Page 102 of Slapshot Baby

Besides, the baby is making me ravenous. Ever since the nausea finally settled, it feels like my appetite has no bottom.

The candle between us flickers when he sits down. The warm light catches the angles of his face, the dark stubble along his jaw, the permanent crook in his nose.

He's wearing a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, forearms on the table, tattoos visible in the low light.

Something warm and reckless pools in my chest.

"Tell me about your business," he says after we order.

"What about it?"

"How it started. Before the gala clients and the teal obsessions."

I lean back and consider him. Most people ask about interior design like it's a hobby. Something cute. A thing women do between brunch and yoga.

Kai is asking the way he'd ask a teammate about their conditioning routine. Like the answer will inform his next decision.

"I started with a studio apartment and zero clients. I cold-emailed every real estate developer in LA for three months before someone responded. He gave me a bathroom renovation as a trial. I cried when I got the contract and then I panicked because I'd never tiled anything in my life."

"What happened?"

"I taught myself to tile by watching videos until my eyes crossed. I practiced on plywood in my living room, then did the job and never looked back. He gave me a kitchen next, then a full remodel. Months later, he referred me to someone bigger."

Kai listens without interrupting. His brown eyes track my face with a focus that makes me want to fidget.

A feeling of warmth starts unfurling inside me. That terrifies me because I've never had a man pay this kind of attention to the parts of me that have nothing to do with how I look.

"What do you love about it?" he asks.

The question catches me off guard. People ask what I do, how I got into it, whether I've done any celebrity homes. Nobody asks what I love about it.

"The moment before the client sees it," I say, twisting the stem of my water glass. "When the room is done and I'm standing alone in the doorway. For about thirty seconds, everything is exactly what I imagined. Then the client walks in and asks if the curtains come in taupe."

His laugh is low, rolling through his chest. The candlelight catches his eyes.

My heart starts beating a bit too fast.

"Tell me about growing up. You and your twin sister."

“My twin sister?” I ask. I’ve never told Kai about Lucy.

“I saw her photo in your house. Unless you replicated yourself and stood beside an angrier version of you in that pic, she’s your twin.”

"Her name is Lucy. We were attached at the hip until we were teens. Then she became the structured one and I became the one who brought home stray cats."

"How many?"

"Seven total. Mom drew the line at four simultaneous cats, which in retrospect was generous."

"And your mom?"

"She's the best person I know. She made us feel safe without ever raising her voice. She raised two feral daughters on her own and somehow produced functioning adults."

His eyes narrow slightly. "On her own?"

You’ve slipped up, Ava.

I reach for my water but say nothing.