Chapter 9 #3
“Stress-baking is productive. Stress-cooking is experimental. Sometimes it works, sometimes you end up with ‘confusion cookies.’” I glance at the plate on the counter.
“Those were actually pretty good.”
“You’re just being nice—plus, this is a new batch.”
“I’m really not,” Lane says, his eyes meeting mine over his mug. “I don’t do nice. I do honest.”
His tone is bold, self-assured. I study him more carefully. It’s like I’m witnessing the real Lane—not the guarded hockey player or the overwhelmed sudden-parent, but the man underneath all of that. Like there are layers to him, neatly stacked and hidden like a set of Russian nesting dolls.
Biting my lip, I say, “On the topic of Desi and Kai, I, um, kind of told your father and Sabrina that we—you and me—are intending to give him the kind of steadiness you mentioned.”
Because we didn’t officially discuss this or make a decision together, the confidence I had earlier when declaring it at the arena gives way to a halting delivery.
Lane’s eyes widen at each word. “You said that to my father?”
“Yeah. And I may have name-dropped.”
“Like a celebrity?”
I shake my head.
“Your father?”
Again, he gets a no.
“Who?”
“Suzie Bass.”
His eyebrows shoot up.
“My mother.”
Lane chuckles and slaps the table. “I adore Sabrina. She’s the best thing that’s happened to him, but that name is going to give him a couple of sleepless nights.”
“What do you mean?”
“My father never forgets a face … or a name.”
“He claimed he didn’t know who I was talking about.”
“Trust me. He did.”
“I don’t want to interfere, but—”
“And you may very well be the best thing—” Lane swallows thickly. “I mean, you know ...”
I incline my head, waiting for him to finish the sentence. The silly romantic in me hangs onto his every word.
Changing the subject, he starts to tell me about what he found in the shower this morning. “Desi may have undersold Kai’s pranking abilities.”
My phone interrupts, buzzing with a text from an unknown number.
Unknown: Hi Nina, this is Kai. Just wanted to let you know the hotel address if you need to pick me up tomorrow. Room 1338. Just in case.
My heart aches reading it. This kid has learned to always have an escape plan, always be ready for the adults in his life to let him down.
I show the text to Lane, whose expression grows serious.
“That breaks my heart,” I admit as I add Kai’s name to my contacts.
My phone buzzes again.
Kai: I always wanted a mom and dad. Is that weird?
Before I can figure out how to respond, Lane pulls out his phone and creates a family group chat.
Lane: Not weird at all. We’ll see you tomorrow. Tell Grandma and Coach to make sure you brush your teeth and eat protein for breakfast. Eggs and steak.
Kai: Ok, DAD. Good night.
“Dad,” Lane says softly, staring at the phone. “He called me Dad.”
“How does that feel?”
“Terrifying. Amazing. Like the most important job I’ve ever had.” He looks up at me. “But I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Nobody does. But you care about him. That’s the most important part.”
We spend the next few minutes discussing logistics, including where and how we’ll live together.
We don’t go as far as discussing sleeping arrangements, but I know that living with a hockey player will mean my minimalist kitchen suddenly houses protein powders and other supplements I can’t pronounce, along with a blender that sounds like a jet engine.
Lane takes the last sip of his hot chocolate. “Why are you willing to help with this? You could walk away from all of it—the marriage, Kai, me. Why don’t you?”
The question catches me off guard, maybe because I’ve been asking myself the same thing for days, but the answer rises inside of me like the sun at dawn. “I know what it’s like to feel like you’re too much trouble. To wonder if the people who are supposed to love you actually want you around.”
“Your mother?” he asks.
“Suzie Bass.” I take a shaky breath. “She used to tell people that having a baby ruined her figure and her career. She said it in interviews and stuff. I wish I’d never sought her out, even a little paper doll, magazine version of her, but I couldn’t help myself.”
Lane’s jaw tightens as if he’s upset on my behalf, but the softness in his gaze tells me he understands.
“The point is, no kid should feel that way. Ever. If I can help make sure Kai knows he’s cared for ... then maybe all that pain was worth something.”
Lane reaches across the table and covers my hand with his. His fingers are warm and callused yet gentle.
He shakes his head as if he just woke up from a really good dream but realized it’s reality. “You’re amazing. You know that?”
The simple words wrap around me like a hug, and I know they’re genuine. But all the same, I say, “I’m not amazing, I’m just doing the right thing. It’s what anyone would do.”
He frowns. “Most people would run from this situation. Most people would have run from Vegas. But you’re here, making homemade marshmallows and offering to help raise a kid who isn’t even yours.”
“He could be … ours, I mean. If we ... if this ...” For the first time tonight, words fail me.
“If we what?” Lane asks, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand.
I whisper, “If we gave this a real try. Not just for Kai, but for us.”
“Nina.” My name sounds different on his lips now. Rougher but somehow also gentle, an urgent yearning.
I quickly add, “I know it’s crazy. We barely know each other and this whole situation snowballed, but—”
He stands up, still holding my hand, pulling me to my feet and finishes, “But maybe that’s not a bad thing.”
Reality rushes toward me from one side and what my heart secretly wants from the other. Panicked, the former pipes up, “My father made me promise—”
“Your father isn’t here,” Lane says, stepping closer. “And I’m not him. I’m not my father either. I’m just ... me. Lane. The guy who makes decent hot chocolate, doesn’t know how to be a dad but wants to try, and who can’t stop thinking about you.”
I tip my gaze to meet his. A delirious group of butterflies flutter and fly around my belly.
“I’ve been thinking about us a lot,” he admits, his free hand coming up to cup my cheek. “About the dance before we stepped on that stage with the hypnotist, about the way you felt in my arms during our first kiss. About how right this feels even though it seems like it should be completely wrong.”
“This is happening so fast,” I breathe, but instead of pulling away, I lean in.
Before I can overthink it, before I can list all the reasons this is a terrible idea, I rise on my toes and press my lips to his.
Our New Year’s kiss was fireworks exploding across the Las Vegas skyline. This one is small-town steadiness, deliberate, honest, full of all the feelings I’ve been trying to ignore since the night we met.
It’s cookies and milk, a sweet comfort kind of kiss.
Lane’s arms come around me immediately, pulling me closer, and I can taste cinnamon and vanilla and desire on his lips. When he deepens the kiss, I make a soft sound that I don’t even recognize as coming from me.
“Nina,” he murmurs against my mouth, and there’s something in the way he says my name that makes my knees so weak I could swoon.
But the truth is, maybe I’ve already fallen.