Page 33

I stepped off the plane at Logan Airport, exhaustion weighing on me after the short but turbulent flight from New York. My body ached from standing in competition kitchens for days on end, but a restless energy kept me moving through the terminal, fueled by anticipation of seeing Caleb again.

During the flight, I'd mentally composed and discarded countless versions of what to say when I eventually saw him. The formulations ranged from casual "Hey, just thought I'd come back early" to brutally honest "I couldn't focus on cooking because I couldn't stop thinking about you" .

None seemed adequate to express the realization that had hit me midway through the semifinal round, as I'd carefully plated a dish inspired by New England flavors: I was in love with Caleb Matthews, and no professional accomplishment would feel complete without him to share it with.

My phone buzzed as I made my way through the terminal. Zoe's name flashed on the screen, and I answered while navigating around slower travelers.

"You're not still competing, are you?" she said immediately. "Because if you're calling from the middle of a timed challenge, I'm hanging up on you."

Zoe had stayed behind this time to run Hat Trick —and couldn’t be with me for the competition.

I laughed, the sound strange after days of tense concentration. "I'm at Logan. Just landed."

"Wait, seriously? You're back in Boston? What about the finals?"

"I withdrew," I admitted, still not entirely believing I'd made such a momentous professional decision. "Chef Martin's going to take my place."

"Holy shit, Riley." Zoe's shock was palpable even through the phone. "Are you okay? Did something happen?"

"Nothing happened," I assured her. "I just realized I needed to be here more than I needed to be there."

There was a pause, then Zoe's voice softened with understanding. "This is about Caleb, isn't it?"

"Partly," I acknowledged, moving aside to let a family pass. "But it's about me too. About figuring out what I really want."

"Well, I have some news that might interest you," Zoe said, her tone shifting to something I couldn't quite identify. "Max and I are officially dating."

I came to a halt, surprised. “Seriously?”

She laughed softly. “Yes, and he asked me to move in with him.”

"And?" I prompted.

"And I said I'd think about it," she replied, though I could hear the smile in her voice. "Can't make it too easy for him."

"Oh my god," I laughed, resuming my walk toward baggage claim. "I leave town for a week and you're domesticating a professional hockey player. What is happening?"

"I know, right? If you'd told me six months ago that I'd be seriously considering living with Max Ferguson, I would have checked you for a concussion.

" Her voice grew more serious. "But seeing him these past months—how he is with you and Caleb, how he stepped up when the restaurant needed help—he's not who I thought he was. "

"Life's funny sometimes," I murmured, more to myself than to Zoe.

"Speaking of funny," she continued, "have you told Caleb you're coming back early?"

"Not yet," I admitted. "I'm going to get settled at the apartment first, then call him. He has enough on his plate with the game tonight."

"Ah, about that..." Zoe hesitated. "He took a pretty hard hit. Looked bad, even to my untrained eye."

My heart constricted with concern. "Is he okay?"

"Max says he finished the game, but they were taking him for medical checks afterward. Shoulder injury, maybe."

I quickened my pace, sudden urgency replacing my earlier fatigue. "I should call him."

"Do that," Zoe agreed. "And Riley? I'm glad you're back."

"Me too," I said, surprised to realize how true it was. Despite the opportunity I'd left behind, Boston felt right. Home felt right.

After ending the call, I navigated through the concourse, mentally calculating how quickly I could get to Caleb. I'd need to drop my bags at the apartment, maybe shower quickly, then—

I rounded the corner and froze, momentarily certain exhaustion had conjured a hallucination.

There stood Caleb—disheveled, in team-logo athletic wear, scanning the arriving passengers with obvious intensity.

When his gaze landed on me, the transformation in his expression—from anxious tension to radiant joy—made my heart stutter.

We moved simultaneously, meeting halfway in an embrace that disregarded public setting and curious onlookers. The airport faded to background noise as I absorbed Caleb's solid warmth, his arms encircling me with careful pressure that suggested minor injury while still conveying unmistakable need.

When we finally separated slightly, I noticed the developing swelling along his shoulder, evidence of the punishing game Zoe had mentioned. My fingers automatically traced the swelling, concern mingling with pride at his team's victory.

"You're hurt," I said, examining him more carefully, noting how he favored his right shoulder.

"It's nothing," he insisted. "Just a rough game."

"Liar," I said softly, but without heat. "Zoe told me you got medical checks."

Before he could respond, I noticed the small suitcase beside him. "Were you going somewhere?"

"New York," he admitted with a rueful smile. "To find you."

"But I was already on my way here," I said, confused.

"I know that," he said, still holding me as if afraid I'd disappear. "I wanted to be there, with you."

The realization that we'd been moving toward each other simultaneously made something warm unfurl in my chest. Before I could begin any of my carefully prepared explanations, we both started speaking at once.

"I left the competition because—"

"I was coming to New York to tell you—"

We broke off, laughing at the overlap, and the tension that had built during our separation dissipated like morning mist.

"You first," I said, still nestled in the circle of his arms.

Caleb took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine. "I was coming to tell you that I was wrong not to fight harder when you left. That I should have made it clear every day how much you mean to me, contract or no contract."

His honesty made my breath catch. "Caleb..."

"Let me finish," he said gently. "I love you, Riley. Not because it's convenient or beneficial or part of some arrangement. I love you because you're you—stubborn and brilliant and kind. And I don't want to spend another day pretending that our relationship has an expiration date."

Tears pricked my eyes. "I left the competition because I couldn't focus," I confessed.

"All I could think about was you—whether you were okay after that hit, whether you'd eaten anything besides takeout, whether you missed me as much as I missed you.

" I swallowed hard. "I realized that no award or recognition would mean anything if you weren't there to share it with. "

His expression then was worth every professional opportunity I might have sacrificed—a mixture of wonder and joy that made him look younger, unburdened by the weight of leadership and expectation he typically carried.

"I love you too," I whispered, finally allowing myself to say the words that had been building inside me for months. "So much that it terrifies me."

Around us, travelers moved through the terminal, some glancing curiously at our intimate conversation, others hurrying past with the single-minded focus of people eager to reach their destinations.

For once, I didn't care who might be watching or what they might think. In that moment, only Caleb mattered.

With characteristic directness, Caleb pulled back slightly, his expression suddenly serious. "I need to ask you something important."

"Okay," I said cautiously, noticing how his good hand slipped into his pocket.

What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Caleb dropped to one knee in the middle of the terminal concourse, wincing slightly as the movement jostled his injured shoulder. Curious onlookers paused, phones emerging to capture what appeared to be an impromptu proposal.

I stood frozen, uncomprehending until Caleb opened a small velvet box to reveal a stunning sapphire ring surrounded by diamonds.

"Riley," he began, "this isn't performance or calculation or contractual obligation. This is choice. I want forever with you, without end dates or terms or conditions."

My hand flew to my mouth, tears now falling freely. This wasn't a renewal of our arrangement or a strategic response to public scrutiny—this was Caleb, asking for a real marriage built on love rather than convenience.

"Our story started in the strangest way imaginable," he continued, seemingly oblivious to the growing crowd around us.

"But that beginning doesn't define where we go from here.

I'm asking you to marry me again—not for captaincy or restaurant finances or public image, but because I want to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of my life. "

"Yes," I whispered, then louder as joy bubbled up within me. "Yes!"

Caleb slipped the ring onto my finger—my left hand, which had worn his initial ring as part of our arrangement but had felt strangely bare these past weeks of separation. The sapphire caught the fluorescent airport lighting, sending blue fire dancing across our joined hands.

When he rose and pulled me into his arms, our kiss contained all the authentic connection we'd found through months of pretending. We were no longer performing for anyone, not even ourselves—just two people who had found love through the strangest of beginnings.

We became aware of applause surrounding us, travelers caught up in what appeared to be a spontaneous romantic moment.

Someone recognized Caleb, triggering excited whispers about the Boston Blizzard's captain and his chef wife.

A teenage girl nearby squealed, "Oh my god, it's Caleb Matthews!

" while her companion frantically took photos.