Page 23 of Never Pucking Ending

I can’t help but laugh again. This is why I love humanity. Especially bookish people. “This show is the reason hockey has gained more fans. A ton of my friends go to the boy aquarium every chance they get.”

Jesse gapes at me. “What the fuck is a boy aquarium?”

The grin on my face grows mischievously. “I can show you.” And I do just that. We spend the next ten minutes scrolling through video after video of people filming themselves at hockey games where the players are doing stretches and warmups on the ice. By the time he’s got the picture, his cheeks are pink.

His innocence is far too cute.

“Heated Rivalry has done for hockey what Taylor Swift has done for football, and I love that,” I tell him, setting my phone back down onto the couch. “If you were smart, you’d use the hype to invest your money in something cool. Like a cottage you can rent out via Airbnb or a smoothie shop.”

I’m not sure he knows how much he’d rake in when he chuckles at the idea. It’s his loss. Hell, maybe I can change my plans and do a smoothie shop on Main Street instead of a bookstore café.

“I can see your head spinning,” he says, “and I have a feeling I know where it’s at. But focus on the bookstore. It’s a perfect idea, Bells. You’re far more passionate about literature than you are fruit drinks.”

A very true fact. I can sell the hell out of a book series better than I can a banana and strawberry concoction. “Fine, I’ll keep my original plans. But I still think you should—”

“No,” he cuts me off dryly. “Not happening.”

I frown. “Rude.”

He lets out a soft breath that sounds more like a bemused laugh than exasperation. Then his mood shifts, as if something suddenly comes to his mind. He pats my leg, then squeezes it once.

“I forgot,” he says, sliding away from me. “I have something for you.”

My brows pinch. “For me?”

He holds up a finger and then escapes into a different room. No more than a minute later, he comes back with a piece of paper in his hand and something behind his back.

I giggle. “What are you doing?” I ask, tentatively reaching out to accept the paper he’s holding. It’s a gift certificate to a spa I’ve never heard of before.

Then he holds out the other gift. My favorite bottle of bubbly Moscato wine. Sweet, unlike the dry, bitter kind he likes. We’ve never been able to share a bottle because of our differing tastes, not that either of us minded. Sure, I can polish off wine a little easier than I should, but it’s not often. And his discipline when it comes to indulgence is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

I accept the wine and look from the certificate to him. “What is this for?”

“You sold Belle’s Place and are starting something new here,” he says casually. “That deserves to be celebrated.”

He…

I press my lips together and swallow.

Hot tears build behind my eyes before I can stop them, and I have to fight like hell to hold them back. “You didn’t have to do that,” I whisper, sounding hoarse.

Jesse sits down, tilting my chin up. I try to hide the tears, but it’s too late. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I—”

“No! No. I’m not upset. I love this. I love you for doing this for me.” I smile genuinely, even though I probably look ridiculous as the first tear slides down my cheek. He captures it with the pad of his thumb. “It’s sweet and unexpected.”

His thumb lingers on my face, the warmth of his touch soaking into my skin. “I know you didn’t want to make a big deal of it, but none of the things you’re doing are small. Your mom is going to pick you up tomorrow and take you both to the spa. It’s an all-exclusive day, and it’s already paid for the two of you.”

He invited my mom? We’d had plans, but I thought we’d just see my space and grab lunch again. Gossip. The usual stuff.

I set the bottle of wine down onto the coffee table and get onto my knees, throwing my arms around Jesse’s neck. “You really are the best. Do you know that?”

He’s never been one for compliments, so I’m not surprised when he doesn’t accept it. “You deserve this,” is all he says.

I pull back, face still damp with happy tears, before leaning in to peck his cheek. But because I have terrible depth perception, and my eyes are blurry, I misjudge the targeted spot. My lips graze the corner of his, and I suck in a breath the second I realize what I’d done.

Jesse’s body goes rigid against me, but neither one of us dares to move. I let out the smallest breath that sounds a little too much like a whimper for my liking, which makes his exhale a pained noise of his own.

It’s silent between us. So silent.