13. Tessa
TESSA
I 'm elbow-deep in Dax's kitchen cabinets, reorganizing his disaster of a spice collection, when his phone rings. The ringtone is different from his usual notifications—something upbeat and familiar that makes him grin like an idiot.
"Emma," he says, answering on the second ring. "Hey, what's up?"
I can hear her voice through the phone, animated and determined. My stomach drops as I catch fragments of the conversation.
"...driving down tonight... can't wait to meet her... bringing cookies..."
Dax catches my eye and makes a face that's somewhere between panic and apology. "Em, that's really not necessary?—"
"Too late!" her voice carries clearly through the speaker. "I'm already on the highway. I'll be there in about half hour."
"Shit," Dax mutters after hanging up. "I'm so fucking sorry. She's... persistent."
"Tonight? Jesus Dax, you said next weekend." My voice comes out higher than intended, and I'm pretty sure I'm gripping the oregano container hard enough to leave dents.
"Apparently so. She will be here in half an hour." He runs both hands through his hair. "Look, I can tell her you're busy, or sick, or?—"
"No." The word surprises us both. "No, I want to meet her. It's just... what exactly are we telling her about us?"
Dax moves closer, his hands settling on my waist. "What do you want to tell her?"
"The truth would be nice, but 'hey, I'm your brother's secret wife who's pretending to be his professional supervisor while we sneak around behind everyone's backs' doesn't exactly roll off the tongue."
"We could go with 'girlfriend I'm completely crazy about,'" he suggests, his voice dropping to that low register that makes me forget my own name. "That's technically true."
"Technically true but missing some crucial details." I lean into him despite my anxiety. "What if she asks how we met? What if she wants to know about my job? What if?—"
"Hey." His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. "Emma's going to love you. You're smart, funny, beautiful, and you somehow manage to put up with me. What's not to love?"
"I'm freaking out," I admit.
"I can tell. You've organized my spices twice in the last ten minutes."
I look down at my hands, which are indeed clutching the paprika like it owes me money. "Meeting family feels... big."
"It is big." His admission makes my heart do something complicated in my chest. "But good big. I want my sister to know you exist, Tessa. I want her to see why I've been walking around like a lovesick idiot for weeks."
"You have not been walking around like a lovesick idiot."
"Jamie would disagree. He asked me yesterday if I was taking medication because I've been too happy lately."
Despite my nerves, I laugh. "Too happy is a medical concern for you?"
"Apparently baseline Dax is significantly grumpier than current Dax."
I'm about to respond when there's a knock at the door that's somehow both polite and impatient—three sharp raps followed by a longer series.
"That's her," Dax says, his face lighting up in a way I've never seen before. "She always knocks like she's trying to communicate in morse code."
We make our way to the front door, and I try to smooth down my hair while simultaneously wiping my palms on my jeans.
I'm being ridiculous—I've successfully handled professional meetings with sports executives, media interviews, and crisis management situations.
Surely I can manage dinner with my secret husband's sister.
Dax opens the door to reveal a young woman who's clearly a Kingston.
She has the same storm-gray eyes as Dax, the same strong jawline, but where he's all sharp angles and controlled intensity, she's warmth and movement. Her dark hair is pulled back in a claw clip, and she’s wearing a slouchy knit sweater half-tucked into a tiered mini skirt, her legs bare despite the chill.
The whole look is effortless and a little chaotic—bubbly energy wrapped up in soft fabrics and motion.
"There's my favorite brother," she says, launching herself into Dax's arms with enough force to make him stagger backward.
"I'm your only brother, Em."
"Details." She pulls back to look at him, her hands on his shoulders. "You look good. Really good. Like, annoyingly good. It's disgusting."
"Thanks?"
"And you must be Tessa." Emma turns those penetrating gray eyes on me, and I suddenly understand why Dax mentioned she could be intimidating.
"I am." I extend my hand, but Emma ignores it and pulls me into a hug instead.
"I've been dying to meet you," she says against my ear. "Dax has been different ever since—well, since you, apparently. I had to see what kind of woman could make my emotionally constipated brother actually use feeling words."
"Emma," Dax warns, but he's smiling.
"What? It's true. You called Mom last week and talked a lot. Usually, I'm lucky if I get twenty words out of you about anything deeper than hockey scores."
She releases me and steps back, her gaze moving between us with obvious curiosity. "So, how did you two meet?"
Dax and I exchange a quick glance. We didn't exactly prepare for this part.
"Work," I say at the same time Dax says, "Bar."
Emma raises an eyebrow. "Work bar? Bar work? Are we playing some kind of word association game?"
"We met through work," Dax clarifies smoothly. "But we really connected at a bar afterward. Team thing."
It's not technically a lie. We did meet through work, and there was definitely a bar involved. The Elvis chapel and accidental marriage parts are just... details we're omitting.
"What kind of work do you do, Tessa?" Emma's question is casual, but I can tell she's genuinely interested.
"Sports psychology," I answer carefully. "I help athletes with mental performance, focus, that kind of thing."
"That's so cool! Do you work with hockey players specifically, or all sports?"
"All sports," I say, which is true even if my current assignment is hockey-specific. "Though I've been doing a lot with hockey lately."
"Is that how you met? Were you working with Dax's team?"
Another glance passes between us. Emma catches it and grins.
"Oh my God, you were. You were working with his team, weren't you? That's so romantic. Like, forbidden workplace romance romantic."
"It's not that dramatic besides can you sit? I mean you just came and started interrogating us," Dax says quickly.
"Are you kidding me? It's totally that dramatic. Secret glances across the locker room, stolen moments during practice, sneaking around because of professional ethics?—"
"Emma," Dax interrupts, but he's laughing. "You watch too many romance movies."
"I watch the perfect amount of romance movies, thank you very much. And I can tell when I'm looking at one in real life." She grins at us. "You two are adorable. Disgustingly adorable."
"We're not disgusting," I protest.
"Oh, you are. The way you're looking at each other right now? Nauseating. I love it."
Dax shakes his head but pulls me closer. "Come on, let's get you inside before the neighbors start complaining about the noise."
"I'm not being loud!"
"Em, you've been here for five minutes and I'm pretty sure the whole building knows our business already.”
We make our way to the living room, where Emma drops her overnight bag and immediately makes herself at home on the couch. She's got the same natural ease as Dax, the same way of taking up space without apology.
"So," she says, folding her legs under her, "I want to know everything. How long have you been together? What's your favorite thing about him? Has he told you about the time he cried during Marley & Me?"
"I did not cry during Marley & Me," Dax says firmly.
"You absolutely did. You were seventeen and you bawled like a baby."
"That's not crying, that's... emotional response to superior filmmaking."
Emma rolls her eyes. "He's sensitive about his feelings. Always has been. Mom says it's because he's got a big heart but doesn't know what to do with it."
I look at Dax, who's gone slightly pink around the ears. "I think your heart's the perfect size."
"See?" Emma claps her hands. "This is what I'm talking about. You two are gross and I'm here for it."
"Are you planning to stay the night?" Dax asks, clearly trying to change the subject.
"Obviously. I brought cookies and everything. Mom made her special chocolate chip ones specifically for Tessa."
"Your mom made me cookies?" Something warm unfurls in my chest.
"She's been asking about you constantly since Dax mentioned... well, since he started being weird and happy. Which we now know is because of you." Emma grins. "She's convinced you're 'the one' because apparently you make him laugh at your jokes."
"I have an excellent sense of humor," I say defensively.
"I'm sure you do. But Dax laughs at, like, three things: hockey highlights, people falling down, and really bad puns. The fact that he laughs at your jokes is basically a marriage proposal in Kingston family terms."
I choke on my own spit, and Dax immediately moves to rub my back.
"She's exaggerating," he says, but his hand lingers on my spine in a way that makes me think maybe Emma isn't wrong.
"Am I though?" Emma's eyes are twinkling with mischief. "Because you've got the same look on your face that you had when you talked about proposing to?—"
"Emma," Dax's voice carries a warning that makes her stop mid-sentence.
An awkward silence settles over the room, and I realize I've just stepped into family territory I don't understand. There's history here, something painful that Emma almost revealed and Dax clearly doesn't want to discuss.
"Sorry," Emma says quietly. "I didn't mean to?—"
"It's fine," Dax interrupts, but the tension in his shoulders says otherwise.
I squeeze his hand. "Should I start on dinner? I was thinking of making that pasta thing you like."
"I'll help," Emma says immediately, apparently eager to move past whatever moment just passed.
"You don't have to?—"