Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
The next time I saw Dani, it wasn’t on purpose.
Well, it wasn’t on my purpose, anyway.
I’d been sent to cover a charity gala downtown—black tie, open bar, the kind of event the station liked to frame as a “fun assignment.” In reality, it meant standing in heels for three hours hoping someone important said something quotable.
The ballroom was already half full when I arrived. I checked in with the event coordinator and started doing what I always did at things like this—walked the perimeter of the room and took inventory of the crowd.
Waitstaff swooped around the venue, balancing trays of bite-sized canapés.
Potential donors clustered around the silent auction tables, inspecting signed memorabilia and framed photos like they were artifacts at a museum.
A few recognizable politicians worked the room, seeking re-election assurances and campaign funds, no doubt.
Celebrity chefs mingled with retired athletes.
Actors—not quite A-list but still recognizable—clustered together near the bar.
And then—
Her.
For a second, I almost didn’t recognize her.
It had been some time since I’d seen Dani Callahan in anything but hockey gear or team-issued sweats. In fact, a sweatsuit may have been the only kind of suit I knew her to wear.
She was leaning against the bar, mid-conversation with a couple in expensive-looking evening wear.
The sharp lines of her suit made it impossible not to look. The dark suit looked tailored and not like she’d bought it off the rack. Her hair was swept back, and when she turned her head to laugh at something, her smile lit up the whole damn room.
I was rooted to the spot. It felt unfair, seeing her like this. Like she’d grown into the version of herself I’d always imagined but never got to know.
“Reese?”
The voice startled me, and I turned to see my colleague, Mara, holding a glass of champagne. She wore a dark green wrap dress and had twisted her hair into a loose knot at the back of her head.
“Everything okay?” she asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I forced out a laugh. “No, I’m fine. Just taking it all in.”
I watched Mara’s eyes flick to the bar, where Dani was still in conversation with the older, fancy couple.
“Ah,” Mara said, drawing out the syllable. “Got it.”
“Got what?”
“Nothing,” she replied lightly.
The pause that followed made it very clear it wasn’t nothing.
I grabbed a program from a nearby table and flipped it open like I suddenly cared deeply about the evening’s schedule.
“Your first interview,” Mara hedged, “Dani Callahan seemed very … comfortable with you.”
“That’s called good rapport,” I deflected.
“Rapport,” Mara repeated, clearly unconvinced.
I turned a page in the program I wasn’t actually reading.
“Are you fishing for gossip right now?” I asked.
“I’m your producer,” she said. “It’s literally my job to notice things.”
I put down the program. “And?”
“And,” she said, “most athletes don’t greet sideline reporters like they’re seeing an old friend.”
My stomach tightened. That first interview had been a problem. Mara hadn’t mentioned anything about it since then, however, and I’d foolishly believed the incident was in everyone’s rear mirror.
“We went to the same college back in the day,” I said evenly.
Mara took a slow sip of her champagne. “I guess that explains the familiarity.”
Her tone suggested it explained absolutely nothing.
I spent the next hour dodging Dani. Or trying to, anyway. She had a way of drawing the room’s attention, and every time I thought I was safely tucked away in the crowd, there she was—laughing, gesturing, lighting up whoever was near her.
But, of course, I wasn’t the only one watching her.
“She’s impressive,” said Mara, sidling up to me again.
I didn’t need to ask who she meant.
“She’s alright,” I said nonchalantly.
Mara arched an eyebrow. “Just alright? Last time I checked, she was one of the most famous athletes on the planet.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but before I could, Dani caught sight of me. Her face lit up like she’d just scored a game-winning goal, and she started making her way over.
“Oh,” Mara murmured beside me. “That’s interesting.”
“Don’t,” I muttered.
“Don’t what?”
“Say anything.”
Mara patted my arm like she was sending a soldier into battle. “Good luck,” she said, before disappearing into the crowd.
“Reese,” Dani said when she reached me, her voice warm. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Up close, her suit was even more distracting.
The jacket fit perfectly across her shoulders, the dark fabric sharp against the soft lighting of the ballroom.
It occurred to me, not for the first time, that the last version of Dani I’d really known had been twenty-two years old and permanently covered in athletic tape residue.
“Work,” I choked out. I held up the press badge dangling from my neck.
“Ah, yes. The glamorous life of a journalist,” she said, her tone teasing.
“And you? Isn’t this a bit stuffy for you?”
Her grin widened. “I can enjoy a fancy party every now and then. Especially when it’s for a good cause.”
Before I could think of a response, she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “You look good, by the way.”
I felt heat creep up the back of my neck.
“I think I might be underdressed,” I admitted, glancing around at the gowns and tuxedos moving through the room.
I hadn’t put much thought into my outfit since I was working the event and wasn’t an actual attendee. The little black dress was supposed to help me blend in, not make a fashion statement.
“You’re not,” she said easily.
I felt my cheeks heat. “Thanks.”
For a moment we just stood there, both of us pretending the conversation wasn’t slightly strange.
“Do you come to a lot of these?” I asked, nodding toward the ballroom.
“Not if I can help it,” Dani admitted. “But this charity does good work. They raise money for youth hockey programs—equipment, ice time. The stuff that actually gets kids on the ice.”
I glanced across the room toward the silent auction tables, where a cluster of donors were still gathered.
“Did you donate something?” I asked.
Her mouth curved slightly. “Why? Are you thinking about bidding on me?”
My brain stalled.
“On—what?”
Dani nodded toward the auction tables. “Me.”
“I—” I stopped and tried to process the sentence. “You’re on the auction block?”
For a split second she just stared at me.
And then she laughed.
It wasn’t a polite or subdued laugh. It was a full, surprised one that made the couple beside us glance over.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I donated a signed jersey.”
“Oh.” I felt my face warm. “That makes more sense.”
“Did you really think they were auctioning me off for a date?” she asked, clearly delighted by the possibility.
“I didn’t know,” I muttered. “These charity things get weird sometimes.”
“They do,” she agreed. “But I’m not that committed to the cause.”
“Good,” I said automatically.
Her eyebrow lifted. “Good?”
“I mean—” I sighed. “You know what I mean.”
“I actually don’t,” she returned.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “I just meant … that seems like an awkward way to meet someone.”
“Are you worried I’d end up on a date with the highest bidder?”
“It’s just that someone might take it very seriously,” I fumbled for an excuse.
“Reese,” she said, lowering her voice slightly, “if someone wants to take me on a date, there are easier ways to ask.”
I cleared my throat. My face felt like it was on fire. Luckily, she sensed my discomfort and changed the subject.
“So—sideline reporting,” she pivoted. “Is that your dream job?”
“Not exactly.”
She tilted her head. “No?”
“It’s part of the job,” I said, “but not the whole thing.”
“What’s the rest?” she asked.
“The network’s building out its digital coverage,” I explained. “So I do sideline hits during broadcasts, but I’m also writing features for the website. Profiles. Behind-the-scenes stuff.”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “That sounds a lot more interesting than asking someone how it feels to score a goal.”
I smiled despite myself. “It usually is.”
“So writing’s the part you actually like,” she ventured.
“It’s the part I care about,” I admitted.
“Then why aren’t you doing more of it?”
“Because sports media doesn’t exactly hand out those jobs,” I said. “Especially not to women.”
Her expression darkened. “That’s crap.”
“Welcome to the world,” I said dryly.
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You’re good at what you do. I can tell. Even if you’re still doing sideline stuff now, it won’t be forever.”
The compliment caught me off guard. Dani had always been good at giving them, but there was something different about the way she said it now—like it wasn’t flattery, but fact.
“Thanks,” I said softly.
Her lips curved into a small smile. “I mean it. You’ve got something special, Reese. I always thought so.”
“You’ve changed,” I said before I could stop myself.
She turned to me, her brows lifting. “Oh yeah? How so?”
“You’re … softer?” I said, fumbling for the right word. “Not that you were mean before, but you used to be so focused. Intense, I guess.”
Her expression turned thoughtful. “I guess I’ve mellowed out a bit. But I’m still focused. Just on different things now.”
“Like what?”
“Like finding balance,” she said. “Making time for stuff that matters.”
Her gaze lingered on me, and I felt my pulse involuntarily quicken. It wasn’t supposed to be this easy.
“I should go,” I said abruptly, stepping back.
“Already?”
“Yeah. Early day tomorrow.”
The lie came easily.
“Alright,” she said, but there was something in her voice—something almost disappointed. “Did you drive?”
“Subway,” I said.
“It’s late.”
“I’ll be fine,” I insisted.
“I’ve got my car. Can I give you a ride?”
I hesitated.
Part of me wanted to refuse.
Another part—one I didn’t want to examine too closely—didn’t mind the idea of a few more minutes with her.
“Okay,” I said finally.