Page 12

I'd never been much for team family events. Usually, I made an appearance, chatted with teammates, and left early, avoiding the prolonged socializing that many players seemed to enjoy. Today was different. With Sienna beside me, I found myself lingering at the barbecue, watching her charm my teammates and their families with her quick wit and genuine warmth.

"Your wife is delightful," Anders' girlfriend Sarah told me quietly as we stood getting drinks. "Much livelier than I expected for you."

I raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

She smiled. "Just that you tend to be... reserved. Sienna is a breath of fresh air."

Across the room, Sienna was deep in conversation with Coach Miller's wife, gesturing animatedly as she described something that had the older woman laughing. Despite her initial awkwardness on the ice, she'd integrated seamlessly into the gathering, remembering names, asking thoughtful questions, making people feel at ease.

"She is," I agreed, surprised by the sincerity in my voice.

On the ice, Sienna had been a different story. Teaching her to skate had required a level of patience I rarely needed to exercise, but her determination had impressed me. Despite her obvious fear, she'd trusted me to guide her, her small hand gripping mine with surprising strength.

I'd noticed Marco's comments had rattled her, though she'd tried to hide it. Something protective had surged within me—an unexpected reaction I'd had to consciously suppress. Marco was always a dick, but usually, I ignored his comments. Today, I'd found myself wanting to check him into the boards for making Sienna feel self-conscious.

"Ready to head out?" I asked, returning to where Sienna sat with Willow and Finn. "We've got an early morning tomorrow."

"Oh?" Willow looked intrigued. "Special plans for the newlyweds?"

Sienna's eyes widened slightly in alarm. We hadn't discussed any cover story for tomorrow.

"Just some house organizing," I improvised. "Still getting settled."

We said our goodbyes, with Willow extracting a promise from Sienna to meet for coffee next week. The easy way she'd bonded with the team's significant others surprised me—I'd expected her to feel like an outsider, as I often did despite being on the team.

"That wasn't so bad," Sienna said as we walked to the car. She still moved gingerly, her legs sore from the unaccustomed skating. "Your teammates are nice. Well, most of them."

"Marco's had a chip on his shoulder since he got demoted to the second line." I opened the passenger door for her. "Don't take it personally."

"Oh, I didn't. Not much." She buckled her seatbelt, then looked at me curiously. "You're different with them than I expected."

"Different how?" I started the car, keeping my eyes on the road.

"Less... icy." She smiled at her own joke. "You actually laughed at Finn's terrible dad jokes. I didn't know your face could do that."

"I laugh," I defended.

"Name three times you've laughed in the past week that didn't involve someone falling down."

I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it again, realizing I couldn't actually answer her challenge.

"That's what I thought." She settled back in her seat. "It's not a criticism. Just an observation."

We drove in comfortable silence for a while, the late afternoon sunlight painting the city in warm hues. I found myself stealing glances at Sienna's profile—the curve of her cheek, the way she absently twisted a strand of hair around her finger as she looked out the window.

"You did well today," I said finally. "Everyone liked you."

She turned to me, surprised. "Was that a compliment, Ice Man?"

"An observation," I echoed her earlier words. "Though Willow is right—you should be careful around Marco. He can be an ass."

"I can handle guys like Marco," she said confidently. "I've been dealing with entitled customers for years. Hockey players aren't that different."

"Ouch."

She laughed—a genuine, unguarded sound that I found myself wanting to hear again. "Present company excluded, of course."

As we pulled into the driveway, I noticed an unfamiliar car parked outside the house. "Were you expecting someone?"

Sienna frowned. "No. Oh god, please don't let it be Aunt Carol doing a surprise inspection of our married life."

It wasn't Aunt Carol. When we entered the house, we found Olivia pacing the living room, her heels clicking sharply on the hardwood floor.

"There you are!" She checked her watch pointedly. "I've been waiting for an hour."

"How did you get in?" I asked, annoyed at the invasion.

"Leo gave me the code." She waved dismissively. "We have a situation. Perfect Home Furnishings wants to move up the photoshoot. They're sending a team tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow?" Sienna's eyes widened. "Here? But we just moved in. The house doesn't look lived-in."

Olivia gestured around the sparse living room. "Exactly my concern. This place looks like a furniture showroom, not a home. It needs... personality. Evidence that two people actually live here."

I looked around, seeing my house through new eyes. It did look more like a model home than a lived-in space.

"What do you suggest?" I asked, already dreading the answer.

"Shopping," Olivia declared. "Tonight. We need throw pillows, blankets, framed photos, books—things that make a house look inhabited."

I checked my watch. "It's almost seven."

"Stores are open until nine." Olivia was already typing on her phone. "I've texted Leo the list of what we need."

Sienna spoke up. "I can handle this. I've been decorating spaces on a budget for years."

Olivia looked skeptical. "This needs to match the Perfect Home Furnishings aesthetic. Warm, inviting, but still upscale."

"Trust me," Sienna said with surprising authority. "I've got this."

Two hours later, we were pushing a cart through a home goods store, Sienna confidently selecting items that would "warm up" the house. She had an eye for color and texture, choosing throw pillows and blankets that somehow coordinated with my existing furniture while adding warmth.

"What do you think?" she asked, holding up two different picture frames. "Silver or wood tone?"

"They look exactly the same to me."

She rolled her eyes. "They're completely different. The silver is modern, the wood is traditional."

"Then the silver, I guess?" I was out of my depth in this world of home décor, but found myself oddly enjoying watching Sienna navigate it with enthusiasm.

"Good choice." She placed the silver frames in the cart. "We need photos for them, though. Recent ones of us together."

"The wedding photos," I suggested. "Olivia had them printed already."

"Perfect." She moved to another aisle, examining throw blankets with a critical eye. "These will add texture to the living room."

I followed her through the store, carrying baskets as she filled them with items—candles, small decorative objects, a few books chosen purely for their attractive covers. When we reached the kitchen section, her excitement visibly increased.

"This is what I really need," she said, examining high-quality baking pans. "If I'm going to be using that kitchen, I need proper equipment."

"Don't you have all this at the bakery?"

"That's commercial grade. I need home baking supplies." She selected a set of mixing bowls, then hesitated, checking the price tag before setting them down again.

I picked them up and put them in the cart. "Get what you need."

She frowned. "These are expensive. I can make do with less."

"You're saving my reputation with this arrangement. The least I can do is make sure you have decent baking equipment."

She studied me for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. But just the essentials."

Her "essentials" turned out to include professional-grade measuring cups, a digital scale, specialty cake pans, and an impressive array of spatulas and whisks. As she deliberated over which pastry bags to select, I noticed her eyeing a stand mixer with barely concealed longing.

"Do you need that?" I asked, nodding toward the mixer.

She sighed. "Want, not need. I have one at the bakery."

When she moved to the next aisle, I quickly added the mixer to the cart, along with several attachments she'd mentioned would be "nice to have." The look on her face when she discovered them at checkout was worth every penny—surprise followed by a smile that lit up her entire face.

"You didn't have to do that," she said as we loaded bags into the car.

"Consider it a wedding present." I closed the trunk. "Besides, I'm looking forward to the results. That protein shake this morning was pretty sad."

"Is that a request for baked goods, Mr. Harrison?"

"Consider it strongly implied, Mrs. Harrison."

The new form of address hung between us for a moment, both a joke and a reminder of our altered status. I cleared my throat, suddenly uncomfortable with the easy banter.

"We should get back. It's late."

At home, we spent the next hour arranging our purchases around the house. Sienna moved with purpose, placing throw pillows, draping blankets, and positioning photo frames with the wedding pictures Olivia had delivered earlier.

"Hold this right here," she instructed, positioning me by the fireplace with a framed photo.

I obeyed, watching as she stepped back to assess the arrangement. "Does it really matter where these things go?"

"Absolutely." She moved a candle slightly to the left. "It's about creating vignettes—little moments that draw the eye."

"If you say so." I hung the photo where she indicated. "Is this part of your baker training? Home staging?"

She laughed. "No, just years of watching Home Remodeling shows while folding laundry. My apartment may be tiny, but it's cozy."

By midnight, the transformation was remarkable. My sterile, minimalist house now looked... lived in. Welcoming, even. Sienna had worked magic with a few hundred dollars' worth of accessories, somehow making the space reflect both our personalities despite the rushed timeline.

In the kitchen, she was arranging her new baking supplies in cabinets, a look of satisfaction on her face. I leaned against the counter, watching her work.

"Thank you," I said suddenly.

She glanced up, surprised. "For what?"

"All of this." I gestured around. "You didn't have to go to so much trouble. Most people would have just thrown some pillows around and called it done."

"I'm not most people." She placed the last mixing bowl in a cabinet. "Besides, if I'm living here for three months, I want it to feel like home, even temporarily."

"It looks better," I admitted. "Less like a hotel suite."

She smiled, clearly pleased by the compliment. "It's a start. Three months is plenty of time to make this place feel lived-in."

The reminder of our timeline—three months, then back to our separate lives—was oddly deflating. I pushed the feeling aside, focusing on the task at hand.

"We should get some sleep. Photoshoot starts at nine."

Sienna nodded, stifling a yawn. "Goodnight, Jax."

As she headed toward her bedroom, I found myself calling after her. "Sienna?"

She paused, looking back. "Yes?"

"The house really does look better. Thank you."

Her smile was soft, genuine. "You're welcome."