18. Sophie
Chapter 18
Sophie
“ Y ou've fixed your hair six times in the last ten minutes," Cynthia observes from my doorway. "The Daniels aren't going to care if your curls are perfect."
"They might." I fidget with my dress. It’s navy blue, conservative but not too formal. "His mother might."
"His mother already loves you."
"She doesn't even know me!"
"She knows you help Natalia with her math." Cynthia steals my hairbrush before I can make another adjustment. "That's basically sainthood in their world."
"But what if…"
"What if nothing. You've got this." She hands me my purse. "Now go. Your man is waiting downstairs."
Right. Because Evan insisted on picking me up. Like this is a real date instead of just... whatever we've been doing all week.
My phone buzzes.
Natalia: Are you here yet??? I need help with fractions before dinner!!!
I guess Natalia got a ride with Julia rather than riding with Evan.
Followed by Julia: Mom's already asked three times when you're arriving.
And finally, Evan: Ready when you are. No rush.
But I can picture him down there in his truck, his fingers carving a path through his brown hair the way they do when he's nervous.
Because he is nervous. Because this means something…I think.
"Go," Cynthia pushes me toward the door. "Before you change your outfit again."
I take one last look in the mirror, smoothing my dress.
"How do I look?"
"Like someone who's about to meet the family of the man she’s crazy about."
"Not helping!"
She laughs. "You look perfect. Now go get your grumpy goalie."
The drive to Evan's parents' house is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. He keeps reaching for my hand at stop lights, thumb brushing over my knuckles like he's reassuring himself I'm really here.
"You okay?" he asks as we turn onto a tree-lined street.
"Fine! Great! Totally not nervous at all!"
He laughs. "You're a terrible liar."
"I am not…" I stop at his look. "Okay, fine. I'm terrified."
"Of my family?"
"Of..." I gesture vaguely. "Everything? This feels...real."
He's quiet for a moment, then: "Is that bad?"
"No! Just..." I bite my lip. "Different. From what we've been doing."
"You mean sneaking around like teenagers?"
"It was kind of fun though." I grin at him. "Very romantic."
He laughs again, and some of my nervousness eases. Because this is still us. Still the easy banter and shared jokes and…
"We're here."
Oh God.
The house is beautiful, a big Victorian with a wraparound porch and carefully tended gardens. Very much not what I expected from a hockey family.
"Mom likes projects," Evan explains, reading my expression. "The garden's her latest."
"It's gorgeous."
"Like you." He leans over to kiss me, then freezes as the front door opens.
"They're here!" Natalia's voice carries across the yard. "Sophie! Did you bring your math notes? Dad said you would!"
"Subtle," Evan mutters. "Really subtle."
I laugh and get out of the truck, before being immediately tackled by an excited nine-year-old.
"You came! Grandma made pasta and garlic bread and…"
"Let her breathe, squirt." Julia appears on the porch, grinning. "Though I have to say, the math thing really sealed the deal with Mom."
"Jules…" Evan warns.
"What? I'm just saying, if you wanted to keep this quiet, maybe don't let Natalia spend an hour telling Grandma about the pretty lady who makes math fun."
I feel my face heat. "I just use hockey examples…"
"And color-coding," Natalia adds. "And sometimes we calculate save percentages!"
"Sometimes?" Evan raises an eyebrow.
"When we're not calculating shot trajectories..."
Julia's laughter follows us inside, where the smell of marinara and garlic instantly makes my mouth water.
"Sophie!" Mrs. Daniels emerges from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. "Finally! I've heard so much about you!"
She's smaller than I expected, but I see where Evan gets his eyes. They're the same piercing blue as his, though hers are warm where his tend toward icy.
"Thank you for having me," I manage. "Your garden is beautiful."
"Oh, you like gardens?" She lights up. "I've been trying to get Evan interested for years, but…”
"Mom." Evan's hand finds the small of my back. "Let her at least get in the door."
"Right, right." She waves us toward the living room. "Go. sit. Dinner's almost ready. Mr. Daniels is just...Robert! Come meet Sophie!"
Not three seconds pass before Mr. Daniels marches into the kitchen, eyes darting around.
Evan's father is exactly what I expected—tall, stoic, with that same quiet intensity his son has. He shakes my hand firmly, studying me with eyes that miss nothing.
"So," he says after a moment, "you're the one teaching my granddaughter advanced mathematics."
"Just...using hockey to make it relatable."
"Mmhmm." But I catch the slight upturn of his lips. "And how's that working out?"
"Show him!" Natalia tugs my hand. "Show him the problem we did about probability and save percentages!"
"After dinner," Mrs. Daniels calls from the kitchen. "Sophie, come help me with the salad. I want to hear all about this feature you're writing."
Evan tenses slightly beside me.
"Mom…"
"What? I'm just making conversation." She hands me a bowl of greens. "Though I have to say, your last article about youth hockey was lovely. Very touching."
I blink. "You read my articles?"
"Of course! Ever since Evan mentioned you several months ago."
"He...what?"
Julia snorts from the doorway. "Oh, this is good."
"I did not…" Evan starts.
"You did," his father cuts in. "Something about her being 'thorough' and 'detail-oriented’."
"That was simply a professional observation."
"Sure it was, son."
I bite back a smile, watching Evan's ears turn red.
"Anyway," Mrs. Daniels continues, "when Natalia started talking about the pretty lady teaching her math, I put two and two together."
"More math!" Natalia bounces in her seat. "See? It's everywhere!"
The conversation flows easily after that. Mrs. Daniels—"Call me Anna, dear"—tells stories about Evan's childhood hockey obsession. Mr. Daniels occasionally adds dry commentary that makes everyone laugh. Julia teases her brother mercilessly while Natalia demonstrates her new mathematical understanding of save percentages.
It's...perfect.
Too perfect?
The thought sneaks in as I watch them interact. This easy family dynamic, the way they include me like I belong...
"More wine?" Julia offers.
"Please." I hold out my glass. "The food is absolutely delicious, by the way."
"Mom's secret recipe," she says, then pauses. "Though not as secret as some of her other recipes. Chelsea used to beg for…"
The temperature in the room drops ten degrees.
"Julia." Evan's voice could freeze water.
"Sorry! I didn't mean to…"
"It's fine." But he's already pulling away, his earlier warmth gone.
The next ten minutes as we all attempt to make conversation, I can feel him become more and more restless.
Finally, he says, "We should probably go. Early practice tomorrow."
"But Dad!" Natalia protests. "We haven't even had dessert! And Sophie was going to show Grandpa…"
"Another time."
I watch him retreat behind his walls, transforming back into the Ice Man right before my eyes.
"Evan…" his mother starts.
"It's fine." I force a smile. "He's right. Early practice."
The goodbyes are awkward, though Anna hugs me like she's apologizing for something. Julia looks miserable. Even Mr. Daniels seems concerned.
The drive to my apartment is silent.
"Cynthia's at her sister's," I say when we pull up to my building. "You want to come up?"
He nods once, still not speaking.
We make it to my apartment in that same heavy silence. But as soon as the door closes, he has me pressed against it, his kiss desperate, almost angry.
For a moment, I let myself indulge in this. The eagerness. The heat of it. The way I fit perfectly in his arms, as if this is where I belong.
Then reality begins to seep in. Because this isn't just any ordinary evening. And Evan isn’t just any ordinary man. He’s a man with a complex past and a family that has become increasingly important to me.
I can feel him tensing up, his thoughts racing. "You're thinking too loud," I mumble, my voice soft against his insistent mouth.
He glances down at me. “Am not."
"Are too. I can feel you tensing up." I glance up to look at him. "Want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"I’m shocked." But I say it fondly. "Is this about what happened at dinner?”
"It's about a lot of things," he says carefully.
"Like the fact that I'm writing about your family while sleeping with you?"
"Among other things."
I take a step back, and I immediately miss his warmth. "Regrets?"
"No." That, at least, he's sure about. "But concerns."
"About?"
"About what happens when the story comes out. About how this affects Ryland's chances at camp. About..." He swipes a hand through his hair. "About what people will say when they find out I'm dating someone barely older than my babysitter."
"First of all, I'm twenty-three, not sixteen." I poke his chest. "Second, I'm pretty sure your babysitter doesn't do what I did last night."
"Sophie."
"Sorry." But I'm grinning. "Couldn't resist."
He tries to stay serious, but it's hard when he's looking at me like that—all sleepy eyes and dark, messed-up hair.
"I mean it," he says, sitting up against my headboard. "There are complications here."
"I know. Trust me, I've thought about them all. Extensively. Usually at three a.m. when I can’t sleep."
And that's the problem, isn't it? How easily he's woven himself into every part of my life. How natural it feels to have him there. How terrifying that is.
"The last time I mixed personal and business..." he starts, then stops.
"Didn't end well?"
"That's an understatement."
He's quiet for a moment, fingers playing with the hem of the shirt I'm wearing. "Tell me about Chelsea.”
"Sophie..."
"Not for the story. Not for anything except...I want to understand what you're afraid of."
I study his face, looking for any sign of the man who's usually so guarded. All I see is Evan—open, honest, caring Evan who makes me feel safe in his big, strong arms.
"Chelsea was..." He takes a deep breath. "She was ambitious. Smart. Knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it."
"Sounds familiar."
"No." He catches my hand. "You're nothing like her. She...she saw my career as a stepping stone. Saw our marriage as content for her lifestyle blog. Even Natalia was just...material."
Understanding dawns in my eyes. "That's why you freaked out about Lexi wanting to expand the feature."
"I didn't freak out."
"You kind of did." But I squeeze his hand. "It's okay. I get it now."
"Do you?" He looks at our joined hands. "Because this...us...it complicates everything. Your career, my career, the feature, Ryland's chances at camp..."
"I know." I move closer, until I'm practically in his lap. "But maybe some things are worth complicating."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." I kiss him softly. "Besides, I'm pretty sure Natalia would never forgive me if I stopped coming to her games."
"She does love having her own personal photographer."
"And Julia would hunt me down if I missed Sunday dinners."
"True. Okay, okay." He pulls me fully into his lap. "I get it. You're essential personnel."
"Exactly." I wrap my arms around his neck. "So maybe stop overthinking and kiss me?"
He does. Because how can he not when I'm looking at him like that? When we fit so perfectly together? When he makes everything feel possible?
His lips are soft and warm, and I can't help but deepen the kiss, my hands sliding under his shirt to feel his huge muscles. He responds eagerly, his fingers tangling in my hair as we stumble our way to the bedroom.
It doesn’t take long for our clothes to come off so I can feel Evan skin to skin.
Every ounce of me is on fire under his gaze. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, his breath hot on my neck.
The back of my knees hit the mattress as I lift his shirt over his head, revealing his bare chest. He's beautiful, his skin flushed with desire. I lick my way down his chest, and his moans fill the room. I can feel his hardness pressing against me.
He reaches down, his hands gripping my hips as he pulls me closer. I can feel his desire, his need for me. I grind against him, feeling his hardness press against the apex of my thighs. He groans—the sound rumbling against my ravenous mouth, his hips moving in rhythm with mine.
And I instantly need more. I need all of him. On the bed, I climb on top and lift myself up, positioning him at my entrance. One look—one single passing glance of trust—passes between us. And, in that moment, I know I need this man like I need air.
I lower myself onto him, a sigh escaping my lips as he fills me completely. He grips my hips, guiding my movements as we find our rhythm. His lips find mine, his tongue mimicking the movements of our bodies.
Almost immediately, I can feel my pleasure building, my body tensing as I approach the edge. But I want him to come with me. I want to feel him lose control, to hear him say my name. I want to make Evan mine.
I grind against him, my movements becoming more urgent. He matches my pace, his grip on my hips tightening. I can feel his body tensing, his breath leaves his lips in shuddering gasps.
"Evan," I gasp, my body convulsing as I come undone around him.
He thrusts into me one last time, his body shaking as he finds his release, my name on his lips.
We fall together, our bodies intertwined as we ride the waves of our pleasure. Sapped of all energy, my body boneless, I smile and nip at his bare shoulder, my heart full.
The next few minutes are quiet, and they should be full of nothing but pure bliss. But in the back of my mind, doubts still lurk. Because what if I'm wrong? What if this isn't different? What if…
“I can hear you overthinking, sweetheart.” His voice is raspy. “Don’t. Just...don't."
So I don't.
I let us lay there together, tangled in each other, in my sheets, his heartbeat finally slowing under my cheek.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly.
"For what?"
"For...tonight. For what Julia said..." He stops, tenses. "For everything."
"You don't have to apologize."
"Don't I?" His snort is short, the sound sharp. “I ruined a perfectly good dinner because I can't handle hearing my ex-wife's name."
"You didn't ruin anything." I kick-stand an elbow on the mattress to look at him. "Your family understands."
"Do they?" He won't meet my eyes. "Do you?"
"I'm trying to."
He's quiet for so long I think he might have fallen asleep.
"I should go," he says finally.
"Stay."
"I can't." He sits up, already pulling away. "Early practice."
"Evan…"
“What’d I say about overthinking?” He kisses my lips sweetly, and flashes me a rare smile. “Leave that to my complicated ass. I promise…I’ll see you tomorrow."
He dresses quickly, efficiently. Like he can't wait to escape. Like the memories are so hot-to-the-touch he can’t bear to reach for them.
"Text me when you get home?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.
He pauses at the door. "Yeah."
But we both know he won't.
I lay awake for hours, replaying the evening. The perfect family dinner. The way they included me so easily. The moment it all fell apart...
I stare at the messages until sunrise, when another text comes through.
Evan: Had to hit the ice early. See you later.
Professional. Distant. Ice Man restored.
I curl around my pillow, breathing in his lingering scent on my sheets.
Because that's the thing about ice—it's beautiful, strong, capable of supporting incredible things.
But it can also crack. It can also make you slip and fall when you least expect it.