Page 39 of Cross Checked
I followed his stare, and my chest tightened in that familiar, private way. For a second, I thought about brushing it off. I thought about joking that I was secretly a bad art major old or preparing for a very competitive playground comeback.
Instead, I set the knife down, wiped my hands on a towel, and pulled the never out of my pocket.
“Yeah,” I said.
Cade watched me from the kitchen, careful now. “Theres a meaning to it?”
I rolled my moth marble between my fingers, watching the moth flash in the light. “I collect them.”
“Marbles?”
“Nevers.”
His brow creased slightly, not confused in a dismissive way. More like he understood instinctively that whatever I had just said mattered and he was trying to be careful with it.
I swallowed. “After my mom died, I started making this list of all the things she’d never get to do with me. Never see me graduate. Never help me pick a dress for important stuff. Never meet whoever I marry, if I ever get that delusional. Never yell at me for ruining dinner because I tried to freestyle a recipe from TikTok. Just… nevers.”
Cade didn’t speak.
Somehow, that helped.
“I know it sounds depressing,” I said quickly, because the urge to soften the truth was almost impossible to fight. “It kind of is. But it’s not only that. My mom loved weird little beautiful things. Moths. Old buttons. Pressed flowers. Tiny stuff nobody else cared about. So, I started collecting things for the nevers. Little reminders. Like proof that they matter, I guess. Proof that she mattered enough to leave empty spaces behind.”
The words came out quieter than I meant them to.
Maybe too honest. Maybe not enough.
I looked down at the marble in my hand. “This one is my favorite.”
Cade’s face changed, not dramatically. He wasn’t the kind of man who turned emotions into theater. But something moved through his eyes, something softer and more dangerous than sympathy because it looked too much like understanding.
“That doesn’t sound depressing,” he said.
My throat tightened. “No?”
“No.” His voice lowered. “It sounds like love.”
The kitchen went too quiet. I had no idea what to do with a man like him when he said things like that.
So, obviously, I ruined it. “Careful, Cross Check,” I said, slipping the marble back into the tote bag. “If you say emotionally intelligent things in my apartment, I’ll have to report you to the hockey player union.”
His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed warm. “I’ll deny everything.”
“Good. Very on brand.”
We finished the potatoes, packed them with foil, and I turned to wash my hands. Cade stepped closer to reach the towel hanging beside me, and for half a second we moved wrong in the tiny space. My hip bumped the counter. His hand caught the edge near mine. His body angled close enough that I had to tip my head back to look at him.
Neither of us moved.
Water dripped from my fingers into the sink. His gaze dropped to my mouth again, slower this time, less accidental, and the air in my kitchen tightened until even breathing felt like admitting something. He smelled like coffee and clean soap and warm sugar, and some reckless, ruined part of me wondered what it would feel like if he leaned down.
Cade’s voice came lower when he finally spoke. “You have glaze on your thumb.”
I blinked. “What?”
His eyes flicked down. “Cronut casualty.”
I looked at my hand and found a streak of sugar glaze near my thumb. Before I could grab the towel, Cade reached slowly, giving me enough time to pull away if I wanted to.
