kiss

Closing the journal, I cross to my dresser and grab a pair of leggings, then throw them on as I mentally prepare for the day. I have some fun plans for activities with the kids. Leighton is an avid geocacher since her guy, Miles, is too, and they do it together. But since Miles and Tyler have game prep,Leighton will take the kids and me on some of her favorite beginner routes.

When I head upstairs, the fading smell of pancakes drifts down the hall. Tyler must have made them before he left for morning skate. I find the kids already in the kitchen. Luna is perched on a stool, swinging her legs, making a playlist—from the looks of it, for her next skating routine—while Parker builds a wing on a Lego spaceship.

“Hey there!” I call, stepping into the kitchen and clocking in for nanny duty.

Luna points to a plate of pancakes. “Hi! Dad said to tell you he left some pancakes for you. They’re made with banana, hemp hearts, and whole-wheat flour, and the syrup is all natural.”

Tyler knows me well already. “Sounds delish,” I say, grabbing a fork, then greeting Parker. Before I dig in, I brandish the jersey. “Hey, Luna. I think this could use some sparkle.”

Her eyes widen as she gasps. “Can we add glitter too?”

Parker finally looks up, raising a skeptical eyebrow the jersey’s way. “You’re going to makethatsparkly?”

“We are,” I say with a confident nod.

Luna’s eager eyes light up. “Can you do mine too?”

“Obviously.”

Later that day, after we geocache in Dolores Park—tracking down a Matchbox car in a tree, which Luna climbs like a little monkey to retrieve after Parker’s spotted it—I order a Lyft, since parking at the arena can be a huge pain, and take the kids to see the Sea Dogs.

Bedazzled.

But when we arrive, Luna and Parker tell me they want to hang out in the family suite instead of the stands.

Worry digs into me. Is that for wives and girlfriends and their kids? I’d be woefully out of place, wouldn’t I?

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Yes! Mia’s always there now. Her dad pays for a sitter for every home game for all the kids, and it’s so fun. They have board games and everything. It’s kind of more fun than the stands,” she says.

“Not kind of.A lot,” Parker adds.

“Okay, let’s go there,” I say, but I’m still a little apprehensive about being there myself, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to just drop the kids off. But I can’t call Tyler and ask him. They’ll be starting warmups any second. My stomach twists with nerves, but then it hits me—I can call Tyler’s mom! She knows everything.

As I’m heading to the family suite, I ring Lauren Falcon and ask her if it’s okay that the kids stay there.

“Okay? It’s fabulous! Especially since I’m actually hanging out here with Harvey. The food’s better here, and we’re all about the snacks. Bring those monkeys my way.”

“Oh! Great!” I let out a relieved breath. That was serendipitous. I head over to the family suite and say hi to Lauren and her husband Harvey as I survey the spacious room. It’s a couple levels above the ice, but it’s stacked with food and fun. So I can see why the kids like it. And yes, there are some wives and girlfriends, and kids, but also parents of hockey players from the looks of it. I feel a little better about staying, even though I gaze at the ice longingly.

Lauren nods to it, giving me a knowing smile. “I’ve got this. You go enjoy the center-ice seats if you want.”

She’s such a mind reader. “Thanks. I do like being right near the boards.”

“Go, go,” she says, shooing me out.

I take off, then text my friends, who usually sit right near the center-ice seats Tyler gave me.

Leighton responds first, telling me to get my ass over there. When I make my way down the aisle toward their row, she eyes me up and down. She points to the back of my jersey, which she must have spotted as I maneuvered through the crowds.

“Well, hello,Rhinestones,” she says, smirking as she christens me with a nickname.

Isla arches a well-groomed brow. Everything about Isla is perfectly put together. “I’m thinkingSquirrel. Squirrels love shiny things,” she says.

“True,” adds the redhead next to Isla. That’s Skylar—she works at the same podcast studio as Isla. Her show is design-centric, while Isla’s is a dating podcast. I’ve met Skylar a few times—she’s bold, outspoken, and resourceful. Exactly the type of person you’d call to help DIY your way through canning fruit or painting the front door. “But aren’t raccoons the ones really into shiny stuff?”

“Are you all saying I look like a raccoon in this?” I gesture to my very shiny, very bedazzled jersey.

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