Page 26

One year later.

"You're going to wear out your lens cap if you keep fidgeting with it," Olivia observed from beside me on the press platform overlooking the university hockey rink. "He's played hundreds of professional games this year. This alumni exhibition doesn't even count."

"I know," I admitted, forcing myself to stop the nervous adjustment of my equipment. "But this is different. This is where it all started."

The arena buzzed with familiar excitement during alumni weekend, students and graduates mingling in the stands. I shifted my professional camera—now emblazoned with the Sports Illustrations logo—ensuring I had the perfect angle for when the players took the ice.

"Hard to believe it's been a year," Olivia mused, glancing around the packed arena. "Feels like yesterday we were rushing across campus to cover our first hockey practice, and you were ranting about entitled athletes."

"Please never repeat that rant to Ethan," I groaned. "He already teases me enough about my initial opinion of hockey players."

"Your secret character assassination is safe with me," she assured me with a grin. "Besides, my journalistic integrity has been compromised by my own involvement with an entitled athlete."

I glanced pointedly at the gold band on her left hand. "Very compromised."

Before Olivia could retort, the crowd erupted as the players took the ice for warm-ups. My eyes immediately found Ethan, now wearing his familiar Pittsburgh Seals practice jersey with his Wolves number specially approved for the exhibition game. His first professional season had been impressive for a rookie—not a star yet, but a solid contributor who'd earned respect from teammates and coaches alike.

Through my viewfinder, I tracked his movement across the ice, noting the increased confidence in his skating, the easy authority he still carried. When he glanced toward the press platform, I lowered my camera just long enough to meet his eyes and smile. The wink he returned made my heart flutter embarrassingly, even after a year together.

The past twelve months had been transformative for both of us. My Sports Illustrations internship had evolved into a position as a junior photographer specializing in hockey and winter sports. The arrangement allowed me to travel frequently to Pittsburgh during hockey season, while maintaining my tiny New York apartment as a home base.

The long-distance challenge we'd feared had proven manageable—not easy, certainly, but strengthened by deliberate communication, regular visits, and unwavering support of each other's careers. Technology helped; we fell asleep to video calls more nights than not, and Ethan had become surprisingly adept at sending thoughtful care packages to New York when my schedule became particularly grueling.

After the exhibition game—which the alumni won, thanks in no small part to Ethan's two assists and Dylan's game-winning goal—we gathered with friends at our old haunt, Midnight Munchies Diner. The familiar vinyl booths and perpetually sticky menus provided the perfect backdrop for our reunion.

"To alumni weekend," Dylan proposed, raising his chocolate milkshake. "Where we pretend we're still cool enough to hang out with college students."

"Speak for yourself," Olivia countered, clinking her glass against his. "Some of us are inherently cool regardless of student status."

Dylan snorted, but the affectionate glance he gave his wife belied any genuine disagreement. Their unlikely romance had blossomed into marriage just two months ago, with Ethan serving as best man and me as maid of honor. The wedding had been a perfect blend of Dylan's laid-back humor and Olivia's meticulous planning—much like their relationship itself.

"How long are you in town for?" Tyler asked, sliding into the booth beside Ethan. Our former goalie had joined a team in Colorado, his steady presence in net earning him a starting position midway through the season.

"Just the weekend," Ethan replied. "I have team meetings Monday morning that I can't miss."

"Same," I added. "I'm covering the Chicago game Tuesday night."

Tyler shook his head with a rueful smile. "You two and your crazy schedules. How do you make it work?"

Ethan's hand found mine under the table, squeezing gently. "We prioritize what matters," he said simply.

Coach Alvarez stopped by our table briefly, proudly updating Ethan on the team's progress and sharing news about other alumni in the NHL. His familiar gruff demeanor softened when he mentioned that my hockey emotion series was now displayed permanently in the athletic department's hall of fame.

"Your work captures the spirit of our program," he told me, his praise as unexpected as it was meaningful.

After dinner, Ethan and I broke away from the group, wanting some time alone to revisit the campus that had brought us together. The spring night was perfect—stars visible above, a gentle breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers across the quad.

"Want to take the scenic route?" Ethan suggested, lacing his fingers through mine.

"Lead the way, Captain."

We wandered through significant locations from our shared history: the ice rink where we'd first clashed, the coffee shop where we'd established our fake relationship, the fountain where we'd danced after the Winter Formal. Each spot held memories, stepping stones that had led us to this moment.

"You know what I just realized?" Ethan said as we approached Midnight Munchies Diner again, having completed a full circle around campus. "We never actually had a proper first date. We went straight from business arrangement to complicated feelings to relationship crisis to real couple."

"That's not true," I protested. "We had plenty of fake dates that became increasingly real. The Harvest Festival, the Winter Formal..."

"Those don't count," he insisted. "They were performances for other people. I'm talking about a real first date—just us, no audience, no agenda except enjoying each other's company."

"Well, it's a little late now," I laughed. "We're practically an old married couple already."

Something flickered in Ethan's expression. "Would that be so bad?"

My pulse quickened. "What?"

"Being an old married couple," he clarified, his tone deliberately casual though his eyes were anything but. "With me, I mean."

"Ethan, what are you saying?" I asked carefully, afraid to assume too much from his cryptic question.

"Let's go inside," he suggested, nodding toward the diner. "I'm thinking we're overdue for that proper first date."

Confused but intrigued, I followed him back into the now-quiet restaurant. The dinner rush had ended, leaving only a few patrons scattered among the booths. Ethan led me to a specific table in the back corner—the exact spot where we'd negotiated our fake relationship that fateful night months ago.

"This feels familiar," I observed as we slid into opposite sides of the booth.

"It should." Ethan smiled, a nervous quality to his expression I rarely saw these days. "This is where it all began, right? Our business arrangement?"

"Over pancakes at midnight," I confirmed, remembering. "I was so desperate for that Sports Illustrations connection, and you were so desperate to keep Vanessa away."

"Not my proudest moment," Ethan admitted with a self-deprecating smile. "But it worked out okay in the end, wouldn't you say?"

"Better than okay," I agreed softly.

A server approached, and to my surprise, delivered two plates of pancakes and coffee without us ordering.

"You planned this," I realized, looking between the familiar midnight breakfast and Ethan's increasingly nervous expression.

"I might have called ahead." He fidgeted with his napkin, an uncharacteristic tell. "Do you remember the terms of our original agreement? The clauses we established right here in this booth?"

I cast my mind back to that night. "Let's see... The relationship would be strictly professional. No real feelings involved. Clear expiration date at the end of hockey season."

"Exactly." Ethan reached across the table, taking both my hands in his. "We failed spectacularly at all three conditions."

"True," I laughed. "The least successful contract in history."

"So I've been thinking..." He took a deep breath. "Maybe we need a new agreement. One with completely opposite terms."

My heart stuttered. "What kind of terms?"

"Completely personal, not professional. All real feelings, all the time. And no expiration date whatsoever." His eyes held mine, vulnerable and hopeful. "A permanent arrangement, you might say."

Before I could respond, he slid out of the booth and, to my absolute shock, dropped to one knee beside the table. The few remaining diners fell silent, all eyes turning toward us.

"Mia," Ethan began, voice steady despite the emotion evident in his eyes. "I came into your life as a script, a performance, a business deal. But you saw through all that to who I really am, and somehow loved me anyway." He reached into his pocket, producing a small velvet box. Inside was a stunning engagement ring—a simple but elegant design that perfectly matched my taste. "There's no pretending this time. Just us, for real, forever. Will you marry me?"

Time seemed suspended as I stared at the ring, then at Ethan's face—the face I'd photographed countless times, in victory and defeat, in public performance and private vulnerability. The face I'd somehow come to love beyond all reason or expectation.

"Yes," I whispered, then louder, "Yes, absolutely yes."

Ethan's smile was blinding as he slipped the ring onto my finger, then pulled me into a kiss that left no doubt about the authenticity of our feelings. The small crowd of diners erupted into applause, several filming the moment on their phones.

As we broke apart, I noticed a familiar figure in the corner, lowering a professional camera. "Olivia?" I gasped. "You knew about this?"

My best friend emerged from her hiding spot, camera in hand. "Who do you think Ethan recruited to document the moment? He knows you well enough to realize you'd want this milestone captured." She hugged me fiercely. "Congratulations, both of you."

Dylan appeared beside her, slinging an arm around Ethan's shoulders. "About time, Captain. I was starting to think you'd chicken out."

"You knew too?" I demanded.

"I had to tell someone I was planning to propose," Ethan defended. "And Dylan has proven surprisingly good at keeping secrets."

"Only because I threatened him with divorce if he spoiled the surprise," Olivia clarified with a smug smile.

After accepting congratulations from friends and even a few strangers, Ethan and I finally escaped the celebratory chaos of the diner.

As we drove away from campus into the evening, I lifted my camera one last time, capturing the setting sun over the university skyline through the car window. The resulting image was slightly blurred, imperfect but beautiful—much like the unpredictable journey of falling in love when you least expect it.

I glanced at the engagement ring catching the fading light on my finger, then at Ethan's profile as he drove, his expression peaceful and content. The camera charm he'd given me last year rested against my throat, a constant reminder of how he saw me.

"What are you thinking about?" Ethan asked, catching my contemplative gaze.

"Just that some arrangements turn out better than originally planned," I replied, reaching for his hand.

His answering smile was everything real and nothing performed—the truest image I'd ever captured, not with my camera but with my heart.

"Much better," he agreed, lifting my hand to press a kiss against my palm. "This is one contract I intend to keep forever."

I knew, with absolute certainty, that this was no performance, no business arrangement, no temporary solution to our individual problems. This was the real thing—unscripted, unexpected, and more beautiful than anything I could have photographed or he could have planned.

This was love, pure and simple. And it was ours.