10. Caroline

"Are you sure this is necessary?" I ask.

Jake is walking beside me on a busy street in downtown Manhattan, a few blocks from our hotel. We're nearing the fancy commercial shopping district again, close to where I picked out my ring. Walker is strapped to Jake's chest in the baby carrier, and we're apparently on our way to pick out fancy dresses for tonight and tomorrow.

"Necessary is an overrated concept," Jake says. He seems light and almost carefree today like some kind of weight he normally carries is temporarily set aside.

I smile up at him. I like seeing him this way. In all the years of our on-and-off again, mostly physical relations, something was always holding him back. I think it's part of why I never pushed to take things deeper between us. Today might be the first time I've seen him without that shadow, and his good mood is downright contagious. "Necessary is an overrated concept," I repeat slowly. "How so?"

He nods toward a crosswalk, indicating that we'll need to stop and wait. "Think about it."

I wait for him to say more, then laugh. "Think about it? That's your answer."

Jake is so tall it's almost ridiculous. When he grins down at me, I feel like I have to shield my eyes to see his face in the bright afternoon light. Sometimes, I can almost imagine he's some bored god from Mt. Olympus who came down just to invade my pathetically ordinary life–only here to tempt me and remind me how painfully mortal I am. Or maybe his presence in my life should just be the ultimate ego boost. Today, I'm leaning toward the latter. It's hard not to feel a little second-hand fame when I'm with him.

Everybody looks, and almost everybody stares. People whisper, whack friends on the shoulders and point. They rush up for pictures shamelessly. I've seen more than a few women gazing lustfully after him or angrily at me as if I'm personally to blame for the fact that they aren't the ones with him. I'm also enjoying the jealous looks we're drawing from almost everybody we pass.

"Think about it," he says again, nodding. "And tell me what you come up with."

He's watching me as if genuinely interested in what I have to say, so I decide to play along. The white crosswalk light clicks on, and we join the crowd moving across the street.

"Okay," I say, thinking out loud. "Necessary is overrated because sometimes the best moments in our life come when we're doing things that weren't necessary. Like going to a show, leaving the trail in a park, or whatever."

He purses his lips. "I like that."

I punch him on the arm. "You like it? Does that mean the answer is wrong?"

"There's no wrong answer. I was just curious what you thought."

I wait again, expecting him to tell me what he thought. But he doesn't. He keeps walking, content to take my thoughts and interested enough to sit with them.

I've always liked that about Jake. It's probably part of why people gravitate to him so often. He has a way of making everybody feel important and interesting–like when you're with him, life itself feels just a little more vibrant and magnified.

"Want a break from that thing?" I ask, pointing to the baby carrier he's got strapped to his chest. Walker is happily looking around at the city with bulging eyes. I guess Manhattan's sights and smells are probably a little much for a baby from Frosty Harbor.

"Nah," he says, resting a hand on Walker's head and patting him.

"You sure? I know it can get kind of hot."

Jake shrugs. "I run a little cold, anyway. Born for the ice," he adds with a smirk.

I roll my eyes but fall in beside him and focus on keeping up with his long ass strides. I decide not to point out that the ice would be worse for somebody who runs cold. He seems happy, and I'm not about to ruin that.

"Jake Summers?" a voice calls.

We both turn to find a young guy who might be in his twenties with a couple of friends.

"Yeah?" Jake says.

"Dude," the guy says. "I told you! I told you it was him!"

"Did you all want me to sign something?"

"Uh," the kid says, patting his pockets and looking flustered. "Can you just, like, sign me, I guess?"

His friends hold back laughter behind him. Jake produces a marker from his jeans because of course, he carries one around, and reaches around Walker in the carrier to sign the guy's arm.

"Can you sign my backpack?" one of the friends asks.

The sight of Jake signing things draws more people. It's the third such sudden mob since we left the hotel less than half an hour ago.

Before long, a line forms, and Jake is signing everything from notebooks, laptops, and even one bald guy's head. A woman even shamelessly tries to get him to sign her cleavage, but Jake pretends to misunderstand and signs a much more innocent patch of skin just above her clavicle. He ignores the pouty disappointment on her face and caps his marker. "Sorry, everyone," he says, raising his voice to be heard over the loud sounds of the city. "Gotta wrap it up. Baby will get hungry soon."

That prompts a wave of reporter-like questions. People ask if he's the father, if I'm the mother, if I'm his girlfriend, and everything in between. Jake pats his hands down, silencing the questions. He reaches his big arm around my shoulder, pulls me in, and flashes a winning smile as I squirm under the scrutiny. "This is my fiancée. Caroline. I love the shit out of her."

"Uh, yep," I say, caught off-guard. People asked similar questions earlier, but Jake dodged them.

He gives me a look I recognize, and my body goes hot all over, skin prickling.

Jake leans in and plants a perfect kiss on my lips.

For a split second, every fiber of my brain is focused on the sensation of his lips on mine. My brain flashes like fireworks are going off, my belly turns upside down, and I'm about to do the thing…

Don't do the thing, Caroline. Don't do the thing.

"Awww!" Someone half-yells.

And I'm doing the thing. I lift one leg at the knee and kick my foot up behind me like some freaking character from a romance movie.

He pulls away, and I'm left awkwardly wondering how you disengaged from this position. I slowly lower my leg like a dog who just finished doing its business, clear my throat, and then give his huge shoulder an awkward little pat. "Yep," I say. "We do that all the time."

Jake saves me from needing to do or say anything more by taking my arm and steering me away from the group further down the street.

"Just up here," Jake says, pointing with his chin.

"I don't know how you deal with that all the time."

He shrugs. "I honestly can barely remember a time when random people didn't stop me and ask me to sign things or pose for pictures. I got a lot of press in high school because of hockey. By sophomore year, kids at school or away games pretty much did the same shit. By senior year, adults were doing it, too."

"Doesn't it get old?"

Jake thinks about it for a little before he answers. "I try to focus on what it means for the people who stop me. Even if I know I'm just a guy who hits a puck with a stick, it doesn't really matter, right? They think I'm someone to look up to or admire. And they get excited to see me. So the least I can do is let that be a happy moment for them. I like that I can do that for people."

"You're a better person than me," I say. "I think a few days of dealing with that would drive me up the wall. I'd probably wear disguises every time I went out in public."

Jake's arm is still on my shoulder, and his fingertips are idly playing with Walker's bare toes, which dangle from the front-facing carrier on his chest. It's cute how affectionate he already is with Walker after hardly more than a day around him. "I'm not saying I've never disguised myself."

I laugh. "Really? Like a black baseball cap and sunglasses?"

"Something like that," he says, grinning.

I look over my shoulder and see there are definitely still people from the crowd following us. They're leaving a few steps, but it's painfully obvious. "Are they going to follow us into the clothing store?"

"Most people give it up after a little bit. A few people would probably try, but I figured booking a private session at the store would be smart. So we won't have to worry about them following us in."

"You just think of everything, don't you?"

His expression sours, but he recovers with a quick smile and a nod. "I try to."

"Almost done, sorry,"I call out through the dressing room door. I've got Walker cradled in my lap as he breastfeeds like he's starving.

"You don't have to apologize," Jake says. His voice is muffled through the heavy door. He brought me to a multi-story, ultra-fancy designer dress store. We were met by our personal concierge at the door, whisked up to the sixth floor, and paired with three stylists who were ready to tailor my choice to fit and accessorize me with matching jewelry . They even have a hair stylist waiting for me.

"I'm just guessing it wasn't cheap to book time for this. I doubt you planned on paying for the most expensive breastfeeding in history."

"We have as long as we need. Stop worrying. Let Walker get his fill and try to enjoy yourself."

I look around the fitting room. It feels more like a swanky hotel room than a fitting room. There's a bathroom, the comfiest couch I've ever put my ass on, a TV, and even warm towels. "Thank you," I say.

"Are you still doing better, by the way?" Jake asks. "I brought the medicine if you need another hit."

I laugh. "It has been so crazy since we left the hotel. I've barely had a second to think about whether I feel sick or not. But I'm doing better, I think."

"Good." I hear women's voices outside the door. Jake is saying something, and then I hear high- heels clicking on the floor as they move away. "They brought some dresses. Want me to bring them in?"

"Um," I say. "I think he's almost done." I look down at Walker, whose eyes are heavy. I gently pull him away and grin at his milk-drunk expression. "You're such a man," I say softly, running the back of my fingers down his soft, chubby cheek.

I brought a fold-out travel crib and have it set up in the room with me. I carefully lay Walker down with his lovie and go to the door. "Okay," I say. "Let's see–oh."

Jake laughs. He holds the dress up again, looking at it again as if trying to see what I see. "You like it?"

"Like it?" I ask, taking it carefully by the hanger. "It beautiful."

One of the women who helped us into the room approaches and sees my expression. She smiles. "This is from the Javier Worthy collection. One of our absolute finest. This is a one-of-a-kind dress he designed. We just got it in yesterday. The fabric is silk chiffon."

I carefully lift the dress and let the material flow over my hand. It's so light it's almost like liquid. The color is a pale pink, like the inside of a seashell. When I look closer, I see a floral pattern hidden beneath that blush color, woven with rose-gold thread that seems to catch the light and shimmer as the fabric moves. It's hypnotic, and I realize I've just been staring at it, open-mouthed.

Jake is smirking at me. "Do you even need to try it on? You look like you're in love."

The woman beside him looks pleased with herself. "She'd be crazy not to be."

"You know," Jake says. "Once upon a time, she used to look at me like that."

I'm too caught up to play along. "I can try this on?" I ask.

The woman's smile is kind. "Of course. Take your time. And remember, we're here to make sure it fits you perfectly. If you like the design, we can do whatever we need to make the dress look like it was made for your body."

I thank her and step into the room.

I undress and slip into the dress, which feels like I'm draping myself in woven clouds. The neckline is a gentle scoop that shows just a touch of cleavage. The skirt flows out in a soft A-line, with layers of chiffon that create a subtle, almost imperceptible train that trails behind me like a whisper.

I run my hands down my sides, marveling at the feel of the fabric against my skin. I bite my lip as I imagine Jake's eyes on me in this–how he would stiffen to feel my body beneath the soft buttery fabric.

I look up at my reflection and can't help smiling as I picture people from Frosty Harbor seeing me in something like this. They're used to seeing me rush around events in yoga pants or jeans, frazzled and behind the scenes. If they saw me now, I think they might have a collective stroke.

An unexpected sadness tugs at me as I stare at my reflection. Somewhere along the way, I let that expectation convince myself I didn't care about stuff like this. About being pampered or getting to feel like a princess for a night.

I gently pinch the dress"s fabric and lift it out to both sides, dipping my hip and looking at myself over my shoulder. I smile again. But tonight?

Tonight is going to be pure magic. I guess now I can understand why Cinderella didn't care that the carriage would turn into a pumpkin at midnight. Maybe Jake isn't really my fiancé. Maybe this whirlwind of unexpected experiences will pass by in the blink of an eye, and I'll return to my normal life. But why can't I enjoy it while I'm here? Why can't I drink this up and make the most of it?

I push open the door slowly and watch Jake's eyes widen.

"Well?" I ask.

"Holy fuck," he breathes. "We'll take it," he says, raising his voice over his shoulder.

I laugh. "They still have to do the fitting."

"Damn," he says. He steps closer to me, hands lifting like he wants them on me. He seems to catch himself at the last moment and lets them drop to his sides. "You clean up nice, don't you?"

"Are you saying I'm usually dirty?"

Jake's grin is absolutely devilish. "I've seen you dirty. Can't say I mind that side of you, either."

Now, my cheeks probably match the pink of the dress. God. What are we even doing? What parts of this are real, and what parts are just the fiction we're trying to weave?

"Come with me," the woman says. "This already fits you great. But we can do better. How do you feel about letting our stylist and make-up artist spend time with you once you're fitted?"

"I feel… great about that," I say, laughing. "Jake, do you mind bringing Walker with us?"

"Already on it." Jake disappears into the fitting room and returns a moment later with Walker in one arm. He's got the folded-up travel crib in the other and the huge diaper bag slung over his other shoulder. "We're ready."

And then I'm whisked off through the building. Soft classical music plays over the speakers, and the faint scent of lavender fills the air. The walls are lined with flowing gowns and dresses and rolls of fabric that look like they belong in a fairy tale. I let my fingertips run along them as we walk, smiling to myself.

"Oh," the woman says. "We also rent jewelry. I have some beautiful designer pieces you could try on. We can find something that will perfectly compliment the dress."

"Do you sell the pieces?" Jake asks. "I've never been big on rentals."

My breath catches because I'm almost positive something in the way his eyes linger on me says he's not just talking about renting jewelry. But I know I'm being crazy. Jake doesn't want kids. He doesn't even want to settle down with a woman because hockey is his life. I'm a puzzle piece that will never fit into his puzzle, no matter how hard part of me might wish I would.

"Of course," the woman says.

"Rentals are fine," I say quickly.

Jake eyes me. "I'm happy to buy anything for my fiancée."

I eye him right back. "And your fiancée is happy to wear rental jewelry. Really." I put a hand on his forearm, trying to convince him I'm serious.

The corner of his full lips tick up. "I want the absolute best for my woman. It's not a negotiation, Caroline." Then he leans in and plants a casual kiss on my lips.

I want to keep arguing, but the kiss takes my breath away. All I manage is a quick nod, which the woman seems to take as permission to keep marching us through the building. "Shoes!" she says as if she's suddenly forgotten what she must do many times a day. "We'll need to get you the perfect shoes, too."

I look over my shoulder at Jake, who was definitely just staring at my ass. He doesn't even bother to look apologetic for it.

He sets up on a couch near a pedestal in front of a semi-circle of mirrors. Two older women approach with scissors, dangling strips of measuring tape, and serious expressions.

They start working on me while Jake observes. All I can do is watch myself in the mirror with a touch of disbelief.

"You know," Jake says absently. He holds Walker in his arms and bounces him gently as he sleeps. "We'll need to do this routine for the wedding dress soon. Right?"

His words make me feel a touch of instant vertigo. He's right, of course. But playing engaged at a charity gala and staging an actual freaking wedding with our friends and family invited are two entirely different animals.

I take a deep steadying breath, and then the women unexpectedly start stripping the dress off me.

I go a deeper shade of red as I'm stripped down to my bra and panties in a very well-lit room on a freaking pedestal in front of a million mirrors. All the while, Jake Summers is watching from behind me on the couch. I suppose the women assume the father of my child has seen it all before, and I wouldn't mind, but jeez. Would it have killed them to ask if I wanted some privacy?

One of his prominent eyebrows ticks upward. "My fiancée has quite the body, doesn't she?"

The older of the two seamstresses looks up, almost surprised to hear his voice. "Yes," she says. "She's quite full in the bottom. You must be very happy."

"And the chest," Jake prompts. "I've always said a handful is enough, but who am I to complain if she brought some extra?"

I am going to die. I'm trying to death-glare him, but he's not getting the message.

I put my palm to my face as they walk off with the dress, then I remember how exposed I am and try to cover myself. "You don't have to stare," I say through my teeth.

"What would your fiancé do, dear?" he asks, voice dripping with mock sweetness.

I force a smile, even though I'm pretty sure nobody is currently watching us. "He'd make an excuse about needing to use the restroom or give the baby some air for a few minutes."

Jake considers my words, eyes narrowed. But he gets up, stretching his long legs, and sighs. "The things I do for love." He gives me one last scorching look before he leaves with Walker.