Chapter 10
I scored the winning goal of an NHL hockey game tonight. I don’t have any pain in my shoulder or knee. Yet, kissing Nina feels better than the two things that have been my primary focus and preoccupation for years.
We pause, mouths drawing apart. We’re both breathing hard. I rest my forehead against hers.
My voice is rough when I say, “Still think this is crazy?”
“Completely bonkers,” she laughs, and the sound is like a music box—warm and tinkly. It’s the kind of laugh that makes me want to spend the rest of my life figuring out how to hear it again, preferably on repeat.
“I can do bonkers,” I tell her, and I mean it.
Leaning back slightly, she smiles. It’s like a sunrise after the longest winter … the one I’ve been living. “So we’re really doing this?”
“We’re doing this,” I say, surprising myself with how certain I sound. “All of it. The marriage, Kai, and whatever comes next.”
“And whatever comes next,” she echoes like she’s testing the concept. “I like the sound of that.”
“Even if it’s complicated or difficult?” I ask to be sure.
“Especially if it’s difficult. I’ve used that word repeatedly lately—”
“Me too.”
“But maybe difficult doesn’t mean bad.” She goes on to describe recipe testing.
“I’ve twisted myself in knots with the types of ingredients, the method and order they’re added, the baking time, and rotating the pan in the oven.
Sometimes they’re complete flops, others just average.
But occasionally, complexity yields the best results. I’m willing to try.”
“Me too,” I repeat.
Then we’re kissing again, and I think I could get used to a challenge if it tastes like Nina and cinnamon and promise.
Never mind kissing on New Year’s Eve, on a stage, in front of an audience. This is all about us.
My hands gently rest on Nina’s jaw as I draw her closer. The way she responds, so willing and confident, could be addictive.
Never mind. I’m already hooked—was done for the minute I saw her across the ballroom on New Year’s Eve.
The little sigh that escapes her lips, the way her fingers tangle in my hair like she can’t get close enough, and the beat of her heart pressed against mine is the fulfillment of a longing I didn’t know I had.
What’s better, she’s the only one who could make me feel this way.
How do I know? I’ve kissed plenty of women before, but nothing has ever felt like this, like coming home and setting off fireworks at the same time.
It’s comfortable and dazzling.
Cozy and complete.
An astounding combination of sweetness and total, utter awe.
She tastes like the homemade cookies we’ve been sneaking from her kitchen. She smells delicious, like cinnamon.
I inhale deeply, then move my mouth against hers in a way that speaks without words. I want her. She’s wanted. This kiss is something more than a silly entertainment showcase.
It’s everything and I’m obsessed.
When she presses closer in response, her hands sliding up to rest on my shoulders, what feels like a boulder lifts off my chest. In its place, I experience a sense of settling, like pieces of a puzzle clicking into place, like the flawless flick of my wrist sending a hockey puck into the net.
It’s perfect. So is she.
Whatever is going on between us is beyond just attraction or chemistry, though there’s plenty of that. This is something deeper, something that scares and thrills me in equal measure.
I smooth my thumb along her jaw, then follow with my lips, doing the same along her neck, traveling to her collarbone, charting a path before returning to her mouth. All the while, I marvel at how snugly she fits in my arms, how right this feels despite all the craziness that brought us together.
Her lips are soft and responsive, and when she makes a small sound, I have to remind myself to breathe, to go slow, to savor this instead of getting lost in the wanting.
The kiss evolves naturally, becoming something richer and more intimate without losing its sweetness.
A heartbeat is a fraction of a second, but it’s also something that tracks the course of a person’s lifetime. I feel her pulse against my chest, quick and fluttery, matching the rhythm of my own as they weave together.
The tips of her fingers pad lightly against the angles of my jaw as she presses little pecks to my lips, like she needs to breathe, but doesn’t want to.
There’s trust in the way she melts against me, in how her guard seems to drop completely, and I want to be worthy of that trust.
When her fists curl into the fabric of my shirt, sinking into me, I think maybe this accidental marriage isn’t such a disaster after all. Maybe it’s the best mistake I’ve ever made.
When we break apart this time, her eyes are sparkling with wonder. I don’t yet know her well enough to know what it means, but I want to, in the deepest part of myself. I want to know and treasure and love this woman, even if we’ve done things in a “bonkers” kind of way.
“I think maybe my father was wrong about hockey players,” she says softly.
“At least this one.”
“Maybe the right one doesn’t put hockey first.”
My lips lift with a smile. “Maybe the right one puts family first.”
“Maybe the right one is worth breaking a promise for,” she whispers.
“Is that so?” I ask, and she answers with another kiss that makes my world tilt on its axis.
Three weeks later, I’m looking at my travel schedule while sitting in Nina’s kitchen—our kitchen, she insists—as she packs Kai’s lunch for school and marveling at how quickly real life swept us up into a whirlwind.
I’ve continued to receive calls from that same random number from weeks ago, but they’re always when I’m not available. I’ve considered calling back, but hockey players sometimes get crazy superfans, so I figure since they’re not leaving a message, I’m safer ignoring it.
At this point, the only thing I’ve heard from Desi is that she’s living her best life on an island somewhere in the Pacific.
Long ago, I gave up on expecting (or encouraging her) to prioritize what’s important.
And right now, it’s that Kai is safe. I’d like to think he’s living his best life with us.
If I can figure out this “fatherhood” thing.
We’ve been spending most of our time here on Sweet Corn Court in Cobbiton.
It’s more practical and the schools are better than in Omaha, plus it’s closer to the arena, but that’s not really why we’re here.
The truth is, and I’m confident Kai agrees, Nina’s house feels like home in a way my boring condo never has.
It’s warm and lived-in with what feels like love living between the walls.
The first time Kai saw Nina’s place, she still had it decorated for Christmas. The kid’s eyes lit up like it was, well, Christmas morning.
He was stoked—his words—that the Christmas tree was still up. He casually told us that he’d never had a Christmas tree before. Said Desiree claimed they were too expensive and too much work.
I have more than one bone to pick with my sister because every year, I send her some money to ensure they have a nice holiday—tree, lights, a good meal, and gifts.
Can’t help but wonder where that cash went.
Nina had looked at me over his head, her eyes bright with unshed tears, and we silently made each other a promise that this kid was going to have the best Christmas next December.
As for me, anyone who could look at a ten-year-old’s excitement over a Christmas tree and immediately want to give him the world is someone worth keeping.
Eventually, Nina and Kai took down the general Christmas decorations, but they kept the tree and redecorated it with hockey stuff in the Knights’ colors—silver, black, and red. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen his Utah Mustangs jersey since we moved in. The kid switched loyalties completely.
Score!
Nina suggests we go to the home goods store to pick up some items Kai would like for his room next weekend.
He’s taken over what used to be Nina’s grandmother’s sewing room, and funny thing—every night before bed, I find him curled up with her old quilt.
It’s the coziest thing to see, a tough little prankster wrapped up in soft yellow cotton.
The kid has settled in and is already campaigning for a puppy, which could be taken into consideration.
I’m a fan of all things furry and playful.
However, after ten years of fighting for his mother’s attention, old habits die hard.
Last week, he hid fake plastic spiders everywhere—not sure where he got them.
They gave Nina a scare. The week before that, he replaced her sugar with salt and then acted innocent when her coffee tasted like seawater. Classic move.
She thinks the nisser, gnomes, the legendary mischief makers from Denmark, are up to no good, but I’ve got my eyes on the culprit.
Yesterday’s prank was more elaborate. He made paste out of Nina’s fancy cake flour and water, then used it to “wallpaper” the bathroom mirror with pictures he’d printed of various Knights players making ridiculous faces.
Under other circumstances, it would have been hilarious.
But he went a step too far. Last night, we had a serious conversation with Kai about appropriate ways to get attention, and I think it helped.
But I also think the kid needs an outlet for all that creative mischief.
He came with the phone Desi got him—too young, if you ask me—and although I monitor his apps, he’s been sneaking off with it lately. I imagine he’s chatting with his friends from home or even trying to reach her, but he gets awkward and cagey when I inquire.
This is unknown territory of being both a father figure and someone who’s sensitive to what he’s been through.
I stop into the Busy Bee after dropping Kai off at school. Nina is somehow always bright-eyed, even though she wakes up painfully early. Her hair is shiny and I relish the smile I receive—it’s different from the one she gives her customers. I love it.