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“Lots of shops here,” Ben says as we pull up. “You’ll find what you’re looking for.”

We thank him and hop out. On the sidewalk, without even thinking, I reach for Gabby’s hand. Her fingers slide into mine naturally, but she throws me a fast, cautious look.

“We don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea,” she whispers. “What if someone takes a picture?”

I pause. Just for a second. Then I gently let her hand go, even though I hate the space it creates.

“You’re right,” I say quietly. She’s trying to stay under the radar, for good reason. If photos of her with me start popping up online, there’s a chance assholecould find her.

But I lean in close, close enough that only she can hear me.

“When I get you alone,” I murmur, “I plan on holding a whole lot more than your hand.”

A visible shiver runs through her, and I know it’s not from the January wind. Her breath catches, and I grin before turning and pulling open the door to a boutique.

Inside, warmth hits us in a wave, along with the scent of fancy perfume and whatever high-end laundry smells like. A salesclerk spots us and immediately lights up, her heels clicking over as she heads our way.

“Can I help you find something?”

I shift slightly, suddenly very aware I’ve never been in a women’s clothing store in my entire life. And I have zero idea what I’m doing. But I’m here for her. And that’s all that matters.

Gabby glances around wide-eyed, unsure, like a deer in Louboutin-scented headlights. I get it. This place is swanky, sleek, expensive—and even though she’s in fashion, she’s not exactly rolling in spare cash right now.

Stepping in close, I say to the salesclerk, “She needs a whole new wardrobe.”

Gabby immediately leans into me, voice low and urgent. “Roman. I just need a fewthings.”

I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her in just enough that she can feel I’m not backing down. “Then get what you need, Gabby. And you can pay me back, eventually.”

Her expression softens, still hesitant, but there's a little sparkle behind her eyes now. “I might have a job,” she says, voice tinged with quiet hope.

I gesture toward a plush chair near the window. “Perfect. Now go find some clothes. I’ll be over there, completely useless in this environment.”

She chuckles, that warm sound doing dangerous things to my chest. “Okay,” she says. “But I will pay you back.”

She turns to the clerk with a confident smile, already stepping into her fashion girl groove, and I settle into the chair like it’s my new home base.

I pull out my phone, idly browsing cars, pretending this is no big deal.

But it is . Because suddenly, this all feels.

.. domestic. Intimate. Like playing house with someone who feels dangerously close to feeling like home.

My phone buzzes—a text from my brother. I fire back a quick reply, leaving outthe part where I’m currently parked in a luxury women’s boutique while my not-girlfriend shops for clothes I insisted on buying her. He’d roast me into oblivion and remind me I’m skating straight into trouble.

And maybe he’s right.

But when I hear Gabby’s voice floating from the dressing room, light and full of wonder, my head lifts instinctively.

She’s laughing with the salesclerk, admiring textures and fits like she was bornto do this.

And sheshould be doing this—surrounded by fashion, creativity, beauty.

It’s like watching someone remember who they really are.

A flicker of protectiveness flares inside me, hot and sharp. Her ex tried to snuff this light out—and I hate that I don’t have the power to put him in his place permanently. I’m a hockey player, not a Hollywood insider. But if I can give herthis moment? I will.

An hour later, she walks up to me with a faint flush on her cheeks, strands of hair falling loose around her face, and an unmistakable spark in her eyes.

“All set?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

She glances over her shoulder, biting her lip. “I picked up... kind of a lot.”

I lift my hand to stop her mid-apology. “Exactly what you needed.”

Then I smirk. “Wait, does this place sell sexy lingerie?”

Her laugh is instant and bright. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Fuck yes.

I grab her hand—can’t help it—and pull her toward the register. Her laughter follows behind us, wrapping around my ribs and squeezing until I don’t know whether to grin or panic.

I pay without blinking, even as she worries she has too many things. We step outside, arms full of bags, and I glance at the haul.

“This actually doesn’t seem like much,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

I grin. “And yet, here you are.”

“Maybe if I make enough money, I can finally buy a sewing machine. Grab some fabric. Make a few pieces myself. It’s more economical that way.” She says it so casually, like it’s no big deal, but it is. It’s her dream, and said softly, it’s like she’s not sure she’s allowed to chase it anymore.

I work hard to keep my face neutral, but subtlety’s never been my strong suit.

She catches it instantly. “What?” Her eyes narrow, reading me like an open book. “You’re thinking something.”

“Nothing,” I lie, my voice too quick. “I think it’s a great idea.” I flash her a smile. “Now come on. It’s getting late, I’m starving, and we’ve still got a stop to make before dinner and Tanner and Maeve’s.”

Thankfully, she doesn’t push, and we move. Back to Ben, back to the car, back to the rhythm we’re slowly finding with each other. We hit the grocery store, load up on enough food to last the week, and by the time we’re back at my place, Ben and Steven are both there to help unload.

Steven shows up with the building’s cart and an easy smile. I shoot him a look—just a subtle lift of my brow, a silent question I don’t say out loud. He catches it and answers with a big grin and a nod. I’m not sure if Gabby noticed the exchange, but if she did, she keeps it to herself.

As we’re waiting for the elevator, she quietly grabs one of the small boxes and hands it to Steven. Inside he finds two cinnamon rolls.

“You didn’t,” he says, grinning wide.

“I did,” she replies. “Thanks for helping me out this morning. I really appreciate it.”

Steven beams. “Anything for my guy Roman here.” He tosses me a wink. “And his girlfriend.”

Girlfriend.

The word hangs in the air longer than it should. She doesn’t correct him. And neither do I.

But I’m still chewing on it long after the elevator doors slide shut. Because maybe Steven sees what I see—a woman who's been knocked down but hasn’t lost her shine. Someone who gives, even when she has so little to spare. Someone kind. And strong. And thoughtful in a way that wrecks me a little.

She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met.

But that doesn’t mean I should let myself fall for her…