Chapter 7
Seven
The second time they ran into each other at Novaria in early December, it didn’t feel like an accident.
Cassie had already claimed her usual table by the window, laptop open but untouched, her latte resting beside her. She was rereading a paragraph she’d written and not liking any of it, which usually meant she needed to stop pretending she was working and just let her brain idle for a few minutes.
Luke appeared at the edge of her vision without startling her this time.
“Morning,” he said, easy.
“Hey,” she replied, just as easy, like this was a thing they did now.
He held up his cup. “Mind if I sit?”
She gestured to the chair, feigning mild indifference. “Go ahead.”
“That’s a dangerous precedent,” he said, smiling as he sat.
They fell into a rhythm that surprised her with how natural it felt. No careful pauses. No recalibrating. Just conversation that picked up where it had left off.
“Did you see the Buffalo–Edmonton game last night?” he asked.
She snorted. “Buffalo’s third-period meltdown? Yeah.”
“Thought my phone was broken with how fast the group chat was lighting up,” he said. “Two defensemen lost the same guy on the same shift.”
“Classic Buffalo,” Cassie said.
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs under the table. “You working or pretending to work?”
“Pretending,” she admitted. “I filed today’s story early. I started tomorrow’s preview, but now I’m just buying myself ten minutes of not thinking.”
“Mind if I join you in that?”
“Only if you promise not to talk systems,” she said.
“No promises,” he replied, then softened it with a grin. “But I’ll try.”
They talked about the Strip District first — which places stayed open late, which ones closed too early, which Italian restaurants had best pasta but the worst pizza.
Luke told her about his drummer neighbor with a resigned shake of his head.
Cassie countered with a story about filing a gamer from a rental car outside an airport when her flight got canceled.
Somewhere between sips of coffee and the low hum of conversation around them, the talk shifted without either of them noticing.
“Can I ask you something?” Luke said.
“Depends,” she replied. “Is this a hockey question or a life question?”
“Life,” he said. “I think.”
She closed her laptop this time for real.
“You’re single,” he said, not asking so much as confirming.
“Yes,” she said. “Occupational hazard.”
He nodded. “Same.”
She glanced up at him. “Hard to believe.”
He shrugged. “It’s not that dramatic. I just… haven’t found anyone who really gets the job.”
Cassie smiled slightly. “You mean the schedule, the scrutiny, the fact that half your life happens in public?”
“Yeah,” he said. “And the other half is lonely hotel rooms and people assuming you’re fine because you’re paid well.”
That landed. She didn’t rush to fill the space.
“My last relationship ended because he said he felt like he was dating my calendar,” she said eventually. “And my phone.”
Luke winced in sympathy. “That sounds familiar.”
She studied him — the relaxed way he sat now, the absence of tension she’d seen after games. This wasn’t Luke-the-defenseman or Luke-the-contract. This was just Luke, thoughtful, quietly searching.
They didn’t touch. They didn’t flirt outright. But when he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, their knees brushed beneath it, and neither of them pulled away.
Luke checked his watch eventually, exhaling. “I should go. We’ve got video meetings in an hour.”
“Of course,” Cassie said. “I should actually do the pretending-to-work thing.”
He stood and said, “I’ll see you around,” before hesitating.
“Hey, actually,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his phone, unlocked it, then turned the screen toward her. “I know you already have the team contacts, but… this is my number.”
Cassie looked at it for a beat too long. She could feel the difference immediately, the quiet weight of it.
“In case you ever have a question,” he added, voice steady, professional enough to pass if anyone were listening. “For a story. Or something you want clarified.”
She nodded, pulled her phone from her bag, and typed it in without comment. When she looked up again, his eyes held hers just a second longer than necessary.
“Thanks,” she said.
As he walked toward the door, he glanced back once. Cassie caught it and felt it settle somewhere in her chest.
She reopened her laptop, stared at the screen, and realized she wasn’t ready to think yet.