Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
KATE
Hudson slams the car door before I’ve even fully come to a stop outside Emma’s house.
“Careful,” I call after him, but he’s already halfway up the path, hoodie pulled over his head, moving with that restless teenage energy that never quite switches off.
The porch light flicks on before he even knocks, and Emma opens the door with a grin like she’s been waiting for this exact moment all evening. “There he is,” she says brightly. “My favourite house guest.”
“I’m your only house guest,” Hudson mutters, stepping inside anyway.
“Ah, that’s just details.” She quips as he heads inside to find Tom.
I kill the engine and sit there for a second, hands still on the steering wheel, my heart racing far too fast for what is essentially dinner.
Emma appears in the doorway again, already clocking the fact that I haven’t moved. “Are you coming in or are you going to sit out here spiralling?” she calls.
I exhale sharply and grab my bag. “I’m not spiralling.”
“You absolutely are.”
I push the car door open before she can say anything else and step out into the cool evening air, smoothing my hands down my coat, hoping that might settle the nervous energy buzzing through me.
Emma doesn’t let me get two steps inside before she grabs my shoulders and physically turns me toward the hallway mirror. “Look at you,” she says.
“What?”
“You look hot,” she says with a firm but friendly tone.
I huff out a laugh, already shaking my head. “I look like a woman going out for dinner.”
“No,” she says, stepping back to take me in properly. “You look like a woman a man is about to completely lose his mind over.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“And accurate.”
I glance at my reflection despite myself. Dark jeans and a soft, fitted top that shows off my curves in a good way. The V-neckline is low enough to be sexy but not so low that it's slutty. Nothing over the top, nothing that screams I tried too hard, but enough that I feel put together.
Emma catches the hesitation. “You feel it, don’t you?” she asks with a smile.
“I feel like I might throw up,” I admit.
She laughs. “That’s nerves.”
“That’s a bad sign.”
“That’s a very good sign,” she counters.
“It means you care.” I open my mouth to argue, but she cuts me off before I can.
“Listen to me,” she says, holding my gaze.
“You are not going into this to impress him. You don’t have to be anything other than exactly who you are. He already likes that version of you.”
I swallow, feeling a slight tightness in my chest. “And if he doesn’t?” I ask softly.
Emma shrugs. “Then he’s an idiot, and we move on. But from what I’ve seen, that man is already halfway gone for you.”
I let out a shaky breath.
“Go,” she says, giving me a small push in the direction of the door. “Before you talk yourself out of it.”
“Hudson,” I start, but she stops me from fretting anymore about my son.
“Is staying here, being fed, and probably beating Tom at FIFA,” she interrupts. “I’ve got him.” I nod once, trusting her in the way I always have. “Text me when you get there, or if you need a get-out clause,” she adds.
“I will.” I turn to leave, but she stops me again.
“And Kate?” I pause, hand on the door. “Have fun.”
“I’ll try,” I say, and for once, I mean it.
The drive feels shorter than usual, or maybe I’m just too aware of every second ticking by.
By the time I pull up outside the restaurant, my stomach has settled from panic to anticipation. I’m still nervous, unsure even, but not enough to turn around and leave. I check my reflection in the rear-view mirror one last time, then grab my bag and step out into the night.
The restaurant is warm when I walk in, with soft lighting and low conversation wrapping around me instantly. It’s not overly fancy or intimidating, more comfortable and welcoming.
My eyes scan the room until I see him.
Lukas sits near the back, one hand resting loosely on the table, the other wrapped around a glass of water.
He looks composed and relaxed, in a way that feels natural, not forced.
Until he sees me, and something shifts. It’s subtle, but I catch it.
The way his posture straightens slightly.
His gaze sharpens, locking onto me as if I’ve just stepped into his line of sight and nothing else exists. And I’m acutely aware of myself.
“Hi,” I say as I approach the table.
He’s already on his feet before I get there.
“Hi,” he replies, and his voice feels softer than I’ve heard before, and that delicious accent does strange things to my insides.
For a second, we look at each other, and then he steps forward, leaning in just enough to press a light kiss to my cheek.
It’s brief and polite, and it makes my stomach do another weird flip.
“You look…” He pauses, like he’s choosing the word carefully. “Beautiful.”
Heat rushes up my neck immediately. “Thank you.”
“You always say thank you like you don’t believe it,” he says lightly.
“I’m working on that.”
“Good,” he says as he pulls my chair out for me.
I blink at that. “Princess treatment?” I tease as I sit.
He shrugs, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Bare minimum, I can be well behaved when I want to.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“I said when I want to be,” he corrects with a smirk.
I laugh, and the tension relaxes enough for me to settle in.
The conversation begins more easily than expected.
We start with safe topics such as work, his training schedule, Hudson, the game and things that don’t demand much vulnerability but still feel genuine.
Yet beneath these light topics lies a subtle weight, a soft undercurrent of something more meaningful.
Lukas listens in a way that catches me off guard. He’s not just nodding along or waiting for his turn to speak, but actually listening. He picks up on things and asks questions that make me pause for a second before answering.
“You enjoy it,” he says at one point.
“My job?” He nods. “I do,” I admit. “It’s chaotic and exhausting, and sometimes I question all my life choices, but yes. I love it.”
He watches me as I speak, something thoughtful in his expression. “You are good at it,” he says.
“You’ve never seen me teach.” I raise an eyebrow quizzically at him.
“I’ve seen you with people,” he replies simply. “It’s the same thing.”
That shouldn’t make my chest tighten the way it does.
“And you?” I ask, needing to shift the focus slightly. “Do you always love hockey?”
He leans back slightly, considering it. “Most of the time. There are days,” he admits. “When it feels more like a job than a passion.”
“That’s normal,” I say. “Everyone has that.”
He nods. “But then I step on the ice, and it comes back.”
“The electric feeling?” I tease.
His eyes flicker with recognition. “Exactly.” He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table. “And you?” he asks. “Do you always overthink everything?”
I let out a small laugh. “Yes. It’s a full-time occupation.”
“I noticed.”
“Of course you did.”
He smiles, softer this time. “You’re doing it now.”
“I am not.” I try to protest, but he sees straight through me.
“You are,” he insists gently. “You’re thinking about what to say next instead of just saying it.”
I open my mouth to argue, then stop, because he’s right. “That’s unsettling,” I admit.
“Why?”
“Because you’re observant. It means I can’t hide.”
His gaze holds mine for a second longer than necessary. “You don’t have to,” he says quietly.
The rest of the evening flows after that. The food comes and goes, barely noticed. The conversation deepens without either of us forcing it. There are moments of laughter mixed with quiet spells, and times when I catch myself just admiring him.
And every time, he notices.
At one point, as we’re leaving, his hand brushes lightly against the small of my back as he guides me toward the door. It’s brief, but it lingers as the warmth radiates through me, igniting a spark of excitement.
Outside, the air is cooler, the night quieter than before. We pause on the pavement, neither of us quite ready to end it.
“Thank you, I had a good time,” I tell him.
“Can I see you again?” he asks almost instantly. It’s simple and direct. Which makes it harder to deflect.
I hesitate for half a second, but then realise I’m past playing games. I take a deep breath and say, “Yes.”
His smile is immediate. “Good.”
I no longer feel the need to overthink it, so I stand there with him and let it be something.