Page 44

He glides onto the ice in flawless rhythm, mic in hand. His voice rings out, confident and clear. “Welcome toPuck Couture,” he says to the press, the crowd, and then…to me. His eyes find mine, and that smile spreads across his face, slow and sure. Dimples and all.

My throat tightens. I forgot how much those dimples could wreck me.

“These tailored-fit, custom pieces blend practicality with luxury,” he says, gesturing to the models gliding behind him. “Perfect for players’ kids who need to be comfortable but stylish, whether they’re attending family parties, sitting in VIP boxes, going to charity galas, or exclusive events.”

Out steps Kayce, holding his mom’s hand. He’s decked out in the sporty-chic tracksuit I designed, complete with sleek stripes and just the right amount of edge. My breath catches. I remember designing that exact piece with him in mind. My heart slams against my ribs.

This is everythingI envisioned. The dream come to life. But my joy is tangled with confusion, because why is Roman doing this? And why is everyone helping him pull it off?

Is this why Maeve begged me to come back?

Does she even need a nanny… or was that just a setup?

Then Zoe appears, her party dress glimmering under the lights, sequins, ruffles, all in the team’s signature gold and black.

Pure elegance perfectly styled. She beams with pride as she twirls on the runway.

Next come Dani and Conner, walking hand-in-hand with their twins, Sidney and Everly, both decked out in miniature varsity jackets with sparkle-trimmed sneakers. My throat tightens at the sight. They look like tiny fashion icons.

Then Grant Senior strides out, baby Grant in his arms, and the place erupts.

The crowd loses it at the sight of that sweet little boy dressed in a miniature blazer and chinos like a pint-sized CEO in Boston Bucks colors.

Even I can't help the laugh that bursts out of me.

One by one, the kids take their turns on the runway, absolutely glowing with pride.

Then Maeve steps out.

She meets my eyes with a hopeful, sheepish look, like she’s silently asking—you’re not mad at me are you?

She kneels, whispers something to Stella, and points in my direction. Stella gives a backward wave. “Gaga!” she squeals, her curls bouncing.

My chest squeezes. I zero in on her adorable outfit, the playful Bucks-printed leggings, the matching zip-up hoodie. She looks like a tiny fashion ambassador, and she’s wearingit for me. Tears rise fast, and I can’t stop them.

“Why is he doing this?” I whisper.

Josie doesn’t answer right away. She just takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll see.”

And just when I think the show’s over…

Mabel barrels onto the ice like a furry little diva, strutting and spinning in the custom Boston Bucks colored coat I designed just for her. The crowd loses its collective mind. Laughter. Applause. Cheers. Then I notice the camera pointed directly at me.

Oh God, is this going to be on the news?I frantically try to smooth my hair, wipe my cheeks.

“Brighton called in a favor,” Josie murmurs, watching me panic. “Seems everyone wanted in.”

Before I can process what that means, Roman lifts his mic again, turning toward the cameras, and then me.

“These high-end, playful designs were created by the incredibly talented Gabby Evans,” he announces. “She’s built a brand that merges style with sport, and layers it with family and love. She’s carved out something new, something real.” His eyes hold mine. “And she’s the woman I love.”

The crowd lets out a collective gasp. I feel like the floor drops out beneath me.

The woman he loves.

Noah jumps to his feet and swings open the rink gate.

Josie nudges me. “Go take your bow.”

“I…” My voice fails. My feet won’t move.

But then I’m standing. Then I’m walking. And the gate clicks shut behind me. The cold of the ice seeps through my shoes, but I barely feel it. Roman’s hand is extended, waiting.

I don’t take it. Not yet. I’m blinking through tears as the kids come rushing up, arms open, cheering. Maeve slides in beside me, gives my hand a squeeze.

“We all love you, Gabby.”

The words hit me harder than I expect. A wave of warmth crashes over the fear.

“But… how? Why?”

Maeve, Grant, Dani, and Conner usher the kids gently off the ice, giving us space. Roman steps forward. His eyes don’t leave mine.

“Gabby,” he says softly. “I found your designs, your notes. I’m so proud of you. You have no idea. What you’ve created here, it’s magic. You took an idea and made it into something unforgettable.”

“Actually, Roman,” I manage to get out. “It was something you said that sparked the idea.” He angles his head. “When you talked about having to dress up as a kid in uncomfortable clothing.”

“Gabby,” he breathes out, his voice wavering now. “I thought I lost you. When I saw those photos of you and Cass… I thought I’d pushed you back to him. I spiraled. I panicked. I made the biggest mistake of my life.”

My chest tightens so hard I can barely breathe. “You… you got married in Vegas, Roman,” I whisper, voice cracked. The crowd fades. The lights dim in my mind. This is the moment everything could break, or mend.

“No,” Roman says, his voice low but steady. “I didn’t, Gabby. I didn’t marry her. It wasn’t real.”

My breath catches.

“What you saw, that wasn’t what it looked like,” he goes on, stepping closer.

“I tried to find you. I tried to explain. But this…” he sweeps his arms wide, motioning to the glittering runway, the crowd, the camera, “…this is me showingyou. Showing you how much I love you. How much I believe in you. This is me supporting your dreams, Gabby. Your vision. Everything you are.” Tears prick my eyes again.

“All this,” he continues, his voice breaking.

“It’s you. You did this. This is the real you.

I thought I was holding you back. That one day you’d resent me…

and the whole time, you were showing me what I meant to you. Whatwe all meant to you.”

“Roman…” I whisper, my throat thick with emotion.

“I wanted the world to see you,” he says, stepping closer still.

“I couldn’t open doors for you in high-end New York fashion.

But here in Boston…” He smiles faintly. “I can open a window. And maybe even blow it wide open across the NHL. Every team. Every kid who wants to wear something that makes them feel proud of the teams they support. You pivoted, Gabby, and it wasbrilliant . ”

I glance toward the camera, still trained on us, the red light blinking like a pulse. When I turn back, Roman is holding out his hand again, palm up.

“I talked to Cass.”

That stops me cold. “You… talked to Cass?”

He lets out a quiet, sheepish laugh. “You wouldn’t take my calls.

I needed to know you were okay, so I hunted him down.

” His eyes drop for a second, voice dipping into a softer register.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.

But that was aboutme,not you. I had ghosts I hadn’t dealt with.

But I’ve slain them, Gabby. Every single one. ”

I press my hand gently to his cheek, that familiar scruff rough under my palm. “I’m sorry I assumed the worst too,” I murmur. “No more ghosts,” I add with a small, watery smile.

He laughs softly, his eyes lighting for a beat before turning serious again. “Cass told me he offered to help you get back into bridal design. That he wanted to open doors for you in that world again.”

I shake my head. “That’s not what I want anymore.”

Roman raises an eyebrow. “That’s a problem, Gabs.”

My stomach flips. “Why?”

His expression shifts, mischievous and tender as he flashes those adorable dimples again.

“I’d really like it…” he says, voice warm and steady, “…if you designed one more dress, Gabby.”

I blink. “What? Why?”

And then he drops to one knee. A gasp escapes me, my hand flying to my chest. “Roman…”

“I want you to design yourweddingdress, Gabby,” he says, looking up at me like I’m his whole universe. “And I’d really like it if you married me in it.”

Tears flood my face before I can even nod. “Yes,” I cry, barely getting the word out before he slides the ring onto my finger.

He stands, pulls me into his arms, and kisses me like he’s been holding that kiss in his heart for a lifetime.

The kind of kiss that melts knees and reboots souls.

And then I remember. Oh, God, we’re still on camera .

Our friends are all watching . I turn, hand in the air like I’ve just won the big cup, flashing the ring to the cheering crowd.

The rink erupts with applause. Roman gently wipes the tears from my cheeks, and I laugh through the flood of emotions.

“This cannot air until I call my parents.”

He grins. “They already know.”

“What?”

“I called your dad. Asked permission.”

My jaw drops. “Roman.” I swat his arm. “You’re such an old-school romantic. He must’ve loved that.”

“Oh, he did,” Roman says with a playful grimace. “But I was sweating bullets. The man asked a lotof questions.”

His gaze softens, dipping low with a flicker of heat as he leans in. “So… can we go home now?”

Home.

That one word settles into me like peace. Like purpose. Like forever.

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” I whisper, rising onto my toes to kiss him. “Thank you… for all of this.”

He winks, his grin downright dangerous. “So… you think you could maybe put on that Mrs. Roper get-up again?”

I pull back, giving him a mock glare. “You scare me, Roman. You really scare me.”

He smirks. “Come on, babe. It’s not every day a man discovers he’s into vintage floral caftans and orthopedic sandals.”

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Maybe.” He scoops me up, making me squeal. “But I’m your crazy.”

“Guess I better start stocking up on caftans.”

He kisses me, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that says we’ve got a whole wild, beautiful life ahead of us.

“Best investment you’ll ever make.”

And just like that, he carries me off, into love, into chaos, into whatever comes next, with all the grace of a man completely unbothered by fashion crimes and totally head over heels in love.

The crowd fades behind us, the rink, the cameras, the applause. And honestly? We are the world’s weirdest, happiest love story.

And I wouldn’t change a single thing.