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I groan, pressing my hands to my face as I slump in my seat. Of course they know about my Night of a 1001 Confessions. I have no filter around them, and my so-called friends love it. I lower my hands. “The job is great,” I say firmly, trying to steer the conversation back to neutral territory.

Skylar snorts. “Yeah, I don’t think she was asking about the job.”

Heat rushes to my face as memories of last night flood back—offering to massage Tyler, touching his shoulders, running my hands over his back.

I was bold. With Chad, I was never bold.

Everything with him was so ordinary. But Tyler?

Every moment feels supercharged. He brings out something wild in me, and I just want to touch him.

Slide my hands along his beard. Tug his shirt off.

See if he has tattoos. Does he? I need to know.

My face burns hotter, and Isla smiles like she’s won the lottery. “Guess I don’t need to offer my matchmaking services to you, then.” She pats Skylar on the shoulder. “But maybe Skylar can help you two decorate a bower together.”

My friends are too much, and they all break into laughter. “Do I even get to say anything?” I ask as warmups start in earnest on the ice.

But before anyone answers, a few rows up, a group of women start singing “Daddy’s Home.

” That’s Tyler’s fan song , and my gaze snaps to the rink as Number Forty-Four skates past the glass.

He does a double take when he spies my sparkly jersey.

Even from a couple of rows away, I can see his brows lift my way.

Leighton leans closer, her grin as sharp as ever. “I don’t think you need to say anything. It’s crystal clear.” Then, with a note of seriousness that softens her usual teasing, she adds, “But how are you going to handle working for him and living under the same roof?”

Isla gives me a sympathetic look too. “She’s right. That can’t be easy. But we know this job is important to you. We want to help you figure it out,” she says, always a problem solver.

And suddenly, the mood shifts. Not quite somber, but a reminder of the stakes. If I lose this job to lust, what would I do? Go back to the Garlic Palace? Fine, it’s not the worst fate in the world. But this job gives me the freedom to keep growing my coaching business.

I can’t lose it by throwing myself at my boss again .

“It’s fine,” I say, trying to convince myself. “I’m ridiculously, insanely, outrageously attracted to him,” I say, because why deny it? “But I also used to get up at four-thirty a.m. every day to skate growing up. This girl has discipline.”

I turn my focus to the game, cheering as the Sea Dogs attack the puck from the first puck drop. Tyler blocks shot after shot and when he pushes his opponents around, a primal thrill rushes through my chest.

I remind myself: I am disciplined. I am disciplined. I am disciplined.

But when Tyler pushes someone into the boards with that delicious scowl? My discipline is definitely on thin ice.

Before the game ends, I say goodbye to my friends and head to the family suite to gather the kids. I thank Lauren again for helping out. “Please,” she says. “ Thank you for giving me a little extra time with the grandkids.”

“Did you see that last block by your dad?” I ask Luna and Parker once the Sea Dogs W flashes on the scoreboard and their winning anthem blasts through the arena.

Parker snorts. “No. I’m not that into hockey.”

My eyes pop. “Blasphemy!”

His brow furrows. “What does that mean?”

Ooh, a chance for me to teach him. “It means you don’t agree with a particular religious belief.”

“But…this isn’t religion,” he says as we make our way out of the suite.

“Hockey is definitely a religion in your home,” I say.

He seems to give that some thought. “Yeah, maybe it is.”

Luna skips a few steps. “Hey, Sabrina, did you know that a Sea Dog is a nickname for a sea lion, which is more like a seal? Not like a dog at all,” she says, then plucks at the logo of a fierce-looking Husky-type dog on her Sea Dogs hoodie.

“Do you think we should let the team know?” I stage whisper.

Luna snickers. “Yes, but I don’t know if seals would be a good team logo.”

Parker scoffs. “Sounds like blasphemy to me,” he says as we reach the elevator that’ll take us to the authorized personnel area.

I spin toward him. “Yes, that is indeed blasphemy.”

A few minutes later, my stomach is flipping more than I want it to when Tyler emerges from the locker room and heads our way.

In his suit.

It should be illegal to look that good. The suit is forest green, the shirt is charcoal, the tie is absent. The top button is undone, and I can’t stop staring at that little patch of skin visible as the man strides toward us in all his towering glory, long legs eating up the concrete floor.

Stop staring. He’s your boss.

With more effort than it should take, I snap my gaze up from his throat—dear god, I’m staring at a man’s throat—but switching the view to his handsome face doesn’t help my cause. Because…that beard…those lips…his eyes.

And most of all, the way he smiles at his kids, warm and welcoming. “Hey, kiddos,” he says and holds out his arms.

Luna and Parker run, and as if they weigh nothing, he hoists them both up, one on each side. My throat tightens with unexpected emotion—a poignancy I didn’t anticipate as he says, “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, even though sometimes hockey’s boring,” Parker says.

Tyler’s jaw drops in mock shock. “What did you say?”

Luna laughs. “It’s blasphemy, right?”

I hang back, letting them have their family moment, but Tyler keeps walking, stopping when he reaches me. “Well, as long as you had fun reading books and playing board games, that’s what matters,” he says to them.

And yup, emotions swim up my chest, higher. His kids are so lucky to have not just his support but his love. It’s pure and real. It’s not tied to attainment. It’s simply there…in the air, in his hugs, in his voice. It’s constant—a rudder.

He sets them down, cocks his head, and says, “Does anyone want Mabel’s cookies? I hear the Best Ice Cream Shop in the City is selling them now.”

“Yes!” Parker says.

Luna waves a hand. “I want them.”

“She’s a friend! They’re the best,” I say since I’ve been following my baker friend’s pop-up shops since she started selling her baked goods recently.

“Yeah, I hear she has great chocolate chip cookies,” he says. “They’re…scandalous.”

“Let’s go,” I say, but then as we’re walking to the players’ lot, a new worry digs into my chest. Does he just want to go with his kids? Sure, I brought them to the game, but it’s Tyler’s time with them now. I should let them have it. Even though the thought of not going twists my chest.

After they pile into the backseat of his car, he comes around to open the passenger door for me. “Tyler, you can drop me off at home if you want to have dessert just with the kids.”

He scoffs. “Are they one of your guilty pleasures?”

You are . “Yes.”

“Then let’s be scandalous.”

I slide into the passenger seat, and we head off to get dessert after the game.

The next few days go well enough.

I volunteer at the animal rescue, helping with animal intake, and sending thank-yous to donors.

I shop for food again, wandering aisles filled with people buying groceries for the week.

It’s mundane, but there’s a quiet, grounding rhythm to it.

I join Trevyn on the occasional dog walk, and he tells me Tyler sent him hockey tickets, and he’ll be taking a date to the upcoming game.

I’ll need to thank Tyler again for that, and for making my friend happy.

I pick the kids up from school—with my cardboard sign on the dash, thank you, Luna—though Elle takes them on the one day she works in the city. It happens to coincide with one of my skating lessons, so it suits me perfectly.

She keeps the kids overnight, but then she has to drop them off unexpectedly early the next morning, an hour before school. Tyler’s at the gym, so I answer the door. The kids rocket past me, and I turn to their mother. “Hi, Elle. How are you?”

Elle’s an attractive woman with an intelligent air and long dark hair cinched neatly. I’m a hot mess in my pajama bottoms and a T-shirt—no skating lessons this morning. I adjust my untidy ponytail and start to tuck in my shirt. Then stop and let it hang out. Who tucks shirts into pajamas?

Elle’s polished and poised, but she’s also warm. “I’m well, thanks. And I hear great things about you.”

I blink. I wasn’t expecting that. But whether it came from Tyler or the kids, it has to be good. “The kids talk about you a lot. All good stuff,” I say with a smile. That’s the best approach when meeting the mom, right? It has to be.

“Well, that makes my day,” she says, then adjusts her bag. “Oh, and if Tyler hasn’t remembered Parker’s science fair forms yet, give him a nudge for me. He’s got his strengths, but paperwork isn’t one of them.”

Her tone is light, affectionate. There’s no tension there, no resentment—just the familiarity of co-parenting with someone she still respects. That’s how I read it, at least.

“Got it,” I say, smiling back, then waving as she heads down the steps, her sneakers slapping against the pavement.

I close the door and watch her walk away through the window, trying to piece together the story.

She’s smart, she’s kind, and the kids adore her.

Sure, she’s busy, but what…capsized for Tyler and Elle?

He knows my deal—he was there the day my life went tits up.

But why is he a single dad? What didn’t work with Elle?

They clearly get along, so I doubt there was cheating.

It truly seems like a good divorce, but there must have been something?

The questions chase me as I move farther into the home, tell the kids to get ready for school, then head downstairs to get myself ready.

As I’m pulling on jeans and a sweater, the thoughts swirl again. What does Tyler want now? Is he looking for love, for marriage, for…that kind of life?