Chapter Twenty #3
A downtown restaurant. Matvei entering through the front door, recognizable even without Convoy clothing. Her sitting across from him beneath public lighting. A fan taking a photograph. Someone posting it before dessert arrived.
The fear came quickly enough to extinguish the first warmth.
Tessa: We cannot go to a restaurant.
The typing indicator appeared almost immediately.
Then stopped.
Tessa worried the answer sounded like rejection.
She added:
Tessa: Someone could see us.
Matvei replied:
Matvei: People see everyone.
Tessa: People know you.
Matvei: Some.
Tessa: Most people in Halifax know you.
Matvei: Not most.
Tessa: Enough.
The indicator appeared again.
Matvei: You do not want date?
Tessa closed her eyes.
He had called it that.
A date.
The word made what they were doing feel more dangerous and more honest at the same time.
Tessa: I want the date. I’m worried about the public part.
His answer came after a longer pause.
Matvei: I make dinner. My house.
Tessa read it.
She pictured the home she knew only through references. The place Matvei returned after games, where he cooked, read and existed without reporters or teammates. Entering it would be another threshold, less temporary than a hotel room across an ocean.
Tessa: That is not exactly taking me to dinner.
Matvei: You come. I cook. Date.
Tessa: Very formal.
Matvei: I wear shirt.
Tessa laughed aloud.
She looked toward the apartment.
The clean table. Folded blankets. Empty sink.
For once, staying home had not felt like waiting for work to begin again.
Now she wanted to leave.
Tessa: Tonight?
Matvei: Yes.
Tessa checked the time.
Six-twenty.
Tessa: What time?
Matvei: Eight.
Tessa: That is less than two hours.
Matvei: You need more?
She thought of the yoga class, wet hair and complete absence of any plan for what to wear.
Tessa: I’ll be there at eight. Send me the address.
The location arrived immediately.
A residential neighborhood outside the downtown core, private enough that cars parked along the street would not attract much attention.
Matvei sent another message.
Matvei: Bring watch.
Tessa looked toward the bedroom.
Tessa: I knew that was deliberate.
Matvei: Maybe.
The answer made her smile.
She placed the soup on the coffee table and stood.
A date.
The first one had happened accidentally in Finland. The second had become something else before either named it.
This one came with a time and address.
Tessa crossed into the bedroom.
The closet looked more organized than it had that morning, which did not make the decision easier.
Most of her clothes belonged to work. Trousers, sweaters, blazers and dresses chosen to survive travel without wrinkling.
The remaining options seemed divided between too casual and too obviously selected for a man who had already seen her without any of them.
She pulled out dark jeans and placed them on the bed.
Then a black sweater.
Too much like work.
A cream blouse.
Too formal.
A fitted dark green sweater she had bought months earlier and never worn because the neckline felt impractical for locker-room interviews.
Tessa held it against herself in the mirror.
The color made her hair look darker and her skin warmer.
She placed it beside the jeans.
Then stood there looking at them.
She had dressed for dates before. Not recently, but enough to remember the calculations. Attractive without appearing to have tried. Comfortable without seeming indifferent. Something that could survive dinner and whatever happened afterward without making assumptions.
This felt different.
Matvei had already seen every part of her.
The clothing still mattered.
Not because she needed to convince him to want her.
But because tonight was the first time they were choosing to learn whether they could exist together without an arena, hotel or deadline shaping the space around them.
Tessa dried her hair and left it down.
She applied makeup, wiped part of it away and started again with less. The process took longer than she would ever admit to Nina.
At seven-thirty, she dressed.
The green sweater fit more closely than anything she wore to work.
The jeans made the outfit casual enough for dinner at someone’s house, though Tessa checked the mirror from three angles before accepting that she looked like herself rather than someone attempting to become a person who went on dates with professional athletes.
Her phone vibrated on the dresser.
Matvei: You still come?
Tessa looked at the time.
Seven-forty.
Tessa: Yes.
Matvei: Good.
She fastened small gold earrings and reached for her coat.
The bad one.
Tessa stopped.
Matvei would say something.
The knowledge made her smile.
She wore it anyway.
At the bedroom door, she remembered the watch.
Tessa returned to the dresser and picked it up. For several seconds, she considered placing it inside her purse.
Instead, she fastened it around her own wrist.
The band hung loose enough to slide nearly halfway down her hand. It looked absurd against her smaller arm, unmistakably belonging to someone else.
Tessa studied the reflection.
Then she pushed it beneath the sleeve of her coat, picked up her keys and left for her first real date with Matvei Belov.