Page 194 of Slapshot Baby

He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a small velvet box, sets it on the white tablecloth between the bread plate and the candle.

I freeze.

He opens the box. The ring is a warm gold band with a single stone that catches the amber light and holds it.

"You rebuilt my life when I couldn't remember it. You challenged me to be better than comfortable and you never once let me settle for less than what we could be."

My vision blurs. I press my lips together hard.

"I want mornings with you. The ones where you steal my coffee and pretend you made your own. I want our daughter's first words and her first steps and every single fight we're going to have about bedtimes and curfews and whether she's allowed to date hockey players."

A wet laugh breaks out of me.

He holds the ring between his fingers. "I want every night you fall asleep on my chest and every morning you complain about my alarm."

Tears are rolling down my face. I'm not wiping them. I don't care about the mascara or the lipstick or the people at the next table who are watching.

"Marry me, Ava."

"Yes. Yes, Kai."

He slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly.

He pulls me to my feet across the corner of the table and kisses me. It’s soft, thorough, unhurried, his hands on my face, my fingers gripping the lapels of his jacket.

When he pulls back, I press my forehead to his.

"I love you, and I need you to know that I didn't cry."

"You're crying right now."

"These are allergies leaking out."

His eyebrow lifts. "Allergies to what?"

"Must be the risotto."

He laughs then kisses me again. The waiter clears his throat somewhere behind us and neither of us moves.

After the dinner, we drive to a charity gala hosted by his team.

We walk through the hotel entrance and the ballroom opens up in a wash of bright light and noise and bodies.

Chandeliers blaze overhead. Music thumps underneath several conversations happening at once. The air smells like perfume and champagne and fresh-cut flowers, sharp and sweet and alive.

My ring catches the light. I can't stop looking at it.

Kai's hand is on my lower back, guiding me through the crowd.

He's in captain mode now, the version of him that holds a room's attention without raising his voice. People turn toward him the way they turn toward warmth.

But he keeps touching me. His thumb on my spine. His fingers brushing my hip when someone passes too close. Small, constant contact that says mine without a word.

Easton finds us near the bar. Dark suit, sharp jaw, that lean, watchful stillness he carries everywhere. His eyes drop to my hand before I said hello.

"So that's what the pocket-checking was about."

I blink. "What?"