Page 19 of Hockey Halloween
His smile is soft, almost hesitant. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
Then he walks across the room to kiss me. Once. Twice. Three times.
Every kiss holds a message he’s speaking with his actions instead of words. I press each detail into memory—the warmth of him, the way he feels holding me and the clean manly scent that’s becoming familiar.
I walk him down the stairs, keeping a tight grip on him, not caring who sees us or what time it is. The street is still quiet, the City waking up slowly around us.
When the Uber pulls up, Nolan turns to me and leans in for one more kiss. It’s slower, yet deeper this time.
“I’ll text you when I land,” he promises, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “And probably every hour after. I’ve never wanted to stay so badly.”
“The sooner you go, the sooner we’ll be reunited.”
“I guess I have to believe in that, even if leaving you is the hardest thing I’ve done in years.”
He squeezes my hand one last time, then gets in, letting go. Thedoor clicks shut, and a moment later, the cab pulls away. Just like that, he’s gone—for now.
Walking up the steps back to my now empty apartment, the ache in my chest isn’t sadness. It’s knowing my life has been changed by the wrong date, yet the right guy.
Epilogue (Ford)
A year later
Once upon a time, I was standing in a crowded Manhattan club, bored out of my mind, wearing a Rick O’Connell costume and seriously considering faking an injury to escape.
Now I’m in a newly renovated house in suburban Minneapolis with the same blue bandana tied around my neck. The difference? Everything. There’s an extraordinary woman humming softly by the mirror across the room, applying a swipe of deep red lipstick with the kind of precision that should honestly be illegal. I can’t stop staring at her.
Willa.My partner. My favorite person. The smartest and sexiest historian to ever walk the earth.
She moved back to Minnesota a few months after we met. Said something about needing a change and wanting to see where this could go. Thank God she meant it. Now she works remotely for the same museum in New York, consulting on exhibitions and archival research from her home office down the hall. She flies out there every couple of months for big projects or events. But most days, she’s here with me when I’m not traveling with the team.
“You ready yet, my Muse?”
She turns slowly, and my breath catches for the hundredth time today. A beige pencil skirt hugs her generous hips, white blouse tucked in, the sleeves casually rolled to the elbows like she just returned from an archaeological dig.
Her blonde hair is pinned up in that effortless twist she somehow pulls off. There are round wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose that make me want to kiss the hell out of her and also let her quiz me on any historical period she chooses.
She gives me this little proud smirk, knowing exactly what she’s doing to my self-restraint.
“Do I pass?” she asks, striking a mock-innocent pose.
“Pass?” I’m across the room in three strides, hands on her waist, pulling her flush against me. “You just aced every test.”
She chuckles, her arms sliding up around my neck. “You’re such a nerd.”
“You’re the one who owns three annotated copies ofThe Mummyscreenplay.”
“Because I value both films and history.”
I lean in and kiss her, my lips lingering on hers, reminding myself this is my life. That I get to do this. That she’s mine.
“God, I love you,” I murmur.
Her eyes soften, the way they always do when those words leave my lips. “I love you too.”
We hold each other, swaying gently in our little orbit. The sounds of the Halloween party next door filter through the open window. We’re supposed to be there soon. Because lucky me, one of my teammates lives in the house with his family.
