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I pop a chocolate into my mouth and check the clock. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” It’s way past his lunch break. Ash doesn’t take time off, choosing to do what I do; eat on the run or at our desks.
“I took today off. This is just the beginning.” Pushing himself to his feet, he tidies up the empty packets and leftovers, putting everything back inside the picnic basket.
Mid chew, I stop eating the raspberry chocolate in my mouth and blink up at him. “What?” I almost choke on my sweet treat. The last time he had a day off was Christmas Day last year, and that was almost a year ago.
“My priorities have changed,” he adds.
“What about your training schedule, your job, your career?” I ask, aghast.
“Do you want one of these for later?” He holds out a homemade Nanaimo bar, knowing I could never say no to the chocolate, coconut, and custard dessert bar. They are my favorite. “My job will be there when I go back.” He doesn’t wait for me to reply and places the layered dessert bar on my desk.
“But—” I jump in to protest, but he doesn’t let me.
“Lily. I was drafted to the NHL when I was eighteen. I went straight from being a player to an assistant coach to head coach. What you said the other night, about the NHL being who I am.” He shakes his head. “I disagree. You are what makes me, me.” He pauses for a beat before clearing his throat. “I haven’t had a break in years, and I need one.” He points at me. “So do you. But we’ll talk about that another day.”
Oh-kay.
He checks his watch. “I've taken up way too much of your time. Now, back to work.” The opportunity for me to ask any questions slips away when he pushes his arms into his winter jacket, picks up the basket, and makes for the door. Nimble footed, he spins around before he leaves. “Walk me to the elevator.” He holds his hand out for me to take and it’s only when I look up through the glass partition walls of my office, I notice all my staff are back from lunch.
On autopilot, I roll my chair out from under my desk and get up to walk to him.
He instantly takes my hand and kisses the back of it.
Too shocked to protest, holding hands, our fingers laced together, we walk through the office toward the elevator. All attention on us, the staff can’t quite believe the infamous Ash Johansson is here. Of course, they all know I’m married to him. But he’s a sporting legend, an enigma, and he never comes here, unless it’s to pick me up, and on those instances, he sits outside to wait for me.
Janice, who has worked for me from the beginning, waves him off as we stand waiting for the elevator.
“Make sure she has a break this afternoon, Janice.” He points at me. “And no working late either,” he shouts over to her, causing everyone to look our way.
He releases my hand, cups my face, then kisses my lips. It’s the softest, most gentle kiss that I feel all the way down to my toes.
“Are you okay at our old apartment? Do you need anything?” he murmurs, his face full of genuine concern.
I know he would have found out that I was staying there from Brayden and Troy, specifically Candy and Bree.
He has no right to be so kind to me. Not after what I did last week. “I need to get groceries.” I suddenly appear to have my appetite back and there is zero food in the apartment.
“Is everything okay between you and Candy?” His hand is still cradling my face. He’s being so attentive, more like the man I met all those years ago.
“She let me feel the baby kicking,” I tell him, not meaning to. Sadness sweeps across his face momentarily, but in a flash, it’s gone again. “We’re fine.” Back to the way things always were between Bree, Candy, and me. They’ve kept in touch every day, calling and texting, making sure I am taking care of myself. They even dropped in on Saturday for lunch, although I didn’t eat what they brought for me.
Then, of course, Dad appeared with Diana on Sunday morning on their way to church to drop off flowers to cheer me up and brighten up the place.
And between Gemma, the girls, Kourtney, then Diana, and Dad texting and calling every other hour, I’m not sure I would have had the time to eat even if I had been hungry.
“You’re the strongest woman I know,” he says seriously.
Some days I don’t feel very strong, more like a boat made from blotting paper; floundering and sinking fast.
He kisses my lips again. In a daze, I kiss him back.
“I worry about you, Lily.”
“I worry about you.” I gaze into his eyes.
“I worry about us.” His forehead lines with concern.
“Ash—”
