Chapter 17
NILS
Monday morning came with the kind of clarity that only followed a sleepless night of deep thinking.
I’d spent all night replaying Adan’s words from the night before, the honesty in his voice when he’d told me he was falling for me, the way he’d looked sitting in my living room in that ridiculous vampire costume, putting his heart completely on the line.
I don’t want anyone else. Just you.
The words had been echoing in my head, impossible to ignore or rationalize away. And sometime around four in the morning, I’d reached a decision that both terrified and exhilarated me.
I was tired of fighting this. Tired of pretending that professional boundaries mattered more than the way I felt when I was with him. Tired of convincing myself that the smart thing was to keep running from something that might actually be worth the risk.
Adan had been brave enough to tell me the truth about his feelings. The least I could do was be brave enough to acknowledge mine.
Of course, as soon as I saw him during our private practice, I’d chickened out, and every minute had been exquisite torture.
I’d never been so aware of someone else in my entire life, so physically tuned in to another human being.
Like I felt him in my soul somehow—which was ridiculous and over the top, and yet.
He was about to head for the locker room when I finally found my courage. “Adan.”
He spun around. “Yeah?”
I skated up to him. “Come over for dinner tonight.”
His eyes lit up, even as his face stayed calm. “Are you sure?”
No. How could I be? “Yes. Seven?”
His eyes searched mine, and then he slowly nodded. “See you then.”
Now, standing in my kitchen at six-thirty, ready to reheat the Swedish meatballs I’d made according to my farmor’s recipe, I was questioning the wisdom of this decision. Not because I didn’t want Adan here—I did, desperately—but because I knew that tonight would change everything between us.
There would be no going back after this. No pretending that we were coach and player, no hiding behind professional obligations or appropriate boundaries. Tonight was me choosing him, choosing us, choosing to see what we could be together if we stopped fighting against it.
The knock on my door came at exactly seven o’clock, because Adan was nothing if not punctual. I wiped my hands on a dish towel and went to let him in, my heart rate picking up as I turned the locks.
He was standing in the hallway wearing dark jeans and a button-down shirt that made his shoulders look impossibly broad, looking almost as nervous as I felt.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
I gestured and he walked past me. As he passed me, I caught the scent of his cologne mixed with something that was distinctly him. The familiarity of it made my chest tight with want. Taking a deep breath, I closed the door behind me.
Adan stood there, hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t sure if I should bring something. Like, wine, maybe?”
“I thought you couldn’t buy alcohol if you’re under twenty-one.”
He shrugged. “I can’t, but Martinez can, so I could’ve asked him.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I figured it would lead to questions. I’m not exactly a wine kind of guy, which Martinez knows.”
“Then you made the right call. I do like wine, but it’s not something I drink every night.”
“Something smells incredible,” he said, looking toward the kitchen.
“Swedish meatballs. It’s my farmor’s recipe, my father’s mother. I hope you’re hungry.”
He grinned, and some of the tension between us dissipated. “I’m always starving.”
We moved to the kitchen, and I poured us each a glass of seltzer while he watched me finish the meal.
I was serving the meatballs with brown gravy, mashed potatoes, steamed green beans, and of course, lingonberry jam.
There was something domestic about the scene that felt both natural and momentous, like we were crossing some invisible line by sharing dinner in my apartment.
“Can I help with anything?” he asked.
“Nope, I’m almost done.”
I plated the food, then carried it to the dining table, which I had set for two. And yes, I had bought and lit a candle in some overly romantic gesture that I now regretted, but it was too late now.
“This is a classic Swedish meal,” I told him. “These are our famous kottbullar, or meatballs.”
“What’s the red stuff?”
“Lingonberry jam. I know it sounds weird to eat meat with jam, but try it. It’s actually really good.”
Adan eagerly dug in, trying some mashed potatoes first, but then going for a meatball with jam. His whole face lit up. “Oh, you’re right. This is really good. I wouldn’t have expected that.”
A deep satisfaction filled me. My farmor had always said that serving people good food brought joy, and I now understood what she meant. “I’m glad.”
“I’ve never had anything like this,” Adan said. “Then again, I’m more used to Mexican food.”
“Mexican?”
He nodded, chewing quickly. “My mom’s from Mexico, so I grew up with lots of her food. My dad loves it too.”
“So you’re fluent in Spanish?”
He wiggled his hand. “I can’t write it well since I never learned, but I speak and understand it well enough.”
Our conversation over dinner was easier than I’d expected, getting to know each other by asking and answering questions in the same comfortable rhythm we’d found during our other private moments.
But underneath the casual topics, there was an undercurrent of awareness, of anticipation, of both of us knowing that tonight was different.
“This is really good,” Adan said, gesturing at his nearly empty plate. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
I chuckled. “My repertoire is limited, just so you know, but my farmor did insist I learned how to cook some classic Swedish dishes.”
I left out that I’d had little opportunity to practice since I’d grown up with private chefs.
“My mom tried to teach me before I left for college, but I was too impatient to pay attention. Now I live on dining-hall food. It’s not great, but it does the job. It’s a challenge sometimes to get enough calories.”
“And the right calories, especially protein,” I said, all too familiar with that problem from my days at Rideau. When you were burning so many calories playing hockey, it could be a real issue getting enough protein.
“I make a lot of protein shakes, but I get real tired of those.”
“I used to mix them with high-protein yogurt and frozen fruit, like raspberries and strawberries.”
Adan gave me an amused look. “Then your dorm must’ve been more luxurious than mine because we don’t have a freezer. Tank and I share a tiny little fridge, but no freezer compartment.”
I could’ve slapped myself. “Right. Sorry. Rideau put all hockey players together and we did have some privileges.”
Adan snorted. “I bet you did. But I also bet Rideau cost you a fucking fortune. Unless you got a scholarship?”
Oh, such treacherous grounds I was now treading on. “No, I didn’t, but my family could afford it. Sorry.”
He’d just shoveled the last heap of mashed potatoes into his mouth and waved me off with his hand. “No need to apologize,” he said after chewing and swallowing. “Not your fault you’re rich.”
Would he react with that same cavalier attitude when he found out I was more than rich? When he discovered I came with a title… and a kingdom?
I pushed the thought away.
After dinner, we moved to the living room with another seltzer, and I found myself at a loss for what to do next. I’d suggested dinner because I’d wanted to spend time with him, but I hadn’t thought beyond that to what the evening might look like.
“Want to watch something?” Adan asked, settling onto my couch like he belonged there.
“Sure. What would you like to watch?”
“I don’t care. You pick.”
I found something on Netflix—a thriller that neither of us had seen yet—and sat down next to him, leaving a careful space between us that felt both appropriate and torturous.
For the first twenty minutes, we actually watched the movie, making occasional comments about the plot or the acting.
But gradually, I became more aware of Adan’s presence beside me than whatever was happening on screen.
The way he’d relaxed into my couch, the sound of his breathing, the warmth radiating from his body inches away from mine.
“This is nice,” he said quietly during a lull in the action.
“What is?”
“This. Being here with you. Feeling like we don’t have to be careful about every word we say.”
“It is nice.”
“I missed it. After that week when you were avoiding me, I realized how much I’d gotten used to talking to you.”
“I missed it too.”
He turned to look at me then, and something in his expression made my pulse quicken. “What changed your mind? About tonight, I mean. About inviting me over.”
That was the question I’d been expecting, and the one I was least prepared to answer.
Because the truth was that everything had changed my mind: his honesty on Halloween night, the way he’d looked when he’d told me he was falling for me, the realization that I was falling for him too and that fighting it was only making us both miserable.
“You did. What you told me on Halloween. The way you were honest about your feelings even when you didn’t expect anything in return.”
“And?”
“And I realized I was being a coward. That I was so afraid of the potential consequences that I was missing out on something that might be extraordinary.”
“Might be?”
I smiled. Adan was like a little steamroller, always pushing, but he wasn’t wrong here. “Is,” I corrected. “Something that is extraordinary.”
The space between us on the couch suddenly felt like too much distance. I shifted closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, close enough to count the individual lashes that framed them.
“Nils,” he said, my name barely a whisper.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to kiss me?”
“Do you want me to?”
“I’ve wanted you to since the moment I walked in the door.”