Page 8

8

JEANNIE

Jeannie woke to the soft glow of dawn seeping through the curtains, a warmth curling through her chest that had nothing to do with the blankets wrapped around her. Something had changed between her and Matthieu last night, something profound and unspoken but undeniably real. He had kissed her, held her, and together, they had unraveled their hearts in whispers that stretched long into the night. There had been no pretense, no hesitation—just hands clasped together, laughter shared, and secrets laid bare.

It had been beautiful.

As she dressed, a familiar, rich scent drifted through the air—coffee. A smile tugged at her lips. Matthieu was already up. She reached for the door, about to step out and join him when the sound of his voice gave her pause. It carried from the kitchen, low and urgent, laced with a determination that sent a shiver through her.

“I need this to be a big thing, and that’s why I’m calling so early, Salas,” Matthieu was saying. “I need Jamie’s help to pull this off, and I don’t want the coach to flip—but this has to happen during our next game.”

Jeannie’s breath caught. She hesitated, fingers tightening on the doorframe as she listened.

“I want everything—and I want it on television so anyone can see it.” His voice was steady, resolute.

Her heart pounded as she stared at his back, taking in the way his damp hair had been finger-combed into place, still tousled from his shower. The bright blue T-shirt stretched taut across his shoulders, the stark white slash of the Wolverines logo standing out against the fabric.

Was he… arranging their ‘renewal’ to make sure her parents saw it? A public wedding?

She barely had time to process the thought before the door swung open abruptly, and there he was, leaning in with a mischievous grin that made her heart skip.

“I’m glad you’re up,” Matthieu said, his voice softer now, intimate. “I need your input on the renewal… do you want to wear a white dress, or do you want to be in the team’s colors?”

Her throat tightened. He was really doing this—taking charge, making it something unforgettable. A lump of emotion swelled in her chest, and she could only answer him with the truth.

“I want to wear your uniform, so the whole world sees it.”

His eyes flared with joy, the reaction so intense it nearly stole her breath.

“You hear that?” he called playfully into the phone, his grin widening. “My girl wants my name all over her.”

Heat flooded her cheeks, but she couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her lips.

“Yup. Casual, but with a few wedding elements,” Matthieu continued, his voice full of conviction. “I want to make it look good. We’ll do bright red roses and blue ribbon… is that okay, Jeannie?”

“Perfect.”

“Come get your coffee, babe,” he invited, already turning away, still engaged in his call. Jeannie lingered in the doorway, her heart pounding as she watched him. He was doing this—for her, for them—making sure it was blasted everywhere so there would be no doubt, no hiding.

She stepped out just in time to hear his nervous laugh before he ended the call.

“Yup, see you in a few, Kenneth—and thanks, Jamie.”

Jeannie folded her arms, tilting her head as she studied him. “You’re up early.”

Matthieu tossed her a lazy smile, but there was something undeniably smug in his expression. “I’ve got a lot to do.”

Before she could respond, he pulled her close, his arms warm and solid around her. The embrace felt different today—heavier, deeper, full of something unspoken but utterly undeniable.

“Good morning,” he murmured, brushing his lips over hers in a kiss so soft it sent a shiver down her spine. “You missed your flight,” he added, pulling back just enough to search her face.

“I canceled my ticket last night after I went to bed,” she admitted.

A slow, satisfied grin spread across his lips. “Want to go on a different one?” His fingers smoothed back a stray wisp of hair from her face, his touch lingering.

“Oh?”

“My next game is in Seattle—and I’d like you there,” he said gently. “I thought we could renew our vows, stay overnight in a suite, and make a brief escape publicly out of it… if that’s okay with you?”

Jeannie blinked, her heart thudding. “Let me get this straight.” She licked her lips, trying to grasp just how much he had already planned. “You want me to fly with you to the next game, renew our vows—which we never actually said—and you’re planning it all for us before we fly back?”

“That about sums it up.”

She studied him, her pulse erratic, but the warmth in his gaze, the certainty in his expression, sent a wave of emotion crashing through her.

“Knock yourself out, Romeo…” she whispered, her lips curving. “I want to wear your jersey so everyone can see Larsson on me – but the rest you are welcome to plan.”

Matthieu exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening slightly against her waist.

“Oh man, that’s hot…” he murmured, his voice rough as he leaned in to kiss her again.

“I want the world to see that…” she breathed against his lips.

“It’s a beautiful sight,” he agreed, rubbing his nose against hers in an affectionate gesture that sent warmth flooding through her. “We’ll do flowers, confetti, and all the good stuff—and Jamie suggested a cake.”

“I love cake,” she admitted playfully, whispering to him.

“Me too, babe… me too,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers once more before he suddenly pulled back, chuckling. “I’ve got to get to the arena, and you are the best distraction in the world.”

Jeannie sighed, still a little dazed, before teasing, “I need to find a veil or something.”

Matthieu groaned, his eyes darkening. “Oh man, that’s hot too.” His gaze raked over her as he smirked. “I never thought getting to lift the veil was on my list of things to do in life—but it just jumped to the top.”

Her heart swelled, but then a thought struck her, making her hesitate. “Rings…” She trailed off, feeling a little sheepish.

Matthieu simply smirked. “Handled.”

She stared at him, caught between disbelief and admiration.

“Trust your man.”

“I do.”

“Then it’s handled,” he promised, his voice warm with certainty. “Now, I’ve got to go—and we’re going on a date tonight if you’re free.”

Jeannie pretended to consider it. “Sure.”

“I’ll call you when I leave the arena just to verify…” he added, but she only shrugged.

“When you work for yourself, you can stop anytime, you know? I’ll be free when you get here.”

He nodded, but there was a glint in his eyes, something teasing and secretive.

“You’re up to something, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” he said, leaning in for one last quick peck on her cheek before pulling back with an easy grin. “I’m gonna be late.”

“Go.”

Jeannie watched him leave, her heart thrumming with a feeling she hadn’t known in years—something thrilling, overwhelming, and just a little terrifying as she realized that she wasn’t just falling for Matthieu.

She was desperately, wildly, deeply in love with Matthieu.

Her very own guardian angel.

H ours later, Jeannie was sitting in the library, curled up in a chair with her laptop balanced precariously on her knees and trying to focus. She kept thinking about Matthieu, those kisses, and how different he seemed to be acting toward her now and realizing that maybe things were changing for him too.

It was wildly enthralling to think that she had a best friend in the man pretending to be her husband – but he was actually that. Her best friend, her partner, and the one she looked forward to seeing, talking to, hanging out with, and being near each and every day. Only to hear her phone ding, notifying her that she got a text message.

You missed your flight.

Her eyes widened in shock. She never told them that she was flying to see them, which made her wonder just how they knew what was going on. Were they monitoring her checking account? Watching details online? How deep were they stalking her; because it was seriously freaking her out.

I changed my mind.

His career is going in the toilet – because of you.

I’m not doing this. Leave me alone. I don’t want to be in politics or be involved in the same circles as you if this is what it looks like. Can’t you let me be happy?

Not when you are making a mistake.

It’s not a mistake to love someone.

Let me know when you are over your whole Stockholm Syndrome drama, and I’ll send a helicopter after you. You’re acting like a child, you know.

I’m not leaving Matthieu.

And then she decided to text Matthieu.

I’m heading out for a bit.

I think I need a new phone number – and a new phone. I’ll text you from the new one when I get it.

Grabbing her shoes, she saved her file and slipped out the door. Ignoring any other chimes and the phone calls coming in, she went straight to the nearest cellular phone center.

“Parlez vous anglaise?” She asked openly, hoping for a little easier time at getting this taken care of. The attendants glanced at each other as a woman walked forward.

“Hi,” Jeannie began nervously. “I need to get a local phone number – and a different phone line.” And her phone beeped again as the screen illuminated that it was her father texting again.

“Do you need that?” the woman asked her pointedly.

“I really don’t,” Jeannie admitted, feeling a pang of loss as well as an overwhelming sense of relief as she realized it was true. “I think I’m better off without reading it – which is why I’m here.”

“Of course.”

An hour later, Jeannie had a new phone, a new local phone number, a case, and accessories, and was walking out of the shop toward her car when she paused in front of the next building.

Ten minutes later, she was smiling happily as she walked out with a bag that looked like something out of a wedding magazine, marveling at the veil she had fallen in love in the shop. She was almost at her vehicle when she paused once more, seeing Matthieu’s jersey in the window. Ducking inside, she saw several of the Wolverines hockey jerseys lining the wall, framed and on display, and took a photo of Matthieu’s.

You should come sign this.

I cannot tell you how proud I am to see your name up there right now.

BTW, this is my new cell phone number. XOXO

Looking around the store, she smiled at all of the hockey equipment, T-shirts, and bumper stickers. The Wolverines were making a splash in Quebec, and it was obvious… and paused. There was a display in the corner that caught her eye – and suddenly, she had an idea.

“Excusez-moi monsieur, pouvez-vous m'aider avec ca?” Jeannie said carefully, wincing as she was certain she had butchered the pronunciation. A moment later, she let out a sigh of relief as the man nodded, rushing to her side to make a sale.

It was late when she finished up and headed to the house.

P ulling into the garage, Jeannie frowned at the sight of Matthieu’s car parked beside hers. A ripple of unease stirred in her chest, a pang of déjà vu curling around her ribs.

He hadn’t called.

He hadn’t texted.

Had he forgotten again ?

She drew in a slow breath, steadying herself before stepping inside. The moment she crossed the threshold, the rich scent of Italian food enveloped her—tomato sauce simmering with herbs, the salty tang of melted cheese, the inviting warmth of freshly baked bread. It should have felt comforting, but there was something about the way Matthieu sat on the couch, his back to the door, utterly still, that made her hesitate.

Something wasn’t right.

Taking a few cautious steps forward, she noticed the glow of her laptop screen illuminating his face. Her breath caught.

He was looking at her laptop?

Why?

A flicker of apprehension curled in her belly as she took another step, and then forced her voice to remain steady. “What’s going on?” she asked, unable to mask the hesitation in her tone. “I thought you were going to call…”

Matthieu turned to face her, his expression stunned, as if she had caught him in the middle of a revelation.

“You build… websites?” His voice held a note of astonishment, his dark eyes locked onto hers.

Jeannie faltered, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah,” she admitted warily. “Why are you snooping in my stuff?”

“I’m not snooping—well, I guess I am,” he conceded with a sheepish smile. “But I wanted to see what you worked on, and… Jeannie, I’m stunned. You’re incredible.”

She blinked, her pulse stuttering.

“I mean, look at this ,” he said, pointing at the screen in disbelief. “Did you really build this one?”

Jeannie’s gaze followed his, landing on her most recent project. It was a commission that had been giving her fits for days. The client wanted flowers to bloom on both sides of the homepage for her seed and bulb website, but so far, Jeannie had only managed to get the animation to work on the right.

“It’s not finished,” she murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m trying to fix something, and it’s really frustrating me because I can’t get it to work. It’s only halfway done and…”

“It’s amazing,” Matthieu breathed, his voice thick with genuine admiration. “Can you build me one?”

“What?”

“This is incredible,” he said, his enthusiasm palpable. “I’d love to have something like a fan page or something pushing some of our stuff. I know there’s licensing junk to mess with, but if we could lead people to the Wolverines’ gear with our name on it…”

A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she moved closer, finally sinking onto the couch beside him. “I could do that,” she said thoughtfully. “I’d have to make sure it’s approved by the Wolverines, though, since it involves their logo.”

“I can get you the number for someone,” he offered immediately, his eyes still fixed on the screen. “But you could really do this?”

Jeannie hesitated, chewing on her lower lip. “You look so surprised,” she teased lightly, reaching for her laptop. A warm blush crept up her neck. “This is still a work in progress. It’ll look better when it’s finished.”

Matthieu exhaled slowly, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “I’m so freakin’ proud of you,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. “I was terrible at computer stuff when I was younger, but get me on the ice, and I felt right at home. This ? This is intimidating to me.”

Jeannie lowered her gaze, his words wrapping around her heart like a protective shield. She had spent so long defending her passion, justifying her choices. Her parents had fought her on it, dismissing her work as a hobby at best, and a waste of time at worst. They wanted her to shut it down, push it through their publicity team, make it part of their carefully curated image. But Matthieu…

Matthieu was proud of her?

“Everybody is different,” she murmured, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Do you have business cards or something I can hand out?”

Her head snapped up. “What?”

“I want to help you,” he said simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I want to help you succeed in this because I think it’s fantastic that you are able to build something like this online.”

Jeannie stared at him, utterly stunned. He wasn’t just impressed—he wanted to support and lift her up in a way no one had ever done before. The weight of that realization pressed into her, making her chest feel tight.

“You’re so sweet,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Matthieu arched a brow.

“I’m telling the truth.”

“I know,” she said, shaking her head in wonder. “That’s why I said you were being sweet.”

Her heart swelled as he reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. And in that moment, something inside her shifted. This wasn’t just admiration. This wasn’t just support.

This was someone who saw her .

She swallowed, feeling all emotional, and she didn’t want to start their date with her bawling like a baby – especially when she could smell the aroma of heady pasta in the air.

“What’s in the bag?” he asked, his gaze flicking down to her hand before lifting back to hers, his brow raised in suspicion. He hesitated, then his lips curved into a knowing smile, something soft and teasing in his expression. “Is that what I think it is?” His voice dipped lower, rich with amusement. “Did you find a veil?”

Her heart fluttered, heat rushing to her cheeks as she quickly spun, tucking the bag behind the couch and out of sight. “Hush,” she chided, but the sound of his delighted laugh sent warmth skittering down her spine.

He didn’t hesitate. With the ease of an athlete, Matthieu flexed, stretching his arm over the edge of the couch to snatch the bag from its hiding spot. She let out a playful yelp and leaped onto the cushion beside him, grabbing at his wrist and laughing as they wrestled for control. His strength was effortless, but he let her win, allowing her to pry his arm away by shoving another bag into his chest.

“Here,” she said, breathless from their scuffle. “You can open this.”

Matthieu smirked, his fingers closing around the new bag, but his gaze flickered toward the hidden one with clear mischief. “I bet that bag is more fun…” he teased, winking.

“But this is more your style.” She bit her lip, hesitating before meeting his eyes. A nervous thrill rushed through her, uncertain yet eager. “I was going to wait to give it to you—but I think you can use it now. It’s just a little something.” She shrugged, but the emotion in her voice made her words feel heavier and more meaningful.

His teasing expression softened instantly. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” he said quietly, as if the very idea of her thoughtfulness overwhelmed him.

“I know,” she admitted, her voice dipping into something more vulnerable. She lowered her gaze for a beat, then lifted it again, meeting his with open honesty. “But I wanted to because I’m happy.” She swallowed, suddenly feeling exposed in a way she hadn’t expected. “I’m really happy and so glad you picked me that day. Does that make sense? I wanted to say thank you for choosing me, saving me. It means a lot to me.”

His breath hitched. Something deep flickered in his expression—something tender, something raw.

“Jeannie,” he murmured, his voice rough with feeling. His fingers curled around the bag, but his eyes stayed locked on hers, unwavering. “You saved me and gave me a chance here, so it’s me that should be thanking you.”

Her chest tightened, emotion swelling between them, too large to contain. She laughed softly, trying to lighten the moment, waving toward the bag to break the weight of it. “You are making more of this than what it is…”

He chuckled, shaking his head as if he disagreed, but he still obeyed, finally shifting his attention to the gift in his hands. “Are you sure? I can wait.”

“You could open it now while I fix our plates because that smells delicious, and I’m hungry,” she urged, moving toward the small table where their dinner waited, the scent of warm food filling the cozy space.

She watched from the corner of her eye as he peeled away the wrapping, his movements slow, almost reverent. His fingers brushed over the edges of the box, hesitating for a split second before he finally lifted the lid.

His lips parted.

A quiet breath escaped him, stunned.

“What’s this…” he exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers traced the contents with something akin to awe. “Jeannie…”

She turned back toward him, her heart pounding a little harder now. “It’s just a little something.”

But he didn’t hear her. Or maybe he did, but he was too caught up in what he held.

“These are… oh Jeannie , you don’t know guys and their gear,” he breathed, unwrapping each piece with careful hands. “We’re so picky, and this—this is state of the art, straight-up, fantastic…”

Then, in a move that startled her, he tossed it wildly across the floor.

Jeannie’s mouth opened, about to protest, when she saw the skate guard wobble, roll, and then—miraculously—turn face-up on its own. A deep, childlike laugh burst from Matthieu’s lips, bright and unrestrained. He grabbed the other guard, launching it just as wildly, watching with glee as it too tumbled and landed upright.

“FREAKIN’ SWEET!” he shouted, eyes wide with wonder. “ Did you see that?!”

His joy was infectious.

She found herself smiling so hard it hurt, warmth spreading through her at the sight of him so openly delighted. His face was a perfect mix of awe and excitement, but beneath it all, there was something more—something deeper, something almost reverent in the way he looked at her.

“Oh, babe, that’s amazing,” he chuckled, scooping them up just to toss them again, watching them roll upright with giddy excitement. “The guys are gonna be so jealous.”

“It took me so long because your number is engraved on the side,” she murmured, biting her lip as she watched him.

His head snapped up at that, a slow grin stretching across his face. “Ha! So the twerps can’t steal ‘em…” He let out a happy sigh, shaking his head in pure appreciation. “Not that they would, but you know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“Salas calls us the ‘Stick Mafia’ now because we’re always looking out for each other—on the ice, at home—it’s pretty nice. But I get it now because if someone touches my guards…” He flashed her a mischievous grin. “They’re gonna get shanked in the kidney.”

“Matthieu!” she gasped, half-laughing, half-scolding.

“What?” He threw the guards again, watching them roll upright before looking back at her, his grin softening into something far more intimate. His voice dropped lower, a warmth laced in every word. “You don’t know how much I love these. I hate putting my guards on because they’re a pain in the butt.”

“Well, maybe now it’s going to be easier.”

“I like that you think of me,” he said, his gaze locking onto hers with something deep and steady. “That you care…”

He shifted, circling the coffee table with an ease that sent her pulse skittering. His expression turned serious—not heavy, but intent.

“Drop the spoon, babe…”

Her breath caught. She didn’t need to be told twice.

The spoon clattered against the plate as Matthieu slid onto the couch, one knee pressing into the cushion beside her thigh. He crowded her space, his body warm, his presence all-consuming. Slowly, he leaned in, bracing himself as his hands found her waist, his lips hovering just above hers.

Then, he kissed her.

It was slow, unhurried—just the barest whisper of lips against hers as if he was savoring the moment as if he wanted to memorize every delicate brush, every shared breath. But that whisper soon deepened, turning into something more, something that pulled at the very center of her. Matthieu’s arms tightened around her, his embrace warm and unyielding, as if he was afraid she might slip away if he let go.

Jeannie clung to him just as fiercely. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping it with a desperation that startled her. This wasn’t just a kiss. It was an unspoken promise, a tether between them, something sacred that made her chest ache with longing. The world outside their little haven blurred, faded, and disappeared entirely. Nothing else mattered—only this, only him.

The heat of his body pressed against hers, the solid weight of his chest rising and falling in time with her own unsteady breaths. His legs tangled with hers, anchoring her in place yet making her feel as if she were floating. She could feel the power in his arms as they flexed around her, the way his touch was both protective and possessive like she was something precious, something irreplaceable.

And then there was his scent—clean, masculine, with a hint of spice from his cologne and something uniquely him. It filled her senses, making her toes curl, and her stomach tighten with anticipation. She wanted to drown in him, to memorize every little thing about this man who had somehow become her everything.

Matthieu shifted slightly, the movement pressing them even closer, making her gasp. A slow, lazy smile curled his lips as he murmured against her mouth, his voice thick with emotion.

“I like having you in my life…” The simple confession carried the weight of so much more, the depth of it echoing through every fiber of her being.

Her heart clenched.

“I can’t wait to make you my wife.”

The tenderness in his words unraveled something deep inside her. He wasn’t just saying it—he meant it. He wanted her. Not just now, not just in passing, but forever.

She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can tell.”

Matthieu chuckled softly, the sound like a warm caress against her skin. “No, you can’t,” he teased, the husky intimacy of his tone making her shiver. “We’re still dressed. But in a few days, when we are alone, and you’re truly mine, I’ll ask you if you can tell then.”

A delicious tremor ran through her as her face flooded with the heat of embarassment at his words. “Oh gosh,” she gulped, breathless.

His deep, knowing chuckle was all the warning she got before he dipped his head again, claiming her lips in a kiss that left no room for doubt. This wasn’t just affection. This was desire. It was devotion. It was the quiet, smoldering kind of passion that built and built until it was undeniable. He kissed her like he needed to, like the act itself kept him tethered to something vital.

“I can’t wait to see that veil on you…” he murmured, his fingers skimming along her spine, sending shivers racing across her skin.

A lump formed in her throat.

Wrapped in his warmth, feeling the steady beat of his heart against hers, she knew—she would never need anything else.

“I can’t wait to wear it for you when we get married, Matthieu,” she whispered, pressing closer, wrapping her arms around his waist as if she could somehow merge into him, hold onto this feeling forever.

A wicked glint flickered in his eyes. “I can’t wait until that’s the only thing you’re wearing…”

Her face was on fire now.

“We should move,” she managed, though her voice lacked conviction.

“I plan to… in a few days.”

“No,” she groaned, pressing her forehead against his chest. “I meant now, so we don’t cross a line.”

Matthieu exhaled slowly as if reining himself in. “One of us has to be the smarter of the two of us…” His lips brushed against her temple, the gesture achingly sweet. “And I like that you make me lose control.”

Her head tilted back, her eyes searching his. “Me?”

The way he looked at her stole what little air remained in her lungs.

“Just looking at me like you do makes something inside me melt, wife …” His voice was a rough whisper, threaded with something raw and tender. “I meant it when I said you are mine, because I’m never letting you go,” he breathed, his hands tightening around her.

Her heart swelled.

“I’m never leaving.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face, followed by something deeper, something almost reverent.

“Good.”

And instead of pulling away, instead of being responsible, instead of doing the logical thing, he kissed her again—like he couldn’t help himself; like he needed to show her just how much he cared. He might not have said the words yet, but she could feel it in the way he touched her, in the way he held her, in the way his lips moved against hers with aching tenderness.

Matthieu might just be falling for her, too. And weren’t angels supposed to bring miracles?

Maybe this was hers.

Maybe there is no ‘maybe’ about it, she thought, melting into his kiss and sighed with happiness as he smiled against her lips, kissing her once more.

Matthieu is my miracle.