Page 54 of He Has Charm

I carry the two bags of gifts: assorted small toys, pucks, and Brawlers hats and scarves, and we follow the bubbly receptionist, who takes nonstop about my hat trick the whole way.

We step out and there’s an army of nurses, doctors, and orderlies waiting.

“The Brawlers and all of us fans are so lucky you got traded here, Mr. Knight,” the receptionist says.

Before the doors slide closed I thank her and we’re surrounded and led down the corridor in a Secret Service style huddle as if we might be assaulted. Harper is used to being around VIPs but I can tell she’s a bit unnerved. I’m used to all kinds of chaos when I drop into hospitals unannounced.

As soon as we get to the room, where kids are still being wheeled in, a cheer erupts and my chest expands as I look around and count my blessings. These kids need every ounce of positivity they can get and I’m going to give them all I have.

Harper whispers that she’s impressed with my kid skills. I tell her it’s cause I’m still a kid at heart and I identify. I don’t tell her how deeply I identify with kids who have serious medical issues.

My own medical condition is one secret I intend to keep.

* * *

The game the next day is a disappointing loss because we had the lead and blew it. Not fit for company, I text Harper not to wait for me after the game and catch a ride home with Finn, heading straight for bed when I get there. Next morning I leave early for practice and when I get off the ice, hungry and exhausted, I get a text from Harper. Don’t dawdle at practice. I have a surprise waiting for you at home.

My exhaustion disappears as my mind runs away with the possibilities, all X-rated, before I calm myself into the realization that she’s not talking about that kind of surprise. She’s Harper and we agreed our last close encounter was not going to be repeated.

What if she’s changed her mind?.

My hope is dispelled when I pull my car into the driveway off the back alley and find a catering truck from Buttermilk & Bourbon parked there. I’m more intrigued than disappointed as I let myself in the back door.

The man with blue hair is unmistakable. “Jason Santos,” I say, and reach out to shake his hand. “What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on a cooking show somewhere or cracking the whip in the kitchen of some restaurant?”

“Normally. But when Harper called I jumped at the chance to work with one of my hockey heroes. Love the game, man. A real fan of yours.”

“Well that makes it mutual because you know I’m a fan of yours. Though I haven’t had a chance to get back to B&B since that night we met.”

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot you talked to Jason that night,” Harper says.

“So what’s going on here today, sugar buns?” Her eyes shoot up to her hairline and I laugh. Jason takes it all in stride because he’s a cool guy.

“I’m here for your first cooking lesson. One of my sous chefs will be taking over the lessons after today, but I couldn’t resist the opportunity. Wish I had time to teach all six lessons.”

“Six cooking lessons. I love it.” I slip from my jacket and give Harper a hug. She’s not into PDAs, no surprise, but I need to show my appreciation. Jason busies himself setting up all the equipment and ingredients, organizing everything on the island, separating his side from ours to create three stations.

“Least I can do after the shoes.”

“I didn’t expect anything in return.”

“I know.” She shrugs. “But it’s not really a surprise because we talked about it.”

“Yes it is. This is an awesome surprise.”

Jason looks at us. “Are we ready?”

“Born ready,” I say. Harper rolls her eyes and Jason laughs.

“Since you’re looking for healthy food, today we’re making Cajun salmon with succotash and smashed potatoes with mustard greens. Veggies, proteins, fat, and a dash of carbs. I guarantee this dish will fill you up without weighing you down.”

“Sold,” I say.

As we cook, the kitchen seems to shrink and I bump into Harper or she brushes against me. We’re on one side of the island and Jason is on the other, giving us the play-by-play on what he’s doing and what we need to do.

Every time she laughs, every time any part of her touches me, every time the look of discovery lights her face, the sensual tension that I’ve kept on ice since that kiss in the closet, heats up. Little by little, my temperature rises until I feel a whole lot more than the heat of the kitchen.

If she didn’t flick those side glances at me, those half smiles, and tell me how impressed she was with me all afternoon, I might have been able to keep under control. But the simmer in her stare is unmistakable a bushel of chopped vegetables and a flurry of Cajun seasonings later.