Chapter 22
Winnie
Lucky opens my door for me and offers his hand as I slide out of his Tahoe. There’s not a doubt in my mind that my entire family is watching from the living room window, but I don’t look that way.
Instead, my gaze falls on my hand joined with his. He holds it with propriety as we turn for the sidewalk. His hand is warm in mine as we walk up the path to my parents’ front porch. The air is chilly, but thanks to the man standing next to me, it doesn’t bother me in the slightest.
He pretty much makes me warm all the time.
I’ve dated a lot. It’s true.
It’s also true that my standards are very particular. Not necessarily too high, but I seek safety in my choices. Normal is safe. Average is secure.
In all my dating history, I’ve never felt comfortable enough with someone to hold hands after only a few weeks. For me, it’s an intimate act, and yes, Lucky and I have been intimate in the closest of ways. But holding hands is more of a statement and I know my parents are analyzing it.
Just as I’m sure they’ve been trying to figure out why I asked if I could bring Lucky to dinner tonight.
That’s definitely something I don’t do when I’m casually dating because that has an even bigger message than holding hands.
Regardless, I know my mom has put together a narrative based on two simple observations—I want my family to meet Lucky, and we’re holding hands.
I’m not nervous though. At least, I keep telling myself that. But the truth is, this feels big. Bigger than a third date. Bigger than TikTok. Much, much bigger than dating a famous professional athlete who could probably have any woman he wants.
“Relax,” Lucky murmurs as we reach the door. “You’re squeezing my fingers like I owe you money.”
I glare at him. “You owe me emotional stability. That’s far more valuable.”
He smirks, leans in and kisses my cheek just as the door swings open.
“Hello!” my mom gushes, hands fluttering. “Come in, come in. I made extra rolls.”
“You told her I like bread?” Lucky whispers as we step inside.
“I told her you’re a carb-based life-form.” I chuckle and bump my shoulder against his.
The house smells like roast beef and lemon pie. My dad appears next, wiping his hands on a dish towel, looking equal parts thrilled and like he’s trying not to be. “Lucky. Dennis Shaw. Welcome.”
“Mr. Shaw,” Lucky says, shaking his hand firmly. “Thanks for having me.”
“Call me Dennis,” my dad replies, but he’s looking at Lucky like he’s seeing him in high-def for the first time. “Hell of a win last night.”
“You watched the game?” Lucky asks with a pleased smile.
“We all did,” says a voice from the living room, and Eli joins us. He’s already got a beer in hand and a smirk on his face. “You notched a point and finished plus-two. Not bad. Want a beer?”
Lucky chuckles. “Appreciate that, and sure… a beer would be great.”
Caleb appears behind Lucky, towering and quiet as ever. “You break Winnie’s heart, I’ll break your legs.” But Caleb has two beers in hand and offers one to Lucky as he turns toward my brother. “Cheers.”
“Caleb,” my mom scolds, swatting him on the arm. “Give the man a minute before you threaten violence.”
Lucky’s eyes twinkle with humor. I’m sure he knows that Caleb is dead serious about the broken heart/broken legs dichotomy, but he’s a man who appreciates a close, protective family dynamic.
And then there’s Sadie—front teeth missing, wearing a sparkly tutu and a T-shirt that says I like big books and I cannot lie.
She marches up to Lucky, hands on her hips. “Are you the hockey guy?”
Lucky kneels to her eye level. “I am. Are you the niece with strong opinions?”
She grins. “My dad says if you hurt Aunt Winnie, he’ll turn your jockstrap into a slingshot.”
The entire room bursts into laughter, Lucky laughing louder than us all, and just like that, he’s accepted into the Shaw family.
Dinner is warm and chaotic. The table is loud with overlapping conversation.
My dad asks about the pressures of playing professionally.
Caleb quizzes Lucky on his training regimen.
Eli quietly watches, as is his way, but I can tell he likes him.
I mean… everyone likes Lucky. I doubt he has a single enemy, except maybe when he’s on the ice.
And through it all, Lucky is… wonderful. He doesn’t show off, doesn’t brag. He’s humble. Charming. Funny in that low-key way of his. It’s not lost on me that maybe these were the qualities I was looking for and not just a one-size-fits-all moniker of average.
I watch as he answers a question about balancing fame with privacy and realize—he never talks about this stuff with me. Never boasts. Never leads with his status. But listening to him now, I get it. He’s earned everything he has.
While he talks to my dad about team dynamics and road travel, I drift into a memory from this morning.
Another perfect one.
We woke up tangled, but I managed to slip out of bed without waking him.
I fed Buttermilk, started coffee, and then Lucky wandered in half-asleep, hair sticking up and looking more handsome than ever.
I spent a few seconds, once again marveling that I am who I am, that I had Lucky Branson standing in my kitchen.
It felt natural as he toasted bagels while I sat on the counter, sipping coffee.
I watched him move around my kitchen like he belonged there and knew without a doubt this wasn’t an experiment at all.
It was a revelation.
After breakfast, he kissed me long and slow by the front door, murmured that he couldn’t wait to meet my parents at dinner and then he was gone.
I had another cup of coffee and scrolled my phone. I still had plenty of time before I had to leave for school.
I went to the TikTok I posted last night from the privacy of the bathroom at Jerry’s Bar, proud of my vulnerability and hoping that it inspired others to be the same way with their feelings.
I steeled myself to read more comments, knowing damn well the algorithm had changed.
That I’d likely be faced with as much negativity as positivity, a new fact of life I’ll apparently have to get used to.
What I saw boggled my mind. Yes, there were dozens of harsh comments, making it clear those people didn’t think I was good enough for Lucky. But beneath every one of those comments, as far as I could scroll, Lucky had replied to them.
Comment after comment, he called them on the carpet.
Not in an angry way, and certainly not defensive, but he was calm and kind in his rebuttals, defending his choice in me.
I nearly started crying, because no man has ever protected me like that.
I scrolled and scrolled, watching him go to bat for me, and realized—he must’ve stayed up half the night doing it.
“What happens when the TikTok attention fades?” Eli asks, his tone casual, but his eyes flick between me and Lucky like he’s testing something.
I blink, realizing I’d drifted again—thinking about Lucky, about our morning coffee, about all of it.
Lucky doesn’t miss a beat. He shrugs lightly, calm and sure. “It’s not relevant to me.”
There’s a quiet beat around the table, then all eyes land on me.
I clear my throat, feeling the weight of honesty settle on my tongue. “I didn’t expect the attention to be this big. It’s been… more intense than I thought.”
And a hell of a lot meaner than I wanted.
Lucky leans back a little, arm draping over the back of my chair.
“My content has always just been fun. A way to connect with fans, keep things light, show that I’m not a stat sheet or a press conference.
It’s an outlet. But… it’s never been personal.
Not the way it is for Winnie. Sure… she might get some laughs, but she’s real and honest in her content.
She puts herself out there and I admire the hell out of it. ”
The compliment stirs something deep within me. “Thank you for recognizing that.”
He glances around the table, something quiet but solid in his gaze as it lands back on me.
“I didn’t think we’d be discussing this here in front of your family, but what the hell…
I can be real. Meeting you through social media was the surprise.
Not something I ever thought would be me.
But once it happened… once we started doing this for real…
I stopped thinking of it as content, stopped thinking it was an experiment and started thinking of it as a relationship. ”
My mom sighs.
My breath also hitches slightly, caught off guard. “A relationship?”
Lucky’s lips curl, almost sheepish, but not apologetic. “Well, that’s what it is, isn’t it? I mean… it’s a dating relationship and who knows what else it will be.”
My pulse flutters. “Yeah,” I murmur, warmth blooming in my chest. “It is.”
“So,” he says, a little more relaxed now, eyes flicking to Eli, “if the internet disappears tomorrow, I’m still in this and not for the views.”
My brother looks like he wants to be skeptical, but he nods, his expression thoughtful. “Okay. Good answer.”
Beside him, Caleb lifts a brow but says nothing, while Sadie—blissfully unaware—pokes at a carrot on her plate and says, “I like him, Aunt Winnie. Can we keep him?”
The entire table laughs, but inside, something deep settles for me. Something certain.
“Well, we’re glad you brought him,” my mom says cheerfully, pushing back from the table. “Now, I made lemon meringue pie and brownies, because I couldn’t decide. Everyone go into the living room. Winnie, come help me plate.”
Lucky winks at me as he rises from the table and starts to grab plates. My mom slaps at his hand and connects, causing him to jerk back quickly with wide eyes. “You’re a guest. Go to the living room. I’m sure Caleb wants to threaten you some more.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lucky chuckles.
As soon as we’re alone, she gives me a knowing look. “You like him.”
I snort. “Is that your motherly wisdom at work?”
“No. It’s the way you keep looking at him like you’re surprised he’s still here.”
I bite my lip. “I really do like him,” I admit, setting out forks. “More than I expected. More than I should, maybe.”
Her eyebrows draw inward. “You make it sound like that’s a problem.”
“It’s not a problem.” I sigh, as she turns to the fridge to pull out the pie.
“We technically only have one more date in the experiment. And once that’s done, the pressure of making this public sort of goes away.
I think we both need that. But then what?
What if we step out of the spotlight and whatever this is… fizzles?”
Mom sets the pie down and pulls a knife from the drawer. “Sweetheart, if something fizzles that fast, it was never a fire to begin with.”
“I know,” I admit glumly because that’s my ultimate fear. That this wasn’t meant to be.
Mom sets the knife down and turns to me. “There’s no expiration date on something real. You don’t need a camera or a challenge or even a fifth date to keep it going. Just honesty. And a little courage.”
I nod, throat tight. Of course I know all this, but having my mom say it… it seems more legit.
“Besides,” she says, tossing her head toward the living room. “You heard what Lucky said. All that online stuff is irrelevant to him and I think you should consider the same. You can step away if it’s too much.”
“But my followers are watching… expecting.”
“You owe them nothing,” she challenges.
“But see… I do. That’s part of the job of being an influencer.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
I frown at her. “What do you mean? I said it’s part of the job of being an influencer. That’s what it is.”
“No,” she says with a shake of her head. “Not what you said, but the way you said it. I don’t hear joy in your voice. It doesn’t sound like a very fun job right now.”
She heard that, huh? I decide to own it. “I wasn’t prepared for the negative backlash. People saying I’m not good enough. It messes with my head a bit.”
My mom’s lips curve into a fond smile. “I saw Lucky’s comments from your post last night. I think that’s the only opinion that should matter to you.”
I can’t stop my dreamy smile. “Yeah… that was pretty amazing.”
“Do you doubt him?”
“Not at all. He’s genuine, I’m sure of it.”
“Then focus on that and quit worrying about what everyone else thinks. They don’t matter.” Hearing her voice saying what I want to believe makes me feel better. “When’s your next date?” she asks.
“After he gets back from the road trip. He’s leaving tomorrow and won’t be back until next Tuesday.”
“I’m sure it will be here before you know it,” she says, cutting the pie into generous slices. “Where are you going for the date?”
I lift a shoulder, pulling napkins out of a drawer as I chuckle to myself. “I’m not sure, but since it’s part of our experiment. I’m sure it will be refreshingly average.”
“Not an experiment,” she says with a pointed look.
“Yeah, yeah… I know.” I test the words on my tongue. “He said it’s a relationship.”
Mom grins at me. “Sounds good, doesn’t it?”
I grin back at her. “Yes, it does.”
“Enjoy it, my love,” she coos, picking up the knife and using it to lift slices from the pan. “You’ve got something with this boy. And I think it’s real.”
I swallow hard. “He wants me to meet his mom. She’s coming in for the next home game.”
My mom beams. “That seems like a lovely next step.”
I nod slowly, unsure if I’m thrilled or terrified.
Probably both, but I wouldn’t get off this ride for all the money in the world.