Page 2

The crowd gasps, then bursts into applause.

Jake’s jaw drops. “Mom… did you see that?” His voice is barely above a whisper, pure awe in every syllable.

“I saw,” I breathe, my pulse still pounding.

Beck’s eyes lift toward the stands, searching for the puck’s intended target. When his gaze finds Jake—and me—his expression softens.

Our eyes meet.

I freeze.

A spark of something—recognition? Curiosity?—flickers in his eyes. Or maybe I’m imagining it. I blink, and the moment’s gone. Beck skates back toward the bench, puck still in hand.

“Mom, he looked at us!” Jake’s excitement is off the charts. “Do you think he saw me?”

“I… think he did,” I murmur, trying to steady my breathing.

Minutes Later…

With just over a minute left in the game, Beck circles back to our section, puck in hand. My heart hammers as he stops right by the glass and gestures toward Jake.

“Whoa… is he—” Jake’s eyes are as wide as saucers.

“Go ahead,” I nudge him gently.

Jake inches forward, his little hand pressed to the plexiglass. Beck leans closer, his smile warm and genuine as he taps the glass lightly with the puck.

“For you, buddy,” Beck mouths.

Jake’s face lights up as he accepts the puck from the arena staff who delivers it to us. His smile is pure joy. “Thank you, Mr. Hayes!” he shouts, his voice carrying over the din of the crowd.

Beck gives a small salute before skating away, but not before his eyes meet mine one more time. This time, there’s no mistaking it. There’s curiosity in his gaze.

***

Thirty Minutes Later…

And everything … everything that could go wrong … does.

Spotty, who had been a model of perfect behavior during the game, turns into a whirlwind of chaos the second we step into the designated meet-and-greet area. His leash slips from Jake’s hand, and he bolts toward the players, tail wagging like a propeller.

“Spotty, no!” I lunge after him, but it’s too late.

The next few seconds unfold in slow motion. Spotty barrels straight toward Beck.

And Beck?

He bends down, laughing as Spotty practically tackles him.

“Well, hello there, buddy,” Beck says, scratching Spotty’s ears like they’re old friends. “You trying to take me down?”

My heart pounds as I catch up, breathless. “I’m so sorry! He’s usually better behaved, I swear.”

Beck looks up, and for the second time tonight, our eyes meet. This time, there’s no mistaking it. Amusement dances in his gaze, but there’s something else too.

“Don’t worry about it.” His smile is easy, genuine. “I like dogs. And this guy’s got good taste.”

I bite my lip, trying to calm my racing heart. “Well, he’s definitely a fan.”