Page 113 of Penalty Kiss
Tara
Eight Months Later
The smell of fresh sawdust and possibility fills my lungs as I push through the glass doors of what will soon be the Cedar Falls Chaos… or Rookies training facility. Six months ago, this was just another empty warehouse on the outskirts of town. Now it's becoming something extraordinary.
The sound of power tools echoes through the cavernous space, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter from the construction crew. I weave between stacks of lumber and rolls of synthetic ice material, my boots crunching on wood shavings as I make my way toward the back office where Cam's voice carries over the din.
"—and I'm telling you, if we don't get the boards regulation height, some hotshot from Denver's going to show up and make us rebuild the entire rink," he's saying into his phone, that familiar mix of authority and charm that makes even contractors want to please him.
I pause in the doorway, just watching him. He's got blueprints spread across a makeshift desk, his hair disheveled fromrunning his hands through it, and there's a smudge of something that looks suspiciously like ice cream on his shirt. The sight makes my chest warm with that particular brand of fondness reserved for watching someone you love completely in their element.
When he spots me, his entire face transforms. The stressed team owner melts away, replaced by the man who still looks at me like I'm the best surprise he's ever gotten.
"Gotta go," he tells whoever's on the other end of the line. "My favorite person just walked in."
"Your only favorite person, I hope," I tease, setting down the bag I've been carrying.
"Well, Levi's pretty high on the list too, but you've got better legs."
"Charmer." I cross to him, automatically straightening his collar even though we're surrounded by construction dust and the gesture is pointless. "How's the empire building going, Mr. Wilder?"
His hands find my waist, pulling me closer with the casual possessiveness that still makes my pulse skip. "Slowly but surely. The ice system should be installed next week, and the locker rooms are actually starting to look like locker rooms instead of concrete boxes."
"And the team?"
His grin turns predatory in the best possible way. "Tryouts start in three weeks. I've got calls coming in from players who want a shot at making history with an expansion team. Some kid from Minnesota keeps leaving me voicemails about how he's going to be the next Gretzky."
"Are you going to give him a chance?"
"Hell yes. Anyone cocky enough to compare themselves to the Great One deserves at least one look." He tugs me closer, until I'm pressed against his chest and can feel the steady beat of his heart. "Besides, I have a soft spot for people who aren't afraid to dream big."
The familiar flutter of attraction starts low in my belly, the way it always does when he gets that particular glint in his eye. Eight months of being engaged to this man, and he still makes me feel like a teenager with her first crush.
"Brought lunch for my favorite team owner," I say, nodding toward the bag I abandoned. "Or should I say, my favorite sexy, unemployed construction supervisor?"
He throws back his head and laughs, the sound echoing off the bare walls. "Unemployed? Woman, I'll have you know I'm very gainfully employed. This facility isn't going to build itself."
"Mm-hmm. And how exactly does one supervise construction while eating ice cream at ten in the morning?"
His face goes sheepish, and he glances down at the telltale stain on his shirt. "Rocky road. For research purposes. We're considering adding a concession stand, and I needed to test the local suppliers."
"Of course you did. Very thorough of you."
"I'm nothing if not dedicated to my craft."
I laugh, shaking my head as I retrieve the bag and start unpacking the sandwiches I picked up from Mane Street Bistro. "Mrs. Whitmore asked me to tell you that if you keep ordering her turkey club every day, she's going to start charging you a frequent customer fee."
"Worth every penny. That woman makes magic between two slices of bread."
We settle into the rhythm we've perfected over the past months—him updating me on the facility's progress while I listen and ask the right questions, both of us stealing bites of each other's sandwiches even though we ordered exactly what we wanted. It's domestic in the best way, comfortable without being boring.
"My dad called this morning," he says around a bite of turkey and swiss.
I pause, my own sandwich halfway to my mouth. Cam's relationship with his father has been evolving since we got engaged, but it's still a work in progress. Dr. Erik Wilder doesn'tquite know what to make of his son's new life, and Cam's still learning to hear concern instead of criticism in his father's questions.
"Good call or 'Cameron, you need to think about your future' call?"
"Surprisingly good. He wanted to know if we'd set a date yet, and when I told him we were thinking fall, he offered to help with the venue."
