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“She’ll warm up eventually.”

“I moved in two months ago.”

“She’s stubborn.”

“Wonder where she gets that.”

I shoved his arm. He caught my hand, threading our fingers together.

The ring on my left hand caught the morning light, a simple band with a purple stone. He’d chosen it because it matched the sticky notes, which was possibly the most Brashe reason ever.

Three months ago, he’d proposed with a sticky note stuck to my coffee cup. I’d said yes with a note stuck to his forehead.

Crim had threatened to kill him, then cried, then threatened to kill him again. It was so Crim it made me want to cry.

“What time do you have to be at the arena?” I asked.

“Seven-fifty. Morning skate.”

“Does your hip feel okay?”

“Amazing. Your protocol works.”

Pride swelled in my chest. The research was going well, but hearing it from him and seeing him move without hesitation or pain mattered more than any data.

“Speaking of the arena,” he said, shifting on the couch. “Crim mentioned something yesterday.”

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“That tone. That’s your I’m about to tell you something you won’t like tone.”

“I don’t have a tone.”

“You definitely have a tone.”

He grinned. “Fine. Crim mentioned the general manager’s niece is starting in the front office next week.”

“And?”

“And apparently she’s…” He paused, searching for words. “A lot.”

“Define a lot.”

“Crim used the phrase, snooty woman who probably thinks hockey is something you do at country clubs.”

I laughed. “That’s specific.”

“He also said she’s way out of his league, and he’s not going to embarrass himself by trying.”

My chest squeezed. My brother had spent so much energy protecting me. And now he’d seen someone who made him scared enough to run in the other direction.

“Is she single?”

He shrugged. “I guess so. I didn’t ask her, but I did hear Mikael talking about her.”

“And Crim noticed her.”