Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Sage

"We're going to need to break early today," Molly tells me. We're making good progress on the book nook, and the window seat is almost done. If we put a couple more hours in, we'll be able to move onto the shelving.

"Got plans with the kids or something?" I ask.

Molly shakes her head. "The guys are coming home tonight. I'm going to make a nice meal to celebrate the win. Francine's taking the kids tonight, so…" Her cheeks flush as she bites her bottom lip. "You know. We actually get a date night."

I laugh. "Point taken. What are you going to make?"

"Something that we can easily reheat if we get carried away." Molly stretches her arms and backs away from the work-in-progress. "I really appreciate all your help, Sage. It's nice to feel like I'm making some progress and not staying just barely afloat, you know?"

"It's not trouble at all," I tell her. "If I'm still here next week, we'll get this finished up, no problem. If not, it's something you and Noah can totally handle together."

I help her pack everything away and clean up the work zone. Most of the tools and materials get tucked inside the storage unit of the window seat for easy access. Molly walks me back home and promises to see me soon since there's usually at least one get-together a week.

"Hey, if you are still here for the next home game, you should definitely come. It's a good time."

"I'd like that. Although you'll have to talk me through the rules. I don't know much about hockey other than it requires ice and skates."

Molly gives me one of her grade-A hugs before we part ways. I stand on the porch and watch as she makes her way home, fingering the keys in my pocket. All down the street, I can see the other wives loading their kids in the car, unloading groceries, or moving around behind their windows as they get the houses ready for their husbands to return. They don't look the way I felt when I made that last dinner for Trevor out of domestic obligation. They look… excited.

Happy.

How lonely must it be for Bash to come home from a trip to a silent house, knowing the warm reception that his friends will receive on arrival?

That's when I decide I'm making dinner. And tonight, instead of hiding in my room to avoid being underfoot, I am going to eat with Bash.

* * *

I don't know exactly when Bash is supposed to get home, so I decide to follow Molly's advice and make something that can keep. That means potato salad, regular salad, and shredded pork in the slow cooker so that we can have sliders whenever he rolls in. It's not the fanciest thing ever, but it works, and there's plenty of it.

A little after five, the front door rattles, and Annie appears from the back hallway at a run. She's so eager to butt her head against Bash's legs that she almost trips him up.

"What a nice welcome!" he says, kneeling to pet her. Then he sniffs a few times. "And there's food, too?"

I poke my head out of the kitchen. "I cooked."

"You did? Is there anything you can't do?"

"Hold your judgment," I tell him. "You haven't even tasted it yet."

He dumps his luggage at the bottom of the stairs and walks through to the kitchen, making a beeline for the slow cooker. "This smells like it would be marvelous on poutine."

I lean against the counter. "I've never made poutine. Never had it, either."

"What?" Bash presses his hand to his heart. "Never once? You have not lived."

I laugh at his antics. "Is it something we can whip up together?"

"Yes, I always have the ingredients." He rushes to the cupboard and opens a drawer, inside which rests a single, sad bulb of garlic. "Ah, I usually have the ingredients. The potatoes?"

"I made potato salad."

"Of course." He rallies and turns to the fridge. "Well, then maybe we can use freezer fries to… to…" He rummages around, growing more frantic by the moment. "Where are the cheese curds?"

I wince. "Are those, by any chance, the little white Annie-sized crumbles you kept in a Tupperware?"

"Annie-sized?" Bash closes the fridge door. "You fed cheese curds to Annie?"

"Yes? She was really happy…"

Bash leans back against the fridge door, looking despondent. "As one should be while eating cheese."

"Sorry—" I begin.

Bash pushes himself upright. "No worries. I'll buy more. Then we can make poutine together. After all, we're hosting the Oh, Canada party in a few days."

"The what?" I ask, bewildered.

"My party. Around the neighborhood, we take turns hosting. This month, it is my turn, so I get to pick the theme." Bash rubs his hands together, his distress over the lack of poutine already forgotten. "For now, let us eat this meal you made for us!"

It's a mild evening, so we carry everything out to the patio, along with a bottle of Molson's apiece. Annie sits by the back door, watching us intently through the glass while we eat.

"How was the game?" I ask.

"Did you watch?" Bash looks up from his plate with a shy smile.

"Only a little bit. I don't really understand the rules, but I checked the score after. Although Molly did invite me to the next home game."

Bash beams at me. "I can get you squared away if you want to come. It seems like you two get along?"

"Molly and I spent the last two days hanging out and doing some things around her house."

He bobs his head. "She is very sweet. The others, they look out for me. For each other. It's nice that she's looking after you, too. As for the game, it was…" He wags his hand back and forth. "It was not a tough one. The win is good, but it's not going to make or break the season. Things will get tougher, of course, and this year, I am feeling the pressure for Lord Stanley."

"You mean the Stanley Cup? That's, like, the hockey grand prize, yeah?"

Bash laughs. "Yes, exactly. The team has won it before, but never since I got signed. It would be good to win it now. I want to know what it feels like to win the ultimate prize before I retire."

I dab a napkin on my lips since I'm pretty sure I have pulled pork all over my face. It turned out pretty damn well for something I didn't pit-smoke. "More so this year than any other?"

"Some members of the team, they are getting older. Noah, Anders, even Latham… I do not know how many more years until they retire. Noah has hinted at it before. If they leave, we will have new players, a new dynamic. Which means we might not win again in my time on the team." His eyes are slightly unfocused, and I can tell he's picturing that big win. "For me, I want every game to be good. But it would mean a lot to me, to all of us, if we win this year."

"Sounds like high stakes," I observe. "I hope you win that cup."

"Is there anything you want?" He blushes a bit when he realizes what he said. God, the man is beyond hot. "I mean for your life?"

I pause with a forkful of food lifted halfway to my mouth. "You mean, is there anything I want as bad as you want the Stanley Cup?"

Bash nods.

I can think of a few things, but I don't know how to put them into words. Everything I want is more abstract and long-term. I want to feel safe. I want to stop worrying about the ranch. I want to look into the future and see something other than darkness and question marks.

I want to make my dad proud of me and the woman I've become.

"I'm still figuring out what I want," I say at last.

"This is why you are here, oui? In Las Vegas? To find yourself."

"That's the goal." I take a sip of beer. "So, I was going through your family photos when I set the office up. Looks like you've got some sisters?"

Bash waxes poetic about his family. His eyes light up with love as he produces his phone and talks me through the names and identities of his many family members.

It occurs to me that Flossie never got back to me about that natal chart. Not that it matters. I'm already pretty clear that I like Bash, no matter what the stars say.

It doesn't seem fair that I'm only here for another week or two. That I'm already counting the days until I'll be able to go home.