Page 15

I'd settled into a routine that was beginning to feel alarmingly comfortable. Each morning, I woke early to bake something fresh for Jax before heading to the bakery. Each evening, we shared dinner and talked about our days with a growing ease that made it increasingly difficult to remember this was all temporary.

I'd learned Jax's small tells—the slight furrow between his brows when he was reviewing game footage, the way he absently rubbed the back of his neck when tired, how his rare but genuine laugh involved his whole face, not just his mouth. Dangerous knowledge for someone who wasn't supposed to get attached.

Today, though, I had news too exciting to worry about boundaries. I burst through the front door, not bothering to hide my enthusiasm.

"Jax? Are you home?"

"Office," came his deep voice from down the hall.

I found him in his home office, eyes fixed on his laptop where he was reviewing hockey footage, brow furrowed in concentration. He glanced up when I entered, and something in his expression softened slightly.

"You look happy," he observed, pausing the video.

"The Seattle Children's Hospital charity gala selected my bakery to provide desserts!" I couldn't contain my excitement. "It's the biggest event of the season—over four hundred guests, including the mayor, local celebrities, and major donors. And guess who else will be there?"

A smile tugged at his lips. "Who?"

"The entire Seattle Kraken team," I declared triumphantly. "Which means my professional world and your professional world are officially colliding."

Jax leaned back in his chair, looking genuinely pleased. "That's fantastic, Sienna. The gala's a huge deal—televised locally, major press coverage."

"I know! It's an incredible opportunity for the bakery." I perched on the edge of his desk, my excitement making it impossible to stand still. "I'm thinking of creating a signature dessert just for the event—something with the Kraken colors, maybe. Though blue food isn't particularly appetizing..."

"What about those blue macarons you made last week? They were good."

I blinked in surprise. "You remember those?"

"Of course." He looked slightly offended. "I ate six of them."

"I thought that was Sprinkles being sneaky."

"Sprinkles doesn't have that refined a palate." His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, the closest he usually came to smiling. "When's the gala?"

"Three weeks from Saturday." I felt a flutter of anxiety mixed with my excitement. "That doesn't give me much time to plan and test recipes."

"I could help," Jax offered, then immediately looked as surprised by the offer as I felt. "I mean, with tasting. Not actual baking. Though I did master chocolate chip cookies."

"One midnight baking session doesn't make you a master," I laughed, touched by his offer nonetheless. "But I'll take you up on the tasting part."

The conversation might have continued in this comfortable vein if Jax's phone hadn't rung, his mother's name flashing on the screen. He excused himself to answer, and I busied myself organizing the stack of mail on his desk, not intending to eavesdrop but unable to avoid hearing his side of the conversation.

"Yes, Mom... No, that's not... Wait, what? When?" His voice sharpened with what sounded like panic. "Next week? But I have games... No, of course, I want to see you both..." He looked at me with an expression of pure alarm. "Yes, Sienna will be here... No, you don't need to... Fine. Yes. Email me the flight details." He hung up, looking shell-shocked.

"Everything okay?" I asked cautiously.

"My parents are coming to visit. Next week." He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I'd learned indicated stress. "They want to meet you properly. My mother says a courthouse ceremony without family present was 'barbaric' and they need to make up for lost time."

"Oh." The full implications hit me. "Oh."

"Yeah."

We stared at each other, both realizing simultaneously how unprepared we were for this level of scrutiny. Knowing basic facts about each other for a photoshoot was one thing; convincing loving, observant parents we were genuinely married was entirely another.

"We need a crash course," I said, moving into problem-solving mode. "Everything couples normally learn during dating—favorite colors, foods, movies, childhood stories, embarrassing moments, family dynamics... all of it."

Jax nodded grimly. "Exactly. We don't have nearly enough information to pull this off."

"When do they arrive?"

"Wednesday. Six days from now."

I took a deep breath. "Okay. We can do this. We just need to... get to know each other. Properly."

Jax stood, suddenly decisive. "Dinner first. I'll think better on a full stomach. Then we'll tackle this."

An hour later, with takeout containers scattered across the coffee table, we sat cross-legged on the living room floor with notepads like students cramming for an exam.

"Favorite color?" I asked, starting with basics.

"Blue. Dark blue, specifically. You?"

"Yellow. Not bright yellow—more like buttery, warm yellow." I made a note. "Favorite food?"

"My mom's lasagna." His answer came without hesitation. "Specifically her recipe with the three different cheeses and homemade sauce that takes all day. You?"

"Fresh bread, right out of the oven, with good butter. Simple but perfect." I smiled at his raised eyebrow. "What? I'm a baker. Bread is fundamental."

We continued through the basics. His favorite movies were old black and white films, surprisingly, while mine were romantic comedies. He liked classic rock, while I preferred indie folk. He read historical nonfiction, while I devoured mysteries. He played hockey but watched basketball, while I didn't watch sports but had done competitive dance as a child.

As we moved beyond surface details, the conversation deepened.

"Tell me about your brother," I suggested, remembering a photo I'd seen in his office. "He's younger, right?"

Something in Jax's expression softened. "Alex. Three years younger. He's a high school hockey coach in Minnesota. Complete opposite of me—outgoing, funny, everyone's favorite."

"You two are close?"

"Very. He's the only one who..." Jax paused, considering his words. "Who sees past the 'Ice Man' stuff. Never bought into that narrative."

I found myself genuinely interested, not just collecting information for our charade. "Does he play professionally too?"

"Could have. Had the talent." A shadow crossed Jax's face. "Blew out his knee senior year of high school. Three surgeries, but it was never the same."

"That must have been hard for both of you."

Jax nodded, his eyes distant. "It was. I felt guilty, continuing my career when his was over before it began. But Alex isn't the type to wallow. Got his teaching degree, found his calling coaching kids. He's happier than most pro players I know."

The vulnerability in his voice, the genuine affection for his brother—these weren't rehearsed details but real emotions I hadn't expected from the usually guarded Jax.

"What about your parents?" I asked. "What should I know?"

"My dad, Robert, was a hardware store owner, but hockey was his passion. Never played professionally, so he channeled that into coaching youth leagues. He's... intense. Expects excellence, doesn't sugar-coat criticism." Jax twisted his wedding ring absently. "My mom, Nancy, is the peacemaker. Kindergarten teacher, eternal optimist, makes friends with everyone she meets. They're opposites, but it works somehow."

"How will they react to me?"

Jax met my eyes. "My mom will love you instantly. She's been worrying about me being alone for years. My dad..." He hesitated. "He'll be reserved at first. Protective. He doesn't trust easily, especially when it comes to me and hockey."

I nodded, filing away this information. "What about when you were a kid? Any stories I should know?"

Something close to a smile touched his lips. "I was obsessed with becoming a professional hockey player from age five. Had my whole career planned out. Used to make Alex be the goalie while I practiced shots for hours. Poor kid."

"Always the serious one, even then?"

"According to family legend, I once made a presentation at age nine explaining why I should be allowed to attend an elite hockey camp. Complete with statistics and a cost-benefit analysis."

I laughed, trying to picture a miniature, earnest Jax with a presentation pointer. "Did it work?"

"Of course. I was very thorough." His almost-smile widened into something genuine. "Your turn. Tell me about growing up with professional photographers as parents."

I hugged my knees to my chest, surprised he remembered that detail from a previous conversation. "It was... unpredictable. They traveled constantly for assignments— some major publications. I spent a lot of time with my grandmother while they were away."

"That's how you got into baking?"

I nodded. "Grandma Rose made it an adventure. We'd pretend we were scientists, experimenting with recipes. She'd let me measure ingredients, even when I made a mess. It was the steadiest part of my childhood—flour, sugar, butter, the bakery schedule."

"You miss her," Jax observed quietly.

"Every day." I swallowed the unexpected emotion. "The bakery is my connection to her. That's why I'm so determined to save it, no matter what."

"Even if it means marrying a stranger?"

Our eyes met. "Even then," I confirmed softly.

The conversation flowed more naturally after that, moving beyond facts to stories—my disastrous dance recital where I accidentally knocked over the entire back row of performers; Jax's first professional game where he was so nervous he put his jersey on backward; my college roommate who sleepwalked and once tried to "bake" my shoes.

By midnight, I felt as though I'd learned more about Jax Harrison in one evening than in the previous two weeks combined.

"We should probably get some sleep," I finally said, noticing Jax trying to suppress a yawn. "Early practice tomorrow?"

He nodded, stretching as he stood. "Six AM ice time."

We gathered our notes and empty containers, moving around each other with the comfortable rhythm we'd developed. At the hallway that separated our bedrooms, we paused.

"Thanks for tonight," I said. "I feel much more prepared for your parents now."

"Me too." He hesitated, as if wanting to say more, then simply added, "Goodnight, Sienna."

"Goodnight, Jax."

In the connecting bathroom we shared, I was removing my makeup when I dropped my moisturizer. Jax, brushing his teeth at his sink, reacted at the same moment I did, both of us bending to retrieve it.

Our faces came unexpectedly close, so near I could see the varied flecks of color in his eyes, the day's stubble darkening his jaw. For a suspended moment, neither of us moved, caught in some unnamed tension that seemed to grow with each passing second.

His eyes dropped briefly to my lips, and my breath caught in my throat. Was he going to...?

Then he straightened abruptly, handing me the moisturizer with a carefully neutral expression. "Here."

"Thanks," I managed, suddenly very aware of my thin pajama tank top and shorts.

"Goodnight," he said again, more firmly this time, and retreated to his bedroom, closing the door with a decisive click.

I stood alone in the bathroom, my heart racing for no logical reason. This was business, I reminded myself sternly. Any perceived chemistry was simply the result of spending time together, of the natural intimacy that developed when sharing space with someone.