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The lingering aromas of roasting turkey and simmering gravy are downright drool worthy in our apartment. Mike’s hand has already been slapped twice by Kathy for sampling. Laughter echoes around the ridiculously large open space, bouncing off the glass windows and lightens my heart.

Dalton’s sisters have been sharing deliciously embarrassing tales of Dalton’s adolescence.

Despite the guffawing and eye rolls, it’s clear Dalton adores them.

I’m half-listening, watching Helen slip her hand into my father’s as they talk with Kathy and Mike in the kitchen.

Warmth swells in my chest at the sight. This trip is the first time I’ve met her in person, and my only wish is that they had found each other sooner in life.

Dalton’s hand grazes my knee under the table.

“I like her.” He’s followed my gaze.

“Me too. She’s good for him.” I agree, winding my fingers through his.

My phone buzzes, Dalton glancing at the screen, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Looks like your boss wants to discuss that new client you signed over a celebratory post-Thanksgiving drink tomorrow.”

Ramona’s name flashes again with an emoji-laden message of flexing arms and martini glasses.

She had a new contact in my inbox the afternoon of Ellie’s arrest, with a better commission rate and signing bonuses.

Yes, she was still rightfully pissed about the charity fuck up, but after landing every team member a minimum of two sponsorship deals and getting Adidas to rep the team this season, there’s no denying I kick ass at my job.

I’ve landed seven new clients since August and am earning back her trust with pastries and hard work one day at a time.

“Have I told you lately how proud I am of you?” Dalton pulls me close for a quick kiss. “You’re fucking amazing.”

“You’re pretty amazing yourself, mister assistant coach.

Headed for the Cup.” I add. When Dalton’s physical therapist announced he was off the ice for another two months to avoid impacts, Head Coach Bell demanded Peter offer Dalton an interim assistant coaching job.

No surprise, the benched captain is a damn good coach.

He’s been back in skates for a month and is slated to play next season unless the coaching bug gets him. I’ll be proud either way.

Dalton grins, the faint scar above his left eyebrow fading. A gentle reminder of what I almost lost.

A cackle of laughter explodes from the kitchen, a wine glass spills, and there’s a scramble to clean up the mess.

“Still happy with all our strings?” he whispers, voice husky with amusement at his sisters’ evolving chaos as they attempt to help.

“Every messy knot, Mr Ward.” I run my thumb over the diamond ring on my left hand, a newly acquired habit that still sends a jolt of pleasure down my spine.

“To our future.” Dalton clinks his glass to mine, forgoing the customary sip to press his lips to mine.

Keep reading for bonus chapters from Dalton’s perspective.