Page 472 of Face Off

My face warms. “On the floor beside the coffee table.”

“I need to see the crime scene.”

“No.”

“You told yourself to answer without polishing.”

“I was drunk and emotionally unstable.”

“You were honest.”

“I insulted myself for forty-five minutes.”

“You also figured out what every professional kept trying to hand you.”

I rest my hands on his shoulders. “That doesn’t mean I’m reenacting it.”

“Fine.” His gaze travels over my face. “Where did you read my letters?”

“Everywhere.”

“Which one did you read in bed?”

“How do you know I read one in bed?”

“You wrote back without mentioning your coffee or what you were wearing. You were distracted.”

“You’re insane.”

“I’m correct.”

“The one where you told me I was still yours,” I admit. “I read it in bed.”

His grip tightens around my waist. “What did you do afterward?”

“I’ll demonstrate later.”

“I’m going to make it my business later.”

Heat moves beneath my skin. “You’ve become exceptionally confident since entering my home.”

“You came to Milwaukee and gave me my woman back. Confidence seemed appropriate.”

My smile arrives before I can stop it.

The three weeks since Thanksgiving have felt strange only because happiness became ordinary so quickly. I stayed in Milwaukee until Sunday, exactly as I promised, then returned to Michigan without either of us turning the departure into proof that something had gone wrong. I cried for most of the drive. Ryan called before I reached Kimball Falls and remained on the phone until I walked into the loft.

Three days later, I returned to Milwaukee.

Since then, we have taken whatever time hockey and the boutique allow. I spend weekends designing at Ryan’s kitchen island even when he isn’t traveling and split most my time based on his game weeks. Last week, he arrived at a Detroit hotel between games with a duffel, a backward cap, and enough exhaustion beneath his eyes to make me threaten him into bed for sleep.

I wore his jersey in the Inferno family section during the game.

The rest of the world found out after a reporter asked Ryan why he’d played so well against the Devils.

“I love beating two of my best friends,” he said, looking directly into the camera, “but it helps when the love of my life is cheering me on from the family box.”

That public statement affected Ryan enough that he kept me awake most of the night once we returned to the hotel, using every available surface to demonstrate his appreciation.