Page 38

One year after championship glory and genuine vows, I stood in the expanded kitchen of Grandma Rose's Bakehouse and Café, adding final touches to a special anniversary cake. The renovation had seamlessly connected the original bakery with the neighboring building, creating a thriving business that honored my grandmother's legacy while reflecting my own vision.

The past twelve months had transformed not just the physical space but every aspect of my life.

Through the archway connecting the original bakery to the new café space, I could see the morning rush of customers – hockey fans wearing Kraken gear alongside business professionals seeking quality coffee, students with laptops, and of course, the regulars who'd supported the bakery through its leaner times.

Mr. Henderson occupied his usual table by the window, now officially reserved with a small plaque bearing his name. He came daily for his Earl Grey tea and pecan roll, often accompanied by other retired gentlemen who'd formed an informal hockey appreciation society under his guidance.

Several Kraken players had become bakery regulars as well, stopping by after practice for my Special protein bars, now packaged and sold in limited quantities. Or to pick up custom orders for family celebrations. What had begun as team obligation during playoffs had evolved into genuine appreciation and friendship.

"Your anniversary cake is gorgeous," Chloe said, entering the kitchen with her usual whirlwind energy. "Though I don't think Jax will appreciate the artistry before devouring it."

"He's developed a more sophisticated palate," I defended with a smile. "He can actually distinguish between types of vanilla now."

"True love changes people," she agreed, holding out her left hand where a modest but elegant engagement ring caught the light. "Speaking of which, Leo and I finally set a date. March next year, small ceremony, absolutely no hockey metaphors in the vows."

I hugged her tightly, genuine happiness for my friend warming me through. "About time! You've been engaged for nearly three months."

"We're taking our time," she said primly, though her smile belied her tone. "Some of us didn't rush into marriage as a business arrangement."

"Never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Not in this lifetime." Her expression softened. "Though I have to admit, it worked out better than anyone could have predicted."

The bell above the door chimed, and Aunt Carol bustled in, immediately tying on an apron despite my protests that she was supposed to be enjoying retirement.

"Nonsense," she dismissed. "I'm helping with the afternoon rush. You have anniversary preparations to handle."

Her gaze shifted to the photograph prominently displayed near the register – Jax hoisting the Cup while kissing me, an image that had become iconic in Seattle sports history. "Still can't believe my niece married a hockey star and made it work," she mused. "Though I always said the best marriages grow from friendship rather than passion."

"We weren't exactly friends at the beginning," I reminded her with a laugh.

She waved dismissively. "You built something solid, that's what matters. Not how it started."

The wisdom in her perspective struck me anew. Our unconventional beginning had forced us to build deliberately, conscious of each step rather than being carried away by initial attraction.

The Perfect Home Furnishings campaign featuring our home had been wildly successful, with Jax signing a multi-year extension that included me in future promotions.

As closing time approached, the bakery door opened to reveal Jax with Sprinkles and our newer addition, Cookie – a smaller mixed-breed puppy we'd adopted from the shelter six months earlier. Jax moved through the space with comfortable familiarity, greeting staff by name, accepting congratulatory anniversary wishes from lingering customers, completely integrated into the bakery world just as I had become part of his hockey family.

"How was the charity event?" I asked as he leaned across the counter to kiss me.

"Good. Raised twice what we expected for youth hockey programs." He stole a cookie from the display case with practiced stealth. "The realtor called about the beachfront property we looked at. It's ours if we want it."

The casual mention of our potential new home – a beautiful place halfway between the bakery and his practice facility, with room for the family we hoped to start within the next few years – created a flutter of excitement. After a year of dividing time between his house and my apartment above the bakery, we were ready for a fresh start in a home chosen together.

Later that evening, after closing the bakery and returning to the lake house for our anniversary dinner, Jax presented me with gifts that reflected how thoroughly he'd come to understand me – a professional-grade stand mixer I'd been coveting for months and tickets to a pastry workshop in Paris scheduled during the off-season.

"Perfect," I breathed, genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness. "You know me so well now."

"I pay attention," he replied with a smile. "It's the least I can do for the woman who changed everything."

My gift to him – a custom hockey stick rack for the home we were planning to buy together – earned the same appreciative reaction.

As we toasted to our first genuine anniversary, champagne glasses clinking in the quiet intimacy of our home, Jax's expression grew reflective.

"If someone had told me a year ago that spilling coffee would lead to all this," he gestured between us, "I'd have said they were delusional."

"Technically, I spilled coffee on you," I corrected with a teasing smile.

"Semantics." He reached for my hand across the table. "Best worst first impression anyone's ever made."

As Jax pulled me from my chair into his arms, his kiss contained the warmth of familiarity and the spark of passion that had never dimmed between us. My arms wound around his neck as I melted against him, still amazed that after a year together, his touch could send the same electricity through me as our first genuine kiss.

When we finally broke apart, slightly breathless, his eyes held mine with an intensity that made my heart race.

"I love you, Sienna Harrison," he said, the simple declaration carrying the weight of our shared journey. "Every day, every moment, more than the day before."

"I love you too," I replied, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertip. "Even when you leave your hockey gear in the hallway or drink the last of the coffee without making more."

His laugh was warm against my skin as he pressed his forehead to mine. "So generous, to love me despite my flaws."

"They're part of the package," I smiled. "And it's a pretty good package overall."

Later, curled together on the couch with Sprinkles and Cookie snoozing at our feet, we scrolled through photos from the past year – championship celebrations, bakery grand opening, holidays with both our families merged together as if they'd always been connected.

"Look at this one," I said, pausing on an image of Jax covered in flour, a look of comical dismay on his face as he surveyed the kitchen disaster around him. "Your first solo baking attempt."

"The cookies were edible," he defended with mock indignation.

"Barely," I teased. "But you've improved tremendously. Your chocolate chip cookies last week were actually good."

"High praise from Master Baker Harrison." He pressed a kiss to my temple. "Though I still prefer being your taste-tester to actual baking."

"Every partnership needs division of labor," I agreed. "You score goals and taste pastries, I'll create recipes and cheer embarrassingly loud at games."

As the evening deepened into night, we moved from reminiscing to planning – the beachfront house we hoped to purchase, upcoming travel during the off-season, the bakery's continued expansion, and the family we both wanted to start when the time was right.

"Do you ever regret it?" Jax asked suddenly, his voice quiet in the dim light. "The way we started? The arrangement?"

I considered the question seriously, thinking back to that desperate day when I'd faced losing my grandmother's bakery, when a coffee-stained encounter had led to an unexpected proposition.

"Not for a second," I said finally, with absolute certainty. "It wasn't a traditional beginning, but it was ours. And I wouldn't change anything that led us here."

His arms tightened around me, his chin resting atop my head. "Me neither."

As we drifted toward sleep, I reflected on the improbable journey that had brought us to this moment – from business arrangement to genuine love, from performance to authenticity. We'd begun as strangers with mutual needs, evolved into partners with shared goals, and finally emerged as a family with intertwined futures.

The bakery was thriving, his hockey career continued to flourish, but the true success story wasn't measured in championships or business expansions. It was in the home we'd created together, the trust we'd built despite unconventional beginnings, and the love that had developed organically when neither of us had been looking for it.

Sometimes the most unexpected beginnings led to the most beautiful stories. And ours, I thought as I drifted to sleep in my husband's arms, was just getting started.

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