Chapter Thirty-Three #4
“Because you do not know?”
“Yes.”
She appreciated the admission.
He continued.
“I know what I want for me.”
“Dinner.”
“Many.”
“Public.”
“Yes.”
“And your mother.”
“She asks.”
Tessa sat upright.
“About me?”
“No.”
“Matvei.”
He looked toward her with enough guilt to confirm the answer.
“What did you tell her?”
“That there is someone.”
Tessa stared.
“When?”
“After Cup.”
“On the ice?”
“No. Later.”
“What did she say?”
“Many things.”
“That is not an answer.”
“She asks name. Work. Family. How long. Why secret.”
Tessa could imagine every question arriving without space between them.
“What did you tell her?”
“Reporter.”
“You told your mother I’m a reporter?”
“Yes.”
“For the team?”
“No.”
Tessa exhaled.
“So she thinks you are secretly dating a mysterious reporter from somewhere.”
“Yes.”
“That is probably worse.”
“Maybe.”
“Did Katya hear?”
“Yes.”
“Great.”
Matvei touched her cheek.
“They want meet.”
The warmth returned.
Tessa looked down.
“I want to meet them.”
“I know.”
“If I stay on the beat, that gets harder.”
“Yes.”
“If I take the Tides job, it becomes easier.”
“Yes.”
“But you will not tell me to apply.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Matvei’s expression became serious.
“Because you love work.”
Tessa looked at him.
“I love you,” he said. “I do not want take.”
Her throat tightened.
“You would not be taking it from me.”
“Maybe.”
“I’m capable of making my own decision.”
“Yes. So make.”
The answer should have annoyed her.
Instead, it felt like trust.
Matvei wanted all the things the Tides job might allow. He wanted dinners, public affection and a relationship that did not exist only in private rooms.
He still refused to turn those wants into pressure.
Tessa touched his jaw.
“You are being unusually mature.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I am always.”
“That is objectively false.”
Matvei kissed her.
The conversation did not end so much as pause.
They moved toward the kitchen and sorted through the food gifts. Matvei rejected three baskets containing items he did not recognize. Tessa found crackers, cheese and chocolate inside one and declared it dinner.
He objected.
They ate it anyway.
Tessa opened her laptop at the island while Matvei carried bottles of wine toward a cabinet. The internal posting remained in the browser.
He saw it.
The title occupied the top of the screen.
Halifax Tides beat reporter
Matvei stopped beside her.
Tessa expected another opinion.
He kissed the top of her head instead.
Then continued toward the cabinet.
She read the listing again.
Required qualifications.
Professional reporting experience.
Ability to work on deadline.
Experience developing sources and producing enterprise journalism.
Knowledge of hockey and the women’s sports landscape.
The application requested a cover letter, resume and five work samples.
Tessa already knew which Tides stories she might submit.
Claire Dunning’s profile.
The facilities sidebar.
The name announcement.
Perhaps the expansion story itself.
The fifth sample could come from the Convoy beat, proof that she understood daily coverage and could handle the demands of professional hockey.
She disliked how quickly the list formed.
Matvei returned to the island and began removing labels from one of the gift boxes.
“You apply now?” he asked.
“No.”
“Why open?”
“I am thinking.”
“You think with form.”
“Sometimes.”
Tessa scrolled toward the application button.
The deadline appeared beneath it.
Friday at five.
The parade would take place Wednesday.
Viktor had told her to ask about his future afterward. The city would gather for one final celebration. Frank’s old seat would be waiting above the ice.
Two more days inside the championship.
Then a choice.
Matvei placed a piece of chocolate near her hand.
Tessa ate it without looking away from the screen.
“Do you want to read my cover letter if I write one?” she asked.
“No.”
“Why?”
“I say wrong.”
“That has never stopped you.”
“True.”
She smiled.
Matvei leaned against the opposite side of the island.
“If you apply, does not mean take.”
“No.”
“If stay, we find way.”
“Yes.”
“If go, you write first.”
Tessa looked up.
“First what?”
“Everything.”
The answer carried more weight than he realized.
Or perhaps he understood exactly.
Tessa closed the application without submitting it.
She did not close the posting.
The NHL had been the destination for so long that she had never questioned whether reaching it required staying forever. The Cup Final had proven she belonged there. Nothing about considering another beat could erase that.
The Tides did not yet possess a championship to chase.
They did not possess a roster.
Their first training camp existed only as a date on an operating calendar. Their first game had no opponent, final score or reporter waiting to describe what it meant.
Tessa had spent the year writing about a championship team. She was not ready to decide whether she wanted to remain for everything that followed or stand at the beginning of something else.
She stopped asking which beat was supposed to be bigger and began asking where she wanted to be when the first puck dropped.