Chapter 22
September 25th
Today’s Schedule: Online live chat with Real.Life.Reese members, 2 PM
JP back from training camp, 5 PM
I almost don’t recognize my apartment.
It hasn’t been this neat since the day I moved in. The last time it was tidy, it had nothing in it.
Until now.
I glance around, thinking of how proud JP will be of me when he sees it. Everything is put away. There are no more piles of laundry in the living room. Magazines have been recycled or stored neatly in a basket next to the sofa. Dishes are in the dishwasher or in the cupboards.
I even have fresh flowers in the kitchen and living room.
Fresh. Flowers.
It is a whole new me, ha-ha.
I spent nearly all weekend organizing with Holly, and she made me throw a ton of crap out. Holly created files for my papers, and we went to IKEA and bought all kinds of organization stuff to try and suppress my tendency to clutter.
Including a shoe rack.
I’m so lucky to have a best friend who will not only help me no matter what I ask, but who lives to put things in order. I know Jordan would have helped me, but she would have been annoying about it in that big-sister way. I can practically hear her in my head: “Reese, how can you live like this, in this mess?” and “Can you not put stuff away? Just put it back when you are done with it, and then you aren’t buried in your own crap. It’s not hard.”
But not Holly. She got right down to business and helped me straighten up without judgment.
Now JP won’t fall and break a wrist before his first preseason game tomorrow night.
My brain drifts back to JP, as it seems to do every five seconds. I was in Austin all day on Monday, this time wrecking my body by holding yoga poses for inhuman amounts of time, but I was able to text JP on breaks. Of course, he had his own things to do on Monday. He and Matt are skating daily, and he’s weight training and doing Pilates. The season is here, and JP is officially in season mode.
I got back late on Monday night, but I still went to JP’s and crashed in his bed. I smile, remembering how he insisted on giving me a full body massage. It was heaven. JP knows all about massage techniques, things he’s picked up from being an athlete and having his body worked on, and his masterful hands massaged me from head to toe. I melted into his bed and fell asleep, only to wake up hours later with JP sleeping next to me with his arm looped around my waist.
It felt right.
As did staying over every night this week.
Usually, I can’t sleep over at a guy’s house. In the past, it was to avoid emotional complications. Attachments. I always sleep better alone, anyway. I never wanted some guy draped over me when I slept, it annoyed me to no end.
But not anymore.
I haven’t slept well since JP’s been gone.
I’m restless. I wake up, and the first thing I do is roll over and look for him. I miss the spicy, assertive scent of his cologne, the way his skin feels warm against mine, and the brush of his lips against my cheek.
I’m lost to him.
And the scariest thing of all is I don’t care that I am.
Ding!
The doorbell rings, and excitement whips through me as I know it’s JP.
“Who is it?” I call out, teasing him as I check the peephole.
JP is dressed casually, this time in a pale-blue plaid shirt, sexily rolled up at the sleeves and showing off that fabulous Tiffany watch, and a great fitted pair of dark jeans. He has his black leather duffel bag slung over his shoulder, too, which I know is Tom Ford because I asked him what brand the chic bag was when he was packing.
He looks delicious.
“It’s housekeeping,” JP yells back with a huge smile on his face.
I unlock the door and shoot him a pointed look. “For your information, Jean-Pierre, I don’t need housekeeping.”
JP drops his bag in the entryway and slides his arms around my waist, drawing me into his chest. I breathe in the scent of his cologne and sigh happily, knowing he’s home.
His lips find mine, easing my mouth open with a slow, sensual kiss that ends with him sucking a bit on my lower lip and causing a shiver to race down my spine.
“Mmm,” I murmur.
“There’s more where that came from,” JP says, kissing me again. “If I can find a path to your bedroom.”
I laugh and shut the door, then I link my hand through his. “You are going to be impressed.”
I lead him into the kitchen, and JP stops in his tracks.
“Am I in the right apartment?” he teases.
“Yes, I cleaned it. I promised you I would.”
JP takes in my efforts as he moves into the living room, pulling me behind him.
“Did you hire a crew?”
I playfully smack him on the butt. “No!”
“Did you always have hardwood floors? I couldn’t see them before.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Funny, funny man.”
JP laughs and draws me into his arms again. “You did a wonderful job, my mermaid. I’m proud of you.”
“I also did something else while you were away,” I say, stepping back from him.
“Give up Oreos?”
“Let’s not go crazy.”
JP grins. “Okay, that’s the only idea I have. What did you do?”
“It’s my turn to surprise you,” I say, walking into my kitchen. I open the door to a bottom cabinet. “Stand at the counter and shut your eyes, and don’t you even think about peeking.”
“Okay, no peeking,” JP says, doing as he’s told.
I carefully retrieve my purchases and quietly place them on the countertop in front of JP.
“Can I look now?” JP asks.
“Almost,” I say, arranging things. “Okay. Open!”
JP’s eyes flutter open. Then a beautiful expression passes over his face, one of complete surprise and happiness.
“It’s a Turkish coffee pot!” JP says excitedly. “Reese, you got a cezve!”
I beam with joy as I watch him eagerly pick up the small hammered-copper pot, examining it closely.
“Yes,” I say, nodding. “Or ibrik, as they are also called on Amazon.”
“This is so cool,” JP says, smiling.
“I knew you wanted one, so I thought I’d welcome you home from training camp with a nice cup of Turkish coffee. We can have our coffee adventure right here at home whenever we want.”
JP sets the pot down and moves around the counter to me, taking me back in his arms.
“Thank you,” JP says, tenderly stroking my face with affection, “for thinking of me and giving me the perfect welcome-home gift.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, resting my hands on his chest. “I’m so happy you like it.”
“I love it,” JP corrects, dropping a kiss on my lips.
Oh, how I adore this man. Making coffee at home seems like a true adventure in his company.
He glances down at the rest of the items I have purchased, which includes a can of coffee. He picks up the can and studies it. “Real Turkish coffee, too. You left nothing to chance.”
“If you are going to have an adventure, you must have an authentic one,” I say.
“I like that,” JP says, pausing to drop a kiss on my head. “The coffee is very important. It has to be ground fine, like icing sugar.”
“Icing sugar? What’s that?”
“You don’t know what icing sugar is?”
I laugh. “I think something is lost in the translation between Switzerland and America right now.”
JP laughs. “Hold on.”
He picks up his phone and types in something. Then he turns it to me and shows me a picture.
“Oh!” I say, the lightbulb going off, “You’re talking about powdered sugar or confectioner’s sugar.”
“Or icing sugar,” JP teases.
We both laugh.
“When I was watching the YouTube videos on how to make it, I learned the cups are important, too.”
JP picks up a tiny cup to examine it. “How so?”
“Did you know Turkish coffee is best served in these Turkish coffee cups because they have thin porcelain? It keeps your drink hotter longer, which is important because it is a drink that is meant to be savored.”
JP sets it back down. “I like the idea of savoring it. But only with you.”
He kisses me slowly and sweetly, and I melt into his chest.
I’m so happy he’s home.
“Come on, let’s make some,” JP says. “I want to see if we can do it.”
“Okay. Let me pull up the tutorial I watched and we’ll follow along.”
I retrieve my iPad and bring up the video, and JP and I work as a team in my kitchen, laughing and talking and going about the ritual of making this coffee together. We add water for each of us into the ibrik. JP adds two teaspoons of sugar, and I put in two generous teaspoons of coffee, as we both like it strong.
JP places the pot on the stove, and I adjust the heat to low. After a minute or two, JP begins stirring, and eventually, it begins to boil and foam appears on top.
“Ah, it’s doing it just like in the video!” I say excitedly. “Let me spoon that into our cups.”
JP takes the ibrik off the heat, and I eagerly scoop the foam off with my spoon, carefully putting some into each of our cups.
“Are you good?” JP asks.
“Yes, you can put the pot back on the heat,” I say.
“As you wish, my mermaid,” JP says, placing the ibrik back over the stovetop burner.
“Now, when it comes to a boil again, we want to pour it into the cups. But slowly. You don’t want to break the foam.”
“That would ruin the whole adventure,” JP quips.
When the coffee is ready, JP carefully pours it into our tiny cups.
“It smells amazing,” I say, inhaling the fragrant brew filling the air.
“It’s going to be good,” JP says.
He puts the empty ibrik back down, and I gather up the tiny cups and take them into the living room, placing them on the coffee table in front of the sofa. JP joins me and we each pick up a cup. I take a sip, and so does JP, and I can tell he’s as thrilled with the result as I am.
“That is ace,” JP declares.
“Turkish Coffee 101 is a success!” I say, giggling.
“Put your cup down for a second,” JP asks.
We both set our cups on the coffee table, and JP draws me into his arms.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, rubbing his hand along my back and sending shivers down my spine. “For creating the perfect evening back.”
I close my eyes as he kisses me.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re home,” I say softly.
“It was good to be at camp,” JP says, “but I like having someone to come home to.”
Swoon.
“So, how was the last day?” I ask.
“Good,” JP says, combing his fingers through my hair. “We had a scrimmage this afternoon and you can see how things have come together. They’ve paired me with Easton, and we’ve got some chemistry. It will take a while to get used to a new partner, but I think we’ll be good. He’s very fast and a great stick handler.”
“JP.”
“Yeah?”
“I have no idea what you are saying.”
JP laughs. “You need to go to more games.”
I cringe. “This is payback for all the times I went with Jordan and played on my phone because I was bored.”
“I like the fact that you don’t know anything about hockey.”
“You do?” I ask, surprised.
“Yeah. It’s nice to come home and be able to talk about my day like a normal person. Say I was a financial adviser, for example. I might tell you some things about my day, but I wouldn’t want you to break down and analyze portfolios with me. It’s nice to be with someone and talk about other things.”
“I’ll still pay attention to things this year,” I say solemnly.
“You can pay attention when I’m on the ice tomorrow night. If you want to go, that is. I talked to someone about getting you a credential and tickets if you want them.”
My heart goes into overdrive. “I’d love to go.”
“Hopefully, I’m dressing tomorrow,” JP explains, pausing to reach for his coffee and take another sip. “These games are usually a mix of veterans and prospects. I won’t play in three out of the six.”
“I can’t wait to see you play. I mean, now that I’m paying attention,” I say, picking up my own cup and drinking some of the delicious coffee we made.
“I’m glad you’ll be there.”
“Me, too.”
We’re quiet for a moment, and JP clears his throat.
“We fly out on Tuesday to Denver for the game on Wednesday. Then fly back after, home Thursday, fly to Miami on Friday for a game Saturday. You can see I’m about to be very busy.”
I wonder where JP is going with this.
An awful thought strikes my heart.
Is he trying to say he’s not going to have enough time to see me?
I quickly set my cup back down as nerves take over.
Is he going to re-affirm he’s glad we’re just hanging out?
My stomach sinks as these ideas whirl through my head.
“I hope you can live with that,” JP says, setting his cup on the coffee table. “I don’t have accountant hours. Not yet, anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m taking online classes to get a degree in accounting.”
“Really? I had no idea!”
JP furrows his brow. “How would you? I just told you. My next course starts October 9th.”
“First piano, now university student,” I say, staring at him in amazement. “You aren’t hiding a wife on me somewhere, are you?”
JP grins. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Why accounting?” I ask, intrigued by this new insight. “Don’t you want to go into an executive role with a team? Coach? TV analyst?” I ask, thinking of careers that former professional athletes sometimes pursue.
“I love numbers,” JP explains. “I’ve always been good with them. Accounting is orderly. I like that. When something is out of order, I like investigating to figure out the problem. Not to mention I like using Excel. Weird, but true. I also enjoy budgeting and forecasting. It’s a game, seeing how close you can predict what will happen in the next fiscal year. Analyzing data is cool to me, and this is what I want to do when I’m done with hockey.
“Once I’m done playing defense, I’ll be ready for a more normal lifestyle,” JP continues. “Going to work and coming home. No travel. Using my brain in a different way and finding new challenges. I don’t want to be the athlete that retires and has no direction. I want to be grounded. I think preparing for a business career will give me that.”
Once again, JP has completely surprised me. When he leaves the ice, he’ll be ready to leave it behind and look forward to a new adventure in life, like being an accountant or financial analyst and contributing to something completely new.
“I know it’s boring,” JP says, misinterpreting my silence, “but it’s who I am.”
“I don’t think it’s boring at all,” I say, affectionately stroking the back of his neck with my hand. “I’m so amazed at all the things going on in that brilliant brain of yours. That’s exciting to me. You have so many sides to you.”
“You make me sound like a pentagon or something.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do,” JP says, his eyes shining affectionately at me, “but we lost track of the point I was trying to make. Before you were awed by my mathematical genius.”
I grin. “I’m sorry. Your point was?”
“I’m going to be gone a lot. You have your modeling assignments and barre classes to teach. And now CiCi as a client?” JP adds, cocking an eyebrow at me. “You’d better keep her happy or she’ll have Peter trade me out of annoyance.”
I stifle a laugh. Oh, if The Swiss One only knew how much CiCi wants him to be my boyfriend. After our session this week, she had me stay for lunch and kept telling me The Swiss One deserved the best because he is a good man, and she hoped JP would find the happiness he’s ready to give. She said if I am that woman, I’m lucky to have him.
“My next training session with her is tomorrow when you have practice,” I say. “I have stretching sessions with her twice a week.”
“We’re going to have crazy schedules,” JP says, reaching for my hand and holding it to his chest. “It won’t be easy, but we will find a way to spend time together. I promise you that.”
We.
My heart lifts. JP is telling me I’m important. I’m the one he wants to make time for, and it’s a priority for him for us to be together.
“I’m glad,” I say, leaning in to kiss him.
As I feel his warm mouth move against mine, I realize once again how lost to him I am. I have shared so much with him already, and I will continue to do so as his heart grows closer to mine.
Maybe Lydia is right.
This is the beginning of our love story.
I simply hope we’ll continue to write it.