Page 159 of Power Play
He nudges his knee into mine. “Sophie, you could show up every day just to glare at me from the stands and I’d be okay with it.”
I smirk. “Tempting.”
He grins. “You always were an excellent glarer.”
“I’ve been practicing. In mirrors. Very dramatic.”
His laugh cracks through the tension.
We fall quiet again, but this time it’s comfortable.
I sip my coffee and steal a bite of his pastry. He pretends to protest but doesn’t pull it away.
When I finally speak again, it’s softer.
“I’m not ready to move in to the new flat yet. Or call this a full-on second chance. But I want to try. Slowly. No fireworks.”
“No glitter?” he asks, mock-offended.
I level him with a look. “You get one more glitter incident and I’m sending you to therapy.”
“I already go to therapy,” he says smugly. “My therapist says I’m a delight.”
I snort. “She’s clearly paid off.”
“I pay her with honesty and charm.”
“And lies. Definitely lies.”
He laughs again, and I feel something in my chest unlock. A tiny click. The sound of walls shifting.
We finish the pastries. The hallway brightens as the morning staff flick on lights. Somewhere deeper in the rink, doors bang open and footsteps echo.
But for a few more minutes, it’s just us. Sitting on a bench, eating lukewarm croissants like it’s the most romantic thing in the world. And maybe, in its own weird way, it is. Because for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not bracing for impact.
I’m leaning in.
Not to forget the pain, but to choose something better after it.
Murphy walks me out to my car, fingers brushing mine but never pushing. He opens the door as though it’s not a big deal, and we’ve always done this.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks.
I nod. “I’m sure I want to be.”
“That’s enough for me.”
I get in, turn the key, and glance at him through the open window.
“Oh, and Murphy?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t fuck it up again.”
He grins like it’s the best threat he’s ever heard.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Hart.”
