Page 6

JETT

Jett was still reeling from the surreal whirlwind of the day.

Married.

He was married .

The word alone felt foreign, heavy, almost too serious to apply to the woman sitting just a few feet from him at the kitchen table—a stranger in all the ways that mattered, but his wife just the same.

She looked so put-together, calm and competent, even though he could see the pink flush on her cheeks betraying nerves she probably didn’t want him to notice.

Her eyes flicked over a page in front of her, pen tapping a rhythm that didn’t match the beat of her foot beneath the table.

She was trying to maintain control. That much was clear.

And Jett? He found it unexpectedly endearing.

He smiled, more to himself than anything, as he slowly pulled out the chair beside her.

His little bride was smokin’ hot when she got all bossy and businesslike.

It was that fire in her—restrained, elegant, but unmistakable—that had caught him off guard earlier.

She wasn’t the type of girl who normally crossed his radar.

No, she was refined, with a sharp tongue hidden behind a polite smile and eyes that seemed to read right through people.

Still, he couldn’t resist putting on a bit of a show.

Instead of sitting down right away, he pushed himself back up from the chair in a deliberately slow, calculated move.

Reaching overhead, he made a big production out of flipping on the coffeemaker, dragging the stretch longer than necessary, his shirt conveniently rising to show off the defined abs he’d worked so hard for.

His body was his temple these days—a tool he’d fine-tuned through punishing early mornings, weighted circuits, and a diet that made most people miserable.

It was supposed to be for the season… until that dream had blown up in his face earlier.

He was still trying to wrap his head around it— fired . Life sure knew how to twist the knife, and now he was married to secure another hockey gig.

Still, petty as it was, the flash of curiosity in her eyes made something in him settle. Yup, he thought with no small amount of satisfaction, she looked.

He’d caught it—the way her lashes dipped, the way she bit her bottom lip before composing herself like a lady who had just caught herself staring and wasn’t about to admit it.

She tried to act unfazed, but her features told the truth.

His classy little wife, the one who’d kept him at arm’s length with that sweet, chaste kiss at the altar, wasn’t immune to him after all.

And that pleased him more than it should have.

Most women made it easy for him. They chased him, flattered him, and practically flung themselves into his lap without effort on his part. It had always been fun, light, and meaningless.

He’d made it that way on purpose.

He hated clingy women. No attachments. No complications. No one lingering in his space when the fun was over. Because home was his refuge, a sacred place where he could let down his guard.

And for Jett, home was simple—worn flannel sheets, an ancient recliner that molded to his body just right, and the freedom to be a little messy without judgment. Flashy? Sure, he enjoyed it now and then. But comfort… comfort was what rooted him.

Which made this whole thing with Karen so confusing.

She was everything he wasn’t used to—proper, intentional, intelligent—and yet, there was something about her that settled beneath his skin in a way nothing else ever had. Even in this awkward, uncertain beginning, he wanted to know her. Really know her.

Sliding back into his seat, he met her gaze with a crooked grin, leaning an elbow on the table. Her cheeks were still flushed, but her spine straightened when he looked at her, chin lifting just slightly like she was preparing for battle.

“Fire away,” Jett said, watching as she cleared her throat, clearly trying to look unaffected while scratching a few notes on the paper in front of her. “Ask your questions, Wifey-pooh, and I’ll answer any of them.”

Her eyes narrowed, but not in anger—more like disbelief.

“Okay, stop with calling me Wifey-pooh…”

“Why? I love it, and you’re my wife now.”

She gave him a deadpan look. “It sounds like you are about to have a bowel movement.”

He barked a laugh, tipping his head back, the tension of the day easing slightly as the absurdity of it all settled in. Yeah, this wasn’t what he expected, so he decided to play stupid. People had assumed they knew him, why not let one more assumption slide.

“Nothing,” Karen retorted, her cheeks flushing even more. “Just call me by my name – and that’s it.”

He blinked, caught off guard by her tone. “But…”

“I prefer Karen, and that’s all I will respond to,” she said firmly, looking him dead in the eyes.

He sat back, nodding slowly, trying not to show how much the cold shoulder stung.

“Now, full name?”

“Jett Lennon Acton – and the dude said it at our wedding. Remember?”

Her brows lifted like she was unimpressed. “Age?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“This is all stuff I should have asked long before now,” Karen muttered, her expression tightening.

Her brow pinched, and there was something about it—something so unguarded and earnest—that made his chest ache.

She didn’t know how beautiful she looked when she was annoyed.

Not the flashy, model-perfect kind of beautiful he was used to, but the kind that made you want to stay, to try, to be better.

He wasn’t used to this—being scrutinized.

Usually, women were too busy tossing their hair or laughing at his bad jokes.

But Karen? Karen was studying him like she was trying to figure out what kind of mess she’d signed up for.

He couldn’t blame her. This wasn’t exactly the fairy tale either of them had imagined.

“Any diseases?”

Her voice cut through his thoughts, clinical and precise. He shook his head.

“Nope. I use protection.”

“Did not need to know that because that’s never happening…”

The words hit him like a slap, the sting spreading before the meaning truly settled. “Wait a second,” Jett interrupted as her words floated to his ears. “What do you mean?”

“We’re not sleeping together.”

He stared at her, dumbfounded. “It’s our wedding night, and you just asked if I had any junk on my stuff, so I assumed that we were gonna… you know. ”

“I asked if you had any diseases because you kissed me – and you can spread germs, diseases, and other things through kissing. I never once referred to your… stuff.”

“We’re married.”

“On paper.”

Her voice was like steel wrapped in silk—firm, but not unkind. He leaned forward, trying to make sense of this strange, beautiful creature in front of him who had flipped his whole world upside down without even trying.

“But we’re supposed to give it our all, remember?”

“That doesn’t mean in bed – that means we begin a friendship and hope it grows into a relationship someday that we can hold onto. If not, we find a way to amicably divorce and split our assets.”

His jaw tightened, and frustration prickled beneath his skin. This wasn’t how he’d pictured it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to feel.

“If I can’t call you Wifey-pooh, you cannot call me an asset.”

“An asset is an account or something we purchased jointly – you are thinking of another word I shall not repeat,” she said primly.

Jett ground his teeth, his pride bruised and his brain trying to catch up with her logic. She made everything sound so tidy, so planned. Like love was a spreadsheet instead of a spark. He wasn’t used to feeling dumb—but next to her, it was like trying to do algebra while eating soup with a fork.

Still, there was something electric about her intelligence, about the way she shut him down without being cruel.

It reminded him of tasting Nutella for the first time—like he’d been fine without it, sure, but now that he knew it existed, he couldn’t imagine life without it.

She was hazelnut and chocolate and fire and thorns.

And heaven help him, he wanted another taste.

Karen was his Nutella.

There was no undoing that discovery.

“We need to discuss what this whole new job in Quebec involves and…” she started.

“We’re moving to Quebec,” he said simply.

She blinked at him, caught mid-thought.

“I will need to give notice, find a job, and…” she began again, her voice tinged with logic, responsibility, and reality.

“You don’t have to work,” he replied, perhaps too quickly. Too casually. His heart beat a little harder. Why did this feel like a test?

“I need purpose,” Karen uttered, and the disbelief in her voice sliced at him like paper cuts. “I need something to do with myself and my time.”

He stepped toward her, helpless to stop the words that came next. “Me,” he said softly, earnestly, like it was the simplest truth in the world. Me. Your husband. The man who’s trying.

But instead of tenderness, what he got in return was…laughter.

Not just a chuckle.

Not even a giggle.

Karen cackled . She howled . Her laughter ricocheted off the tile and cabinets and into his pride like a battering ram. She was crying she was laughing so hard, bending over and clutching her side, and he stared at her in wide-eyed horror.

“What? It’s not funny,” he protested, brow furrowing. “You can occupy yourself with your husband, and if you need to do something—you can do me . I believe in monotony and…”

His voice faded when her laughter doubled. She threw her head back with abandon, and Jett caught a glimpse of a filling in her back molar. How did she make that seem… cute?

“Karen?”

“Oh my gosh… stop… I can’t breathe…”

“What did I say that was so funny?”

“It’s monogamy ,” she wheezed out, wiping her eyes.

“No. That’s a type of wood.”

And just like that, she dissolved again—clutching her stomach, eyes squeezed shut, barely standing.