Page 35

I straightened my tie in the mirror, the platinum band on my left hand gleaming as I moved.

A year had passed since we first signed our unconventional marriage contract—what was once a predetermined endpoint now meant something entirely different.

Instead of preparing dissolution papers, we were marking our paper anniversary with an intimate celebration at Hat Trick —honoring both our unusual beginning and the genuine devotion that grew from it.

"Looking good, Captain," Max commented from the doorway, already dressed in his own suit.

As my best man during our original ceremony and closest confidant throughout our unconventional journey, he'd arrived early to help with party preparations—though "help" mostly involved sampling the appetizers Riley had been preparing since dawn.

"Thanks," I said, making a final adjustment to my collar. "How's everything downstairs?"

"Your wife is terrorizing the catering staff she hired to supplement her own cooking," Max reported with a grin. "Apparently no one cuts chives to her exact specifications."

I laughed, unsurprised. Despite expanding to three locations across Boston this past year, Riley remained hands-on with every aspect of her culinary empire. Her perfectionism was legendary among her staff, but so was her generosity and mentorship.

"And Zoe?" I asked, knowing Max's girlfriend had been helping with the event planning.

"Keeping Riley from firing the entire waitstaff," he replied. "Those two are scary efficient together."

The year had brought professional triumphs for both Riley and me.

I’d captained the Boston Blizzard through our most successful playoff run in a decade—falling agonizingly short of the Championship, yet cementing my reputation as one of the league’s elite leaders.

Along the way, I’d unearthed a new passion for food and restaurant operations, opening doors I’d never imagined beyond my hockey career.

Meanwhile, Riley had turned Hat Trick into a Boston institution.

Her flagship shop by the arena thrived on the energy of game nights, and her “Champions Corner” in the main concourse—where fans could sample hockey-themed fare while watching live action—became wildly popular.

Her latest venture, a waterfront restaurant dedicated to sustainable New England seafood, earned critical acclaim for reimagining classic dishes.

And then there was Vincent—his schemes finally catching up with him.

Last month, he was arrested for attempting to blackmail a rising baseball star.

Separately, Diane had also pressed a litany of charges against him: blackmail, extortion, harassment, and attempted coercion. He's now behind bars, awaiting trial.

Through every high and low, our partnership only grew stronger.

The scandal that once threatened our careers has since become Boston sports legend—our airport proposal and the redemption that followed are now part of the city’s lore, a reminder that the right narrative can transform even the toughest storm into a triumph.

“Caleb?” Riley called from the stairs. “Could you help me with this necklace?”

I slipped away from Max, who’d gone down for more “quality control” on the appetizers, and joined Riley at the full-length mirror. She wore a deep burgundy gown, her hair cascading in loose waves that perfectly framed her face.

"You look incredible," I said, momentarily forgetting the necklace request as I admired my wife.

She smiled, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. After a year of marriage she still responded to my compliments with the same mixture of pleasure and slight embarrassment that I found endlessly endearing.

"The necklace?" she prompted, holding up the delicate platinum chain with a hockey stick pendant I'd given her last year.

I moved behind her, taking the necklace and carefully fastening it around her neck. Our eyes met in the mirror as I completed the task, my hands lingering at the nape of her neck.

"Better?" I asked.

"Perfect," she replied, turning within my arms to face me. Her hands automatically smoothed my already-perfect tie, a habitual gesture of affection that had developed early in our relationship.

"Nervous about tonight?" I asked, noting the slight tension in her shoulders.

"A little," she admitted. "It's silly, I know. We've hosted bigger events, more important people."

"But this is personal," I finished for her, understanding completely. Tonight wasn't about hockey or restaurants or public relations, it was about celebrating the unexpected journey that had brought us together.

The doorbell interrupted our moment, announcing the arrival of our first anniversary guests.

"Ready?" I asked, offering my arm with exaggerated formality that made Riley laugh.

"As I'll ever be," she replied, taking my arm as we moved toward the door.

Before we even reached the entrance downstairs, Max eased the door open to reveal a foyer buzzing with eager, hungry guests. Zoe stood ready—clipboard in hand, excitement barely concealed.

“Perfect timing,” Zoe said. “The hors d’oeuvres are prepped, but the caterers need our final sign-off on the passed-appetizer lineup, and the florist just delivered the centerpieces.”

Riley snapped to attention. “I’ll handle it,” she said, slipping into chef mode as she followed Zoe.

"And I need you," Max said, clapping me on the shoulder, "to help with the bourbon selection for the toast. Critical team captain decision."

I laughed, recognizing the transparent attempt to separate us before the party. "Let me guess—you and Zoe have anniversary surprises that require us to be apart for fifteen minutes?"

"Closer to twenty," Max admitted with a grin. "Just play along, man. Do you know how hard it is to surprise two of the most detail-oriented people in Boston?"

I raised my hands in surrender, following him to the kitchen where a selection of premium bourbons awaited "inspection." As Max poured small tasting samples, I found myself reflecting on the remarkable year behind us.

The whirlwind of events following our airport reunion—media frenzy, Championship pressure, family reconciliations—had eventually settled into a new normal that exceeded my most optimistic expectations.

"Earth to Matthews," Max said, waving a hand in front of my face. "You're getting that sappy look again."

"Just thinking," I defended, accepting the bourbon sample he offered.

"About how lucky you are that your fake wife turned into a real one who actually puts up with you?" he teased.

"Something like that," I admitted, raising my glass in acknowledgment.

Max's own relationship with Zoe had evolved from antagonistic flirtation to committed partnership, mirroring Riley's and my journey in some ways. They'd moved in together three months ago, their opposite personalities balancing each other in ways that worked surprisingly well.

"Speaking of luck," Max said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "when are you planning to tell everyone your other news? You know, the development in the, uh, family expansion department?"

I glanced toward the door, ensuring Riley wasn't within earshot. "Tonight, after the contract burning ceremony. How did you know?"

"Dude, Riley switched to sparkling water at team dinner last week," Max said with an eye roll. "And she actually turned green when Peterson ordered that fish special. Doesn't take a genius."

Before I could answer, Zoe slipped into the kitchen doorway. “The players are here,” she said, her voice hushed. “Diane’s greeting them all.”

Our penthouse gradually filled with the people who had witnessed and supported our unusual journey.

Gloria and Harold Whitman made a brief appearance, the team owner having gradually warmed to our relationship once he realized the positive PR it eventually generated.

He delivered unexpectedly heartfelt congratulations, while Gloria pulled Riley aside for what appeared to be an intense but friendly conversation.

My parents and sister traveled from Minnesota for the occasion, their initial shock at our arrangement having transformed into genuine affection for Riley.

My mother had become one of Riley's most enthusiastic recipe testers, while my father had surprised everyone by developing a late-life interest in culinary arts under Riley's patient tutelage.

Riley's family arrived last—her practical mother Ellen immediately taking charge of rearranging the appetizer display, her former coach father Jim engaging my father in what had become their traditional debate about hockey strategy evolution, and her brother Danny, now playing for a minor league team, immediately gravitating toward the professional players in attendance.

As guests mingled, I pulled Riley aside for a private moment before our official announcement.

"Everything okay?" she asked, her hand automatically straightening my tie though it hadn't moved.

"Perfect," I assured her, retrieving a box from my pocket. "I just wanted to give you something before we're surrounded by everyone all night."

Riley's eyes widened at the familiar legal-sized envelope beneath the small velvet box. "Is that...?"

"The original contract," I confirmed. "I thought we could finally put it to rest together."

She smiled, taking the envelope with reverent care. "Our beginning," she murmured, tracing the edge with her fingertip. "As unconventional as it was."

"Open the other one," I encouraged, suddenly nervous about the more significant gift.

When Riley opened the small velvet box, she gasped at the elegant sapphire earrings inside—a perfect match to her engagement ring. More significant than the jewelry was the accompanying note referencing a specific contract clause declaring "no children" during our arrangement.

With characteristic directness, I'd written: Contract clause 17.3 Expiration Notice: Formal amendment required regarding family expansion timeline.

Riley's expression transformed with understanding, her hand automatically moving to her still-flat stomach in silent confirmation of news she'd planned to share during our private celebration later.

Later, surrounded by friends and family, we participated in the symbolic burning of our original contract within a fire-safe champagne bucket. The document that had once defined our relationship disappeared into ash while our actual marriage continued strengthening with each passing day.

As Riley shared news of her pregnancy with our gathered guests, triggering enthusiastic celebration from both families, I watched my wife with quiet amazement.

Her face was animated as she answered questions about due dates and nursery plans, her hand frequently finding mine as if to anchor our shared excitement.

"Well played, Matthews," Cooper said, clapping me on the shoulder as he joined me at the edge of the celebration.

The veteran defenseman had become a close friend over the past year, his initial skepticism about our arrangement giving way to genuine support.

"From contract marriage to baby announcement in one year. Talk about exceeding expectations."

I laughed, accepting the congratulations with a nod. "Nothing about this has followed the expected path."

"The best things never do," he replied with surprising wisdom. "You signed up for a business deal and ended up with a family. I'd call that the best contract negotiation in hockey history."

As the celebration continued around us, Riley found her way back to my side, her hand slipping naturally into mine. "Happy anniversary," she said softly, eyes shining with contentment.

"Happy beginning," I countered, pulling her close for a kiss that drew good-natured cheers from our guests.

With Riley's hand firmly clasped in mine, I silently acknowledged the beautiful irony of our situation. The arrangement designed to secure my hockey captaincy and save her restaurant had succeeded brilliantly.

Yet those achievements paled compared to what we'd found together—a partnership surpassing any contractual language, built on love rather than convenient performance.

As we moved among our guests, accepting congratulations for both our anniversary and the baby news, I found myself reflecting on the night it all began—a desperate hockey player walking into an empty restaurant, finding not just a meal but the beginning of an unexpected journey home.

"What are you thinking about?" Riley asked, noticing my momentary distraction.

"Hat trick sliders," I replied with a smile, pulling her closer. "And how sometimes the best things in life come from the most unexpected beginnings."

Her answering smile—radiant, knowing, completely genuine—was worth every complicated step of our journey.

The contract might be ashes now, but what remained was stronger than any legal document could capture—a love story neither of us had been looking for but both had ultimately chosen, deliberately and wholeheartedly.

This, I realized as I looked around at the celebration surrounding us, was the true victory—not captaincy or culinary fame, but the family we were building together, one unexpected chapter at a time.

Ratings help me immensely in finding new readers. Feel free to give an honest rating.