So why do your parents hate hockey so much?” I ask as the bartender slides fresh strawberry Margaritas at us and plops two umbrellas in each drink, as per Eli’s request for extra umbrellas.

The question is blunt but he doesn’t flinch. Our already easy chemistry has gotten even easier as the night has progressed. Eli was starving and the canned soup and sourdough bread I keep in my apartment wasn’t going to cut it. So we threw on some clothes and I took him to Bert’s, an old-fashioned diner renowned for its killer milkshakes. He was stunned and fascinated by the amount of food I consumed. A large roast beef sandwich with extra mayo and extra sharp cheddar, curly fries and a chocolate cake shake that they make by dumping a slab of chocolate cake in the blender with chocolate ice cream and chocolate syrup. He ate the exact same meal plus a piece of apple pie for dessert, which he said was to get his fruits in for the day. It made me laugh.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him his eating habits would have to change as soon as he got on the team. They have a dietician and strict rules, plus the food they serve on road trips is steamed everything—chicken, fish, broccoli, you name it, they steam it. Jude and the guys cheat every now and then but not a lot. Probably because they’re older than Eli and they need all the help they can get to keep in shape.

After we ate we decided to walk off the food and spent hours roaming the streets of San Fran. He’s excited about moving here, I can see it in his eyes. We ended up sneaking into a tiny dive of a bar near Haight and Ashbury, which is where we are now, drinking some strawberry Margaritas, extra umbrellas.

He ponders my question for a minute, twirling an umbrella between his fingers, and then he levels his green eyes on me. “My uncle, my mom’s only brother, is paralyzed because of a sports injury.”

I almost gasp. “Oh gosh. That’s horrible.”

“It was.” He nods and drops the umbrella on the bar in front of us and then stares into his frozen drink. “It happened in a high school football game. He was this all-star quarterback with a scholarship to Penn State and everything. My mom’s whole family was devastated emotionally and financially from it.”

“I can imagine,” I whisper and sip my drink to take the edge off my feelings. I know all too well about being blindsided by a loved one’s health, or lack thereof.

“He’s great now,” Eli tells me, his mossy green eyes finding mine with an earnest look. “He’s an architect. He’s married and has two kids. He lets them play sports, and he’s really proud of Levi and me. But my mom still holds a grudge against sports.”

“I get it,” I reply, and he looks a little taken aback by that. I place my hand over his on the bar, curling my fingers around his palm. “I’m not saying she shouldn’t work through it. She should. I mean alienating your children because of your fears isn’t the answer. But I get how devastating it can be to watch someone you love lose everything and then watch your children do something you think could leave them the same way. And it almost did with you.”

His eyes cloud over and he swallows hard. The bobbing of his Adam’s apple makes my eyes fall to the scar, the result of what I’m talking about. He seems like he’s pulling away from me emotionally, and I worry I’ve overstepped, so I try to explain further, tightening my grip on his hand. “Eli, I didn’t even know you. But to hear about your accident from Levi and see the video was gut-wrenching. She’s your mom. That must have been flashback central for her.”

He smiles at that, but it’s pained, like it’s more of a grimace. I worry again that I’m overstepping, but he finally turns his hand over to hold mine. “It was scary. It didn’t just look like I was dying, I thought I was dying. But it didn’t make me think playing was a mistake. It made me think wasting time playing at the college level was the mistake. I almost lost my chance to play professionally because I was trying to please my parents.”

“That’s why you went to college?” I ask, stunned. I had no idea.

“Yeah. I’ve always been the kid who, despite pushing their buttons like it’s my job, tries to give them what they want,” he explains, his eyes on our joined hands. “They wanted all three of us to get a college education. Todd, my oldest brother, did, but he became an entertainment lawyer simply so he could party in L.A. Not what they had in mind. Levi ditched school for the draft, which, as you know, had them disown him for a couple of years. I thought if I went to college before playing professionally it wouldn’t give them a reason to disown me.”

“But you changed your mind?”

He nods. “That accident changed my mind. Yeah. And they didn’t disown me, but they are still pushing me to go back to school. They think I’m not playing well enough to justify my decision, and they’re right.” He looks frustrated.

I’m about to ask him if he thinks the accident is the reason he’s not playing so well, but I stop myself. This is getting way too deep—for both of us, I think. We’re supposed to be having fun, and there’s no room in the plan for deep revelations and sharing. I sip my drink. “I guess big moments like that can cause you to rethink things.”

His face hardens for just the slightest second, and I instantly regret saying it. But then he smiles jovially. “Yeah, but like I told you when I met you, it’s a hell of a conversation starter.”

I force myself to smile back, but honestly, I think he’s full of shit. I don’t want to call him on it right now, but knowing me I’ll do it at some point, if he doesn’t figure it out on his own.

He leans in further and kisses my cheek softly. It’s more of a brush really. It’s a habit of his, and I definitely could get used to it. “So tell me about your childhood with the notorious Jude Braddock,” he urges.

I take another sip of my drink and smile. “We grew up in Toronto in an area called the Beaches. We had a super tiny house, but because Jude was the only boy he got his own room. He started playing hockey before I was even born, so my childhood weekends were spent in rinks watching him play. He’ll tell you our parents spoiled my sisters and me, but the fact is Jude was always priority one.”

Elijah stares at me for a minute with an expression I can’t decipher. “It’s weird. You actually don’t sound bitter when you say that.”

“I’m not,” I reply easily with a shrug. “Jude was a hockey prodigy. We needed to cultivate that. I didn’t really have anything I loved the way he loved hockey. Don’t get me wrong—my parents still made sure we girls got to do things like gymnastics and figure skating, and Winnie even played girls’ hockey. But none of us loved anything the way Jude loved hockey. Sadie finally settled into art classes, which she was great at. I got really good at the piano, and Winnie took dance. But Jude, as much as I hate to admit it—and I will never admit it to him—is something special.”

He smiles this soft, gentle smile that looks absurdly intimate on his rugged face and tells me in a raspy whisper. “I think you’re something special too.”

I take another long sip of my drink, hoping it will cool the blush creeping over my face. He gulps back half his drink and then says, “Are you close to your parents?”

“Absolutely,” I say and think of my dad. I haven’t told Eli about his illness. I think he knows because Jude came out last year and told the media at a charity event. And Levi has known since Dad was diagnosed, so he could have told him. But he’s not mentioning it or forcing me to talk about it, which I appreciate. I spend enough time thinking about it that I hate giving it more energy by talking about it. It sucks the joy out of a lot of aspects of my life, and I’m not ready to let it suck the joy out of this. “I’m a total daddy’s girl and proud of it. My parents are amazing. Been madly in love since they were eighteen. They never had a ton of money or even a lot of luck, but they were always madly in love, and they love us madly too.”

The look on his face is pure longing. I realize this is nothing like his relationship with his parents, and I feel how much that sucks deep in my gut. “So they moved here from Toronto?”

I nod. “My dad is actually an American citizen. He was born and raised in Detroit and moved to Toronto to be with my mom after he met her in Niagara Falls.”

He smiles. “That sounds like a cute little love story.”

“It is,” I admit. “And I want that too.”

Except for the tragic ending, I add to myself. He smiles at me. It’s sure but not cocky. And then he leans in and gives me another one of those brush kisses on my cheek, stopping near the shell of my ear. “I’d say we’re off to a good start.”

“Last call,” the bartender interrupts, which is perfect timing because I don’t know how to react to that last statement. He’s right. We’re off to a great start. But how can it go anywhere?

Eli asks for the check and takes his jacket and drapes it across my shoulders. I try to protest but he won’t hear it. “It’s the middle of the night and it’s probably damp and chilly. Humor me.”

So I do, but not because I can’t handle the cold. Because his jacket smells like him—earthy and crisp—and being engulfed in that makes me warm everywhere.

I pull out my wallet to pay the check, or at least my part, but just like at the diner Eli pays it before I can. I want to protest but I know it’s no use. I just make a mental note to pay him back another way—like naked. And hopefully tonight.

He guides me to the door, his hand firmly spread across my lower back. I can feel its heat, even through the thick fabric of his coat. Outside his hand falls from my back and tangles with mine, our fingers interlacing. I’m shocked at how empty the streets are and how quiet the world seems to be. It’s almost two in the morning by the time we turn onto my street, and the craziest part of it all is I’m not tired. I’m wide awake and I’m blissful. There is no other word for it.

Before I can put my key in the lock to my building entrance he turns me to face him and pushes my back against the ancient door. He takes me in a searing kiss, and when he’s done he says in his dark, velvety voice, “This is going to work, sweet Dixie.”

“This is going to be fun,” I correct him. “But the clock is ticking.”

“Dixie Braddock, always about the rules and the deadlines.” He smiles and kisses me again, quicker this time but just as deep. “So we should probably get inside and take full advantage of our limited time.”

“You’re pretty smart for a guy who takes pucks to the head,” I joke, and he laughs.

I turn back to the door and slip the key in the lock.

Six and a half hours later we’re catapulted back into reality by the shrill sound of both our phones ringing at once. We just finished showering—together—and are both wrapped in towels. I was rinsing off my toothbrush and putting it back in the holder, next to the new one I gave him, when he started kissing my neck, and then we were on our way to getting dirty again, but the ringing stopped everything instantly.

The first thing I think of is my dad. But then why would Elijah’s phone be ringing too? In such a hurry to make love again last night, we left our phones in our clothes, which were by the front door, so we both rush out of the bathroom. Eli finds his phone first, grabs it and his underwear, and lets his towel drop, stalking naked across my apartment to answer it in the relative quiet of the bathroom. I find mine on the floor next to my sweater and see Ann’s name flash across the screen.

“Dixie speaking,” I say. My voice is a garbled mess, so I clear my throat and try again. “Dixie speaking.”

“Dix, honey, I am so sorry to wake you so early,” Ann confesses, and she sounds fully and completely awake. “We have a minor work crisis, and I need you on it. I know it’s Sunday, but it really can’t wait.”

“Okay. Yeah. No problem,” I reply swiftly, running a hand through my damp hair. It’s the first time they’ve called me on my day off, and it’s a good thing. Usually Ann handles weekend crises on her own, but she’s calling me in, and I know it’s because she wants me to show off my skills to the powers that be when her job is available. “What’s going on?”

I grab Eli’s shirt off the floor and fumble to pull it on. It’s chilly in here because I’m still wet from the shower, and his hooded Henley is gigantic on me and covers all my important bits. I tug the long sleeves up, bunching them at my elbows, and walk toward the open bathroom door. My towel falls off and I leave it on the living room floor.

Elijah is in his boxer briefs standing in the middle of my tiny bathroom. His posture is rigid, shoulders up near his ears and hunched slightly forward. He looks up and our eyes meet, and I know seconds before Ann even says it. And then she does.

“They’ve called up Elijah Casco.”