Page 193 of Slapshot Baby

Kai pulls my chair out. His hand brushes the bare skin between my shoulder blades and lingers.

We order. He picks the lamb while I get the risotto with truffle oil.

"How has the captaincy been?"

"Like putting on a glove that fits. The months without it felt like driving with the parking brake on."

"You know what I like about you?"

"My modesty?"

"Your complete lack of it." I tear a piece of bread and dip it. "I like that you don't pretend. Most people would try to act humble. You just say it fits and you missed it."

"It does fit. I did miss it."

"See? No performance. It's refreshing."

"You're the one who taught me that. You told me hockey was what I do, not who I am. I had to lose the C to figure out both things are true."

I stop chewing. That quiet sincerity in his voice catches me off guard the way it always does, surfacing without warning in the middle of ordinary conversation.

"What about you?" he says. "The studio."

"What about it?"

"Naomi told me you booked out through January."

"Naomi, Naomi. She talks too much."

"She said you cried when the Brentwood client sent referrals."

"I did not cry. My eyes watered."

"She said you locked yourself in the supply closet for half an hour."

"It was a private moment of professional satisfaction."

His mouth twitches. "In a closet."

I shrug.

He laughs. Low, warm, shaking through his shoulders. I grin at him across the table.

The food arrives. We eat slowly. We talk about the new house he wants to look at in the hills, about whether Biscuit is getting fat or just fluffy.

Sometime during the conversation, Kai sets his fork down, reaches across the table and takes my hand. His thumb traces my knuckle.

"Ava."

"Kai."

"I've been carrying something around for three weeks."

My pulse picks up. "Should I be worried?"

"You should be still for thirty seconds. Can you do that?"

"I’ll see what I can do."