Page 57 of Pucking My Grumpy Accidental Husband

An awkward silence settles over the room, and I realize I've just stepped into family territory I don't understand. There's history here, something painful that Emma almost revealed and Dax clearly doesn't want to discuss.

"Sorry," Emma says quietly. "I didn't mean to?—"

"It's fine," Dax interrupts, but the tension in his shoulders says otherwise.

I squeeze his hand. "Should I start on dinner? I was thinking of making that pasta thing you like."

"I'll help," Emma says immediately, apparently eager to move past whatever moment just passed.

"You don't have to?—"

"I want to. Plus, I need to interrogate you properly, and that's much easier when my brother isn't hovering like an overprotective bodyguard."

Dax looks between us with obvious trepidation. "Should I be worried?"

"Probably," Emma says cheerfully. "But you're going to let us cook anyway because you're whipped and you want us to get along."

"I'm not whipped."

Emma and I exchange a look, and I feel something click into place between us.

Emma stands up, grabbing my hand. "Come on, Tessa. Let's cook and discuss all the ways my brother has gone soft since meeting you."

"I have not gone soft," Dax calls after us as Emma drags me toward the kitchen.

"Keep telling yourself that," Emma calls back.

I can hear Dax muttering something as we reach the kitchen, and Emma dissolves into giggles.

Emma starts pulling ingredients from the fridge.

"It's what people do when they're falling in love. They don't want to admit it yet." Emma hands me an onion and a knife. "Though between you and me, I think he's past the falling part and firmly in the 'completely gone' territory."

Something flutters in my chest at her words. "You think so?"

"Tessa, my brother once told me that relationships were a distraction from hockey and that he'd rather focus on his career than deal with 'emotional complications.'" Emma makes air quotes around the last part. "That was six months ago. Now he's asking Mom for advice on how to cook for someone else."

"He asked your mom for cooking advice?"

"Last week. He wanted to know how to make breakfast that wasn't cereal or protein bars." Emma grins as she starts chopping vegetables. "Mom nearly cried from happiness. She'sbeen waiting for him to care about someone this much for years."

I focus on dicing the onion, partly because it needs to be done and partly because I'm not sure how to respond.

"Can I ask you something?" Emma's voice has gone softer, more serious.

"Sure."

"Are you in this for real? Like, really in this, not just having fun or seeing where it goes?"

I stop chopping and look at her. "Why do you ask?"

"Because Dax doesn't do anything halfway. When he cares about something—hockey, family, people—he goes all in. And if you're not planning to stick around..." She trails off, but the protective edge in her voice is clear.

"I'm in this for real," I say quietly.

Emma studies my face for a moment, then nods. "Good. Because he's been hurt before, and I won't watch it happen again."

"Hurt how?"