Chapter One

Chapter One

Bash

"...and then we saw a giraffe, and then we saw a f-amingo, and then we saw a elly-phant, and then we saw a striped horse…"

"It was a zebra," Emma corrects. She's almost eight, and she's very particular, unlike her little brother, who's a bit more loosey-goosey with the details.

Cal takes a big breath before launching back into his recitation of all the animals they saw at the zoo last weekend. "And then we saw a zeeb-a , and then we saw a lion…"

"Wow." I press my hands to my face and lean toward the screen. "A lion? How big was it?"

My nephew spreads his arms as wide as he can. "It was this big! "

"It was even bigger!" Emma takes her brother's hands, and she, too, spreads her arms wide, although I can't see most of her body since she's off the screen now. "At least this big ! And there were two of them, a boy and a girl."

"Did the boy lion roar?" I ask.

Cal droops. "No, he was a s'eepin. But when we got home, Papa showed us a video. He says my whole head would fit in his mouf!"

"Good thing he wasn't awake, then. You need your head for stuff."

Cal nods. "Yeah. It's where my eyes are. How would I play hockey w-out eyes?"

I swallow a laugh. I love a bad joke—Emma tells one about a talking muffin that gets me every time—but I try not to laugh at the kids when they're not being intentionally funny. "Wow. So, what was your favorite animal?"

Cal has to think about it, but Emma's answer is locked and loaded. "The snow leopards," she says. "They had kittens, and they were so cute!"

"I liked the otters," Cal says. "They were funny."

"Did you do anything else fun while you were in Toronto?"

For the next few minutes, I am regaled with tales of their exploits, including a picture Emma drew of the snow leopards and Cal's picture of… an elephant, sans trunk, I think? It's very purple, so I err on the side of caution and tell him I love it, which is true. Besides, art is in the eye of the beholder. I can like it even if the accuracy is dubious.

Eventually, the kids get called away, and my mom takes over the phone call. She's holding my youngest niece, Daisy, in her lap. Daisy isn't big enough to talk yet but loves blowing bubbles.

"Are you and Papa having fun with the grandkids?" I ask.

Maman's eyes go all stary for a moment. "Oh, it's been wonderful. Well, mostly. Your father keeps sneaking them extra cookies, so they're hyper all the time."

"Sounds like Papa." I pick up the phone and carry it with me to my couch.

"I suppose that's what grandfathers are supposed to do." She sighs. In her lap, Daisy blows a few more bubbles. "But the kids miss their Uncle Bash. You're so good with them…"

I know exactly where this is going, but it's too late to backpedal.

Maman's eyes widen. "You'll make the perfect father someday. I don't suppose you've met anyone yet?"

Some people get uncomfortable when their parents ask this question, but not me. I love kids, and my mom knows it. For once, I have good news for her. "I'm going out tonight actually. I met her after the game at Distill where we all hang out. She loves hockey. She's gorgeous. She's practically perfect."

"Oh?" Maman's eyes light up. "What's her name?"

My mind drifts to the stunning blonde. "Tiffany."

"Does she go to church?"

I laugh. "This is our first date! We haven't discussed religion or politics yet. Maybe I'll find out more tonight."

"Good. It's time, Bash. Three children, I had. One son. I need you to carry on the family name. By the time your father was your age…"

This is the part of the conversation I could do without. Before she can get too into the weeds, I cut her off. "I know, Maman. And I'm trying. I meet women. I date. I just haven't met the one. I'm not settling for anything less than what you and Papa have."

And just about every other couple in my Las Vegas neighborhood.

"Maybe this Tiffany will change that. Have fun. Tell me all about it later!"

We say our goodbyes, and Daisy blows a farewell bubble. Maybe soon, I will have a Daisy of my own. Maybe all my broken roads were leading to Tiffany. Someday, my house will no longer be so empty and lonely, and I can join the rest of my teammates in having the kind of life where I am fulfilled, not only with my career but in my heart as well.

* * *

Twenty minutes before I'm supposed to leave, someone knocks on my front door. This is very odd—Tiffany doesn't have my address, and I'm not expecting visitors. Fortunately, I'm almost ready, although I am having trouble getting my hair to cooperate. It does this thing at the back that is very annoying, where it wants to stick up in every direction no matter how much product I use.

I answer the door, still fiddling with my hair, to find my teammate, Noah, standing on the porch. His pretty wife, Molly, who reminds me very much of the Let It Go princess, stands beside him.

"Got a few minutes?" Noah asks.

Molly holds up a Tupperware. "We brought cookies!"

"What kind of cookies?" I ask, but I'm already stepping out of the way to let them in.

"Monster," Molly says. "They've got Oreo chunks, M these women who breeze through life, flicking through it like a glossy magazine, only stopping at pages that sparkle. They don't seem to realize that beauty is just the cover story, not the substance.

I sift through memories of past relationships, a parade of pretty faces that blur into one another, each more concerned with their reflection than real connection. My parents' enduring love taunts me—a reminder of what I'm missing. A profound love filled with shared dreams, whispered secrets, and the kind of laughter that echoes through a lifetime. That's the love I crave, a forever that's not just skin-deep but soul-deep. Tiffany's fleeting kiss on my cheek might as well have been a goodbye to all that is superficial. Tonight, as I sit alone and embarrassed, I'm more determined than ever to find a love story that's mine, that's real—a narrative woven with loyalty, intellect, and passion. No more settling for placeholders who see me as a trophy on their arm. I want a partner who sees the real me and loves every flawed, striving piece of it.

A little shiver hits me as I wonder if I'll ever get the love I deserve.

A salt-of-the-earth woman, that's what I want and need. But how do I find her?

I eat in silence until the waiter returns. Instead of ordering another drink, I ask for a box—no reason to let an unnecessarily expensive salad go to waste.

At least the pork is delicious. And when I get home, I'll have monster cookies waiting for me in my giant, empty, lonely house.