Chapter 166
It still doesn’t feel real. Boyfriend. Liam Calloway is my boyfriend.
Yeah. That’s going to take a while to sink in.
We haven’t had much of a honeymoon phase. Not with the Calloways drama, Becca’s funeral, the start of the regular season, and Liam currently in Boston for an away game. It’s been chaos. Emotional, exhausting chaos.
I try not to think about Becca. But when I do, it always leaves a bitter
taste.
–
She wasn’t a bad person. Not to me, at least not like I expected. I mean, who handles their fiancé’s ex being around with that much composure? I used to think she hated me. Maybe she did. But if she did, she never showed it.
She didn’t deserve to go like that.
An allergy. Something so… ordinary. She planned her wedding down to the hour, probably spent a small fortune on that cruise, and in the end, she didn’t even get to walk down the aisle.
–
It’s just tragic. And it makes me feel… awful.
I would’ve asked Tessa to help straighten my curls, but with her current disdain for the human race, I had to settle for another YouTube tutorial. It took forever, and they still turned out uneven, but whatever. Small wins.
–
I’m barely inside the bakery when my phone buzzes a video call
from Liam.
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I answer without thinking, and the moment I see his face, I smile.
“Hey,” I say.
He looks fired – freshly showered, hair damp, probably post–practice
sitting somewhere that looks like a hotel room. Last night he texted that he was rooming with someone named Murphy.
“Hey yourself, beautiful,” he says, smiling, “Where are you?”
“I just got to the bakery,”
“Back entrance?”
“Yeah.”
“Look in the corner, I left something there for you.”
I frown. “You’re in Boston.”
“And?”
“And how did you leave me something in New York from Boston?”
“You ask too many questions. Just go look.”
I follow his instructions, round the corner – and immediately spot a sleek little box tucked on the windowsill. Expensive–looking. Suspiciously so.
My frown deepens. He sees it and laughs.
“Okay, go on. Let’s hear the complaint. What is it this time? You don’t want me spending the hundreds of millions in my bank account on you?”
“Don’t say it like that. That makes it worse.” I pick up the box,
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inspecting the shiny green packaging. “Also, why does this look like it was gift–wrapped by a leprechaun?”
“I told them not to go overboard,” he says with mock innocence. “You want me to have them change the colour next time?”
“Just… tone down the emerald extravaganza, maybe.”
He grins. “Duly noted.”
“Shouldn’t you be doing something hockey–related right now? Like… practicing? Or stretching? Or sacrificing a goat in the name of victory?”
“Nah.” He leans back in his chair. “I’m currently busy talking to my lucky charm. Coach will live.”
“Flattery,” I mutter. “You’re getting cocky.”
“No, I’m getting better at being honest.” His smile fades slightly, just enough to make my heart skip. “I miss you.”
My chest tightens. “I miss you too.”
“Open the box.”
“Right now?”
“Please.”
I pop the lid. Inside is a delicate bracelet – thin gold, with a tiny star charm dangling in the centre. My breath catches.
“Liam…”
“I saw it and thought of you,” he says. “Because you’re… you know. My
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north star or whatever.”
I blink fast. He’s too much sometimes.
“You’re cheesier than a Chicago deep–dish,” I whisper, heart pounding. “But thank you. I love it.”
His smile softens. “Good. Now wear it every day I play so I can win.”
“That’s not how luck works.”
“Don’t ruin the illusion.”
“Fine. I’ll wear it every day. But only because you’re currently being adorable and it’s disarming.”
“Good.”
He leans forward like he’s trying to reach through the screen. “Now, tell me about your day. Start from the part where you woke up thinking about me.”
I laugh, sinking onto a nearby stool.
And I do exactly that.
EMILIA
The best part about owning a bakery? I get to decide when we open. And today, I’ve decided that “later” is the perfect time – because my boyfriend, who should be getting ready for a team meeting in less than an hour, has hijacked my morning with a video call and zero shame.
He’s propped against a pillow, bare–chested, sleep–creased, with morning light pooling over his shoulder like it’s just as obsessed with him as I am. His hair is a wet mess. His smile is lazy. I want to kiss him through the screen.
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“You should just ask her what the problem is,” Liam says, resting his check in his hand, watching me like I’m a sunrise. “Better than worrying your pretty little head over it.”
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