Page 9

Chapter 9

Piper

N ot sure how coming over to do a home visit therapy session for Zeke had ended up with me popping us popcorn and the two of us watching a movie together. But here I was, cuddled up on his couch with a cozy blanket that smelled just like him.

Earlier I had pushed the ottoman closer so he could extend his leg, which had created space for me to join him on the couch. It was a large enough couch that we should have been able to sit with plenty of space between us, but he had situated himself almost exactly in the middle. That had left me to hug the armrest in order not to sit too close to him. I had thought that adding a blanket would act like an extra barrier between us, keeping things strictly in the therapist-client zone. I hadn’t counted on the blanket surrounding me with Zeke’s heady scent, which I enjoyed every single time I inhaled. I was pretty sure that didn’t fit within the bounds of an appropriate therapist-client relationship.

“Are you still cold?” Zeke’s deep voice said, bringing me out of my thoughts.

“No, I’m good now.” I gave him a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, not seeming convinced. “You keep bringing the blanket up high enough to cover your face.”

Annnd now I wanted to use the blanket to cover my face out of embarrassment. There was no way my cheeks weren’t bright red.

“You’re supposed to be watching the movie, not me,” I threw at him, hoping to draw attention away from me not so subtly sniffing his blanket on repeat.

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve seen this movie before.”

I gave him a pointed look. “You’ve also seen me before.”

“Yeah, but I never get tired of looking at you.” He said it so simply, like he was only speaking the truth, not trying to flirt with me.

My eyes widened at his statement. “Zeke…” I admonished.

He let out a heavy sigh. “I know I shouldn’t have said that. Sorry.”

“Maybe it’s time for me to head home.” I began unwrapping the blanket around me.

“No, don’t go,” he rushed to say, causing me to pause. “I’ll keep things more professional between us.”

I quirked a brow at him. “Do you know how to do that?” I teased.

He let out a low chuckle. “I’m not sure, but I’m willing to try.”

I continued to sit there, wondering if I should stay or go. I was starting to get used to overly flirty Zeke. It was the vulnerable Zeke, the side he’d let me see a little of that night in the hotel lobby, that I wasn’t sure I could resist. Even just his honest comment about never getting tired of seeing me had put a small crack in the wall I’d put up between us. It wasn’t uncommon for him to flirt with me in an over-the-top way, but having him say something that he believed so truthfully… that put us in dangerous territory.

The bigger problem than the enticing Zeke Man—oh my gosh, had I really just called him that?—was that I wanted to spend time with him too. My body and heart didn’t seem to care that my brain was screaming that this was a bad idea. They wanted me to stay right where I was, with him.

“I’ll stay a little longer, but no more flirting,” I warned with no real heat in my voice. I was a lost cause. I wanted to shake myself for being so foolish, but I couldn’t bring myself to do that when I was happy about spending more time with Zeke.

“No more flirting.” He held up three fingers. “Scouts honor.”

I eyed him doubtfully. “Were you even a scout?”

He shook his head. “No, never.”

A small laugh escaped me. “What am I going to do with you?”

He gave me a cheeky grin. “Make dinner with me.”

The way his smooth voice said those four words had me second-guessing my decision to stay. The thought of making dinner with him sounded meaningful, and I was worried my willpower to keep pushing the brakes between us was going to give out.

“Don’t you mean make dinner for you?” I pretended to be annoyed because it was better than showing him how his words had affected me. “You need to stay off your knee.”

“I can get set up in the kitchen with my leg propped up and then cut or stir or do whatever you need me to do,” he said.

He looked like an overly excited puppy, and who could say no to a puppy? Not me.

“Okay, fine,” I relented with a sigh, but it was all for show. I was just as excited about spending the evening together as he was. Which I was assuming was not my best choice, but I was doing it anyway. I could be strong and not get all swoony over a guy. Easy peasy.

Plus, neither of us wanted anything remotely close to a relationship, especially with each other. We were just two people who enjoyed each other’s company. Wasn’t that the definition of friends?

Yes, that’s what we were becoming. Friends. Nothing more. Friends had dinner together. I was feeling better about this whole dinner idea already.

That was, until he went to stand up from the couch and winced. I hurried to his side so I could help him walk into the kitchen, his arm thrown over my shoulders, and I found out how perfectly I fit under it. And if I had thought the blanket smelled good, having my arm around his waist and being pressed against his side was heavenly.

But I wasn’t going to think about that. I wasn’t going to think about how we seemed to fit together perfectly, or how sigh-inducingly good he smelled, or that he’d made me laugh more in the few weeks I’d known him than in the couple years I’d dated my ex.

No. I would focus on dinner and making sure I didn’t burn anything. Because heaven knew I wasn’t that good of a cook. Unfortunately, Zeke was about to find that out too.

I got him settled on one of the stools at the counter, propping his left leg on the stool next to him.

Placing my hands on my hips and catching my breath from helping him walk (and not from him making me breathless), I said, “So what are we making?”

He gestured toward the fridge. “I think I have all the stuff to make chicken noodle soup.”

I nodded and headed toward the fridge. I shouldn’t have been so surprised at how his kitchen was a chef’s dream, featuring top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances, custom cabinetry, and quartz countertops. It matched the modern but elegant entryway and open living room, with its smart home system to control lighting, temperature, and security.

And speaking of chefs, I wasn’t one. I’d never made homemade chicken noodle soup before, so he was going to have to tell me what to do. I was more of a chicken noodle soup from a can kind of girl. Or better yet, from a restaurant delivery.

Before opening the refrigerator, I spun back around to face him. “I probably should have told you that I’m not what some would call a chef,” I admitted, my words coming out slowly.

He stared back at me, the look on his face difficult to decipher. Was he amused? Or was that more of a surprised look? Maybe even happy?

“What?” I asked, curious to know what he was thinking and what that look on his face meant.

He closed his eyes briefly and cleared his throat. “Oh, um…” he stammered, slightly shaking his head as if to clear it.

I was even more confused now.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” he quickly answered. “Sorry. I would explain but you said no more flirting, and my answer might be interpreted that way.” The mischievous spark in his eyes told me he knew full well that I’d be itching to know what he had been thinking, which would get him around the no flirting rule.

I tilted my head and gave him an exasperated look. “Well, now you have to tell me.”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “Remember?” He held up his three fingers again. “Scouts honor.”

I threw my hands up in the air. “But you’re not even a scout,” I exclaimed.

That made him laugh. “If I tell you, will you count it as flirting and leave?”

I didn’t know why I cared so much about what he had been thinking earlier, but I did, and I was willing to let a flirty sentence or two slide. And let’s be honest—I secretly liked his flirting, but as his physical therapist, he couldn’t know that.

“No. This one won’t count.”

I could tell from his smirk that he was thinking about what else he could get away with.

“Since you must know,” he said, his gaze traveling the length of me. “I was thinking how much I like seeing you in my kitchen.”

Oh .

I wasn’t sure what I had been expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that. His comment wasn’t even all that flirty. It almost felt more meaningful than some flippant, flirty remark. Which was scarier than him flirting with me. Flirting could be brushed aside as a fun pastime, or a personality trait, or a way to get someone to blush—and I had a feeling Zeke enjoyed that a little too much—but expressing genuine thoughts or feelings sent a jolt of fear through me.

But I must have heard the tone in his voice wrong. And misread the way his eyes were drinking me in. Because this was Zeke Lawson we were talking about. Pro hockey player who had never had a girlfriend. He’d even told me himself he wasn’t a relationship kind of guy. I didn’t understand why he was saying the things he did or what it meant that he wanted me to stay, so it would be safer to ignore it all. Chalk it up to Zeke being Zeke.

I put on an air of aloofness, waving him off. “I’m sure you say that to all the women who’ve been in your kitchen.”

A teasing grin didn’t reach his lips like I thought it would. Instead, he only looked at me with an even more serious expression.

He subtly shook his head. “You’re only the second woman to ever be in my kitchen.”

“You mean this kitchen.” I pointed to the ground. “Not like all the kitchens you’ve ever had.”

“No,” he said, like I was the one not making sense here. “I mean, out of all the different places I’ve lived, you’re the second woman to be in my kitchen or apartment.”

My brows pushed together. “You can’t be serious.” I paused, letting him see if he would correct himself but when he didn’t, I continued. “I’m really the second woman ever ?” I was flabbergasted by this information.

“Well, except for the cleaners,” he amended. “Yes.”

I kept blinking at him, waiting for my mind to catch up to his words. Once they did, it made me extremely curious about the first woman. I tried to remember if there had ever been a girlfriend in his early years as an NHL player, but I couldn’t remember one. Yes, sadly I knew way too much about him.

“Who was the first?” I finally asked.

A pained expression crossed his features. “Someone a long time ago.”

My body froze at his admission.

Oh, my gosh .

Zeke had been in love before. Possibly still was, if that hurt on his face was anything to go by.

It shouldn’t have been so hard for me to think of Zeke in love. Lots of people fall in and out of love every day. But he had always seemed like an enigma, someone I had watched from afar who seemed too happy being single to ever want to change his status, certainly not someone who had been in love.

Never mind the annoying new emotion that had randomly popped up out of nowhere. I refused to recognize it as jealousy, so I did my best to push that ridiculous feeling far, far away.

His body language screamed that he didn’t want to talk about it, his eyes focused on the adjoining living room to keep from looking at me. I should have felt like a horrible person for wanting to pry into his personal life but the desire to know more was too strong for me to keep my mouth shut.

“Was it before you were drafted into the NHL?” I asked as gently as I could.

His gaze swung to me, and I could see the hesitancy in his eyes as he shifted in his seat.

“Yeah.”

No wonder I didn’t know anything about a past girlfriend of his. There wasn’t much information on him before he joined the NHL.

The silence lingered between us.

Maybe it was the physical therapist in me, but I wanted to push, not to the point of injury, but to get past the limit he had set for himself, knowing that in the end it would help him.

“How long were you two together?” I kept my voice soft, almost like I was talking to an animal that might spook easily.

He interlocked his fingers, keeping his eyes down. “A year and a half.”

He was about to shut down, I could sense it. I’d have to be careful if I wanted to get any more information about this mysterious woman. And not just because I was curious, but I also thought it would be therapeutic for him. Possibly even help him with his struggles and fears about retirement and loneliness. I had a feeling that whoever this woman in his past was, she played a key role in why he kept to himself. Working through emotional problems might be what he needed to clear his head and help him not physically injure himself on the ice. With his eventual retirement constantly on his mind, along with his physical limitations, I had a feeling he was in his own head too much. Emotions were constantly tangling themselves up with our physical health, and if I could get him to talk, maybe I could help him with more than just physical therapy. Healing started from within.

That, and I really wanted to know all the details about his personal life. If I had to justify my reasoning, I would.

“Tell me what I need to make chicken noodle soup,” I said, catching him off-guard with my sudden subject change.

Pulling open the fridge door, I looked back over my shoulder and waited for him to instruct me.

“The carrots and celery should be in the left drawer,” he said, his body more relaxed now that we were talking about soup.

I reached for those and set them on the counter.

He told me everything else I needed, and once all the ingredients were laid out, he rattled off directions. I washed the carrots and celery, placing them in front of him so he could chop while I worked on the rest.

I shouldn’t have thought he looked so good chopping celery and carrots, but I couldn’t help it. A man cutting vegetables and cooking was a definite turn on. I’d seen the reels on social media about men doing household chores to attract women, and I’d just chuckled at the exaggeration. But now witnessing Zeke in the kitchen, even with a swollen knee, it was very attractive.

While I cut the chicken into bite-sized pieces, I nonchalantly picked up our conversation about the mysterious woman.

“So did you meet her in college?” He’d told me last weekend he’d left behind no girlfriend in Glacier Grove.

I kept my focus on the chicken but heard his knife pause for a second before he answered. “Yes. We met sophomore year.”

“Did you two have a class together or something?”

“No.” He let out a soft chuckle. “She was a figure skater. My friends and I thought it would be fun to go to the local ice rink to show off, and there she was doing all the fancy skating stuff.”

His voice almost sounded wistful and had my stomach twisting in a knot.

“Anyway, she yelled at us for getting in her way and for being obnoxious…that was justified. I apologized and ended by asking her out.”

I stopped cutting and looked at him. “And she said yes?”

He laughed. “No. She told me to get lost.”

“Let me guess,” I said, resuming my cutting. “You didn’t.”

“Nope, I didn’t,” he smiled. “I challenged her to a race from one side of the rink to the other. Told her that if she won, we’d leave, and if I won, she had to go out with me.” He was still smiling, caught up in the memory.

I didn’t have any reason to feel hurt by his obviously fond memories of this woman, but a deep sense of sadness washed over me. Whether it was for him or for myself, I wasn’t sure.

“So you won?” I asked.

“No, she won.” His smile turned nostalgic. “But then she told me she would be at a nearby coffee shop the next morning before she skated away. I met Anna the next day and the next, and then it wasn’t long until we were a couple.”

“Wow.” I tried to keep the annoyance out of my voice. “Sounds like one of those cute rom-com stories.”

“Yeah, well, it definitely didn’t end like one.” The happiness that had been on his face recounting the story faded, replaced by a stony expression.

Again, I wanted to push, to know why things had ended between them, but I had a feeling I had pushed as far as he would let me for today. I was beginning to learn with Zeke that he would only share so much, and somehow I knew that we’d hit that limit.

Several different emotions swirled inside me like a tornado. Yes, there was a part of me that was envious of Zeke’s obvious attachment to Anna, but as I let the jealousy flow, I could tell it came from my desire to have had a relationship with a man who had felt that way about me. I couldn’t imagine any of my exes thinking back on our time so fondly.

Jordan had been the first man I’d thought I had been in love with. All the other guys before him had been more infatuations or friendships. I think that was why, when things had ended between Jordan and me, it had hurt so much. Over time, I’d realized I didn’t miss Jordan as much as I missed what I thought we’d had.

And with that two-pronged jealousy winding its way around me, a blanket of sadness seemed to be draped across my shoulders. I wanted the kind of love Zeke seemed to have had with Anna so long ago. Except I had no personal experience to prove it even existed. Between my own failed relationships, my mom walking out on my dad, and now Zeke’s loss of someone he’d cared about so much that he hadn’t had a serious relationship since, it was evident that love was a figment of a dreamer’s imagination.

Remaining single seemed the only fool-proof way to keep from hoping—and to keep from getting hurt. It had been working well for me so far. Once the initial hurt had passed after my breakup with Jordan, I’d been happier than I’d been in a long time. My job brought me joy. My sister brought me joy. My life just how it was now brought me joy. No need to ruin a good thing. Zeke was a good-looking guy and I enjoyed spending time with him, but that wasn’t going to tempt me to derail my well laid plans.

I would finish making chicken noodle soup with him, go back home, and not think about him again until our next physical therapy session.

Sounded easy enough.

There was only one tiny problem.

The image of him looking at me in reverence while he told me how much he liked seeing me in his kitchen would forever be ingrained in my mind. That and the fact that Zeke Lawson hadn’t had another woman in his kitchen since Anna, the last girl he had been in love with…but he wanted me to stay. My brain could take that thought alone and have a heyday with it.

But no. I couldn’t let myself dwell on anything he’d said tonight. It was purely a work visit. One during which we’d watched a movie, then he’d opened up and shared something hard from his past, and now we were about to have dinner together. Yes, a work visit.

At least, that was what I was going to keep telling myself. I had to. It was the only way to protect not only my job but my heart.