Chapter 30

30

JACK

That was the first and only time I have ever and will ever propose marriage to a woman. The smile that reached Ella’s eyes felt pretty real to me and it hasn’t quit.

After our pit stop at the island, we’re now officially on our way to Nebraska. I have a game in a week, so I’m going to be busy, but I want Ella to feel secure, knowing that I’m all hers.

After the excitement, she dozes off on the airplane. A nagging, annoying question repeatedly returns. Is Ella all the others, just after my status and bank account?

She probed about money and it’s impossible for me not to be cautious about the gold-digging Astons of the world. I don’t want to think she’s like that, but she’s been through a rough patch.

Yet she had no idea who I was, isn’t on social media, and thinking all the way back to when we first officially the night my Jeep got stuck, she wanted to pay me back for her cheeseburger.

Not a single one of the women I’ve ever dated offered to pay for her meal. It’s a given that I foot the bill. Not that I’d have it any other way.

If Ella has an agenda, she could’ve come up with better ways to get a payout, namely having “an accident” at the resort or blackmailing me.

I understand why she’d be uncertain. However, it’s hard to shake the belief I’ve held for so long—the one that helped me keep women at a comfortable distance. But I tell myself Ella is different. She doesn’t seem to crave me and somehow, that makes me want her all the more. Or perhaps it’s that with her, I don’t feel used. Rather, I want to give her—the sun, the moon, a yacht.

I hope that I’ve assuaged her fears, that she feels secure and supported, and never doubts us again.

When we land, a brand new black Ford Raptor waits for us at the airstrip. Bark Wahlburger takes a lap around it as if approving of my purchase and then waits patiently by the door. I guess there’s no getting rid of him now.

Ella points at the license plate KNT-10 and says, “Knight number ten? A little braggy, no?”

“Blame Carlos.”

She waves her hand like a magic wand. “Wow. Money moves things fast. You said you wanted a truck. You have a truck.”

Mostly, I want her.

I open the passenger side door for Ella and then get behind the wheel.

She sniffs the air. “So the new car smell thing is real.”

The comment reminds me that we’re from different worlds. But I want to be in whichever one she’s in—new truck or not.

She peers out the window as we cruise toward Cobbiton, Nebraska, our new home for the foreseeable future.

It’s nearly dusk when we reach the town to do a quick drive-through. From the flight above, it was farmland for what seemed like forever until Omaha popped up like a kernel in a kettle.

When we pull onto Main Street, I’m pleasantly surprised by how quaint it is.

“This could be from the pages of a storybook,” Ella says in awe.

“Or a Hallmark movie.”

She bunches up her hands under her chin. “Those are my favorites.”

“They all have the same plot,” I say because it’s true and also to play it cool. I mean, it’s not like I’d watch them on my own … except maybe around Christmas.

“They all have a happily ever after,” Ella says as if that’s what is most important. “Hold up. You’ve seen Cinderella and know about Hallmark movies. Explain yourself, man.”

“I didn’t grow up under a rock.”

She arches her eyebrow as if knowing there’s more to the story.

“My mother was a big fan, too.”

Ella bounces in her seat. “I knew I’d love her.”

Those words press against my ribs. Mom would’ve adored Ella, possibly fought me for her time—taking her shopping, to the spa, and they’d eat popcorn and watch Hallmark movies together in matching silk pajamas instead of watching my games.

But I wouldn’t mind so much.

“Welcome to Hockey Town and our new home,” I say grandly as we cruise past the wooden sign. “We’ll find a place later this week.”

“You just keep waving that hockey stick, Jack.” She chuckles like she hardly believes her ears or eyes.

Main Street and the intersecting 4 th Street include the usual suspects like a coffee shop, book store, hair salon, and a few clothing boutiques.

“The arena used to be in Omaha, but they had major parking problems, sending the construction of the new Ice Palace to Cobbiton, a short ride away. It’s a hockey player’s playground with modern upgrades. The townspeople are hugely supportive,” I say, having learned this during a brief conversation with the team captain.

With the rear window open, Bark Wahlburger’s tongue hangs out of his mouth as the breeze flops back his ears.

Eyes wide, Ella stares out the window. I picture us walking hand in hand down the sidewalk, hoping that I’ve just glimpsed our future.

I park in front of the Ice Palace, a glimmering structure made of glass and steel, and add, “This will be my second home.”

Carlos did some pre-gaming when it came to the house, but ultimately, it’s up to Ella which one we choose, so she’ll be touring them in the coming days while I prepare to take to the ice with a new team, in a new arena, with a new goal: make my woman proud.

I explain the housing situation and how we’ll be at a hotel short term. “Depending on how long the closing takes and if you want renovations, we can also stay in a short-term rental.”

“I know you’re speaking English, but I’m not entirely sure we’re fluent in the same language.”

I chuckle. “For now, we have to decide on arrangements. I want to be respectful, so I understand if we don’t stay in the same hotel room.”

Her jaw lowers a little. “I’m going to admit, I feel a bit torn. Cheap. Like I’m living a lie.”

I balk. “The kiss a few hours ago felt very honest and the ring on your finger?—”

A blush rises to Ella’s cheeks again and I love that I have that effect on her.

She says, “This is modern day, but I was raised old-fashioned. We must have separate rooms until we’re married.” I think she uses air quotes around the last word, but I can’t be sure because I’m focused on these unfamiliar roads.

“So a hotel suite and a wedding ASAP.”

She laughs like I’m joking.

We pull into the parking lot behind O’Neely’s Fish Bowl, a restaurant and pub that I’ve been to a couple of times when playing games against the Knights. It’s a local hockey haunt and home of super fans only. Bark Wahlburger trots along behind me as if part of the team—the Ella and me team.

A classic rock song plays from the jukebox as we enter. It’s a family-friendly joint by day, and after hours, it can get rowdy and turn into hockey fan bedlam, depending on the score.

There’s a long, polished bar, occupied to capacity. High-top tables, booths, and bigger ones for large parties along with big-screen televisions fill the dining room. Hockey memorabilia fills every crevice in between. Stan O’Neely, the owner, is proud of his collection and I think Leah contributes. Last I checked, she works here.

Ella, dressed in jeans and a sweater that clings to her curves, heeds the Seat Yourself sign and points to an available spot by the billiards table. There are also darts, which are dodgy given the “fish bowls” of beer served. But it’s still early, so fish bowls filled with popcorn wait at each table until after hours.

My jaw ticks when I notice several googly-eyed men staring at Ella, watching her every move. I step protectively close, daring anyone to get a bad idea. Then again, I don’t want to give the Knights a bad impression. I’m not a bully, but I will bust faces if anyone messes with my girl .

“Oh, no, you don’t,” says a loud female voice.

I whip my head around.

Leah rushes toward us, wearing a smile. She and Ella hug, and I get a fist bump. She tries to do the other hand motions that are part of Carlos and my secret handshake but then gives up.

“You have to sit in my section.” She leads us to another table, gives us menus, and promises to be right back.

Bark Wahlburger settles under the table, perfectly behaved, knowing he’ll get some good snacks.

As Ella studies the menu, she looks at ease like she could rock back in her chair and stay awhile. “Mmm. The Stuffed Pub Potato Skin Pucks sound good. So do the nachos. The mozzarella sticks with a crunchy corn crust, yum,” she singsongs.

I chuckle. “Have whatever you want. One of each.”

Leah returns with water for us, and in a low voice, she says, “The boss is here today, so I’m going to give you the official spiel.”

With a spin of my hand, I gesture for her to carry on.

Louder, she says, “Welcome to O’Neely’s Fish Bowl. If it’s your first time here, we specialize in all things corn and potatoes. We have corn on the cob served five different ways, corn fritters, and cornbread along with french fries, also served five different ways with our special sauce. And our fan favorite loaded potato skin pub pucks, yes, topped with corn and five other items.”

“Nice shirt,” Ella says.

Leah’s work uniform consists of black jeans and a white T-shirt with a cartoon guy in hockey gear inside a fish bowl—slang for a helmet. Across the back is O’Neely like on a hockey jersey. She says, “I’ll get you one.”

“Maybe a job, too, if they’re hiring. ”

Leah’s gaze darts toward me.

If she senses that my fiancée will not wear another man’s name across her back—even if it’s just merch from a restaurant—or working here, she’s correct. Not that I’m lord over Ella, but unless being a waitress is a dream she had and didn’t mention when we were discussing her operating a bed-and-breakfast, she doesn’t have to come home covered in special sauce.

Not to mention, bones would be broken if any of the men in this establishment so much as flirted with her.

Fifteen minutes later, a spread of multiple plates of potato and corn-based fried foods top our table. Ella appears to be in heaven as she samples each dish. We’ll have to find a good place that serves milkshakes nearby or ask Stan to put them on the menu when we celebrate our first anniversary.

Just saying.

Back in Omaha, I pull into the valet at the hotel Carlos booked for us. But before opening the door, I say, “At the first game with the Knights, will you wear my jersey again? I want everyone to know that you’re mine.”

She hurriedly gets out. I have a “scene missing” moment. I think she says, “But am I?” However, the truck door slams, muffling her words.

Maybe we are speaking a different language, but what about my marriage proposal? The ring? It sparkles on her finger. She said yes. At the time, it seemed like we were both very fluent, but now I’m not so sure.