“It was perfect,” she corrected, rising on her tiptoes to press her lips to mine. “And for the record, I’m falling in love with you, too, even if your declaration needs significant peer review for clarity.”
Relief and happiness surged through me as I lifted her onto the counter, stepping between her legs and kissing her deeply. Her arms wound around my neck, legs wrapping around my waist as she pulled me closer.
“Say it again,” I murmured against her lips.
“I’m falling in love with you,” she whispered, sending a thrill through my entire body. “Even though you alphabetize your protein powders and schedule your laundry on a rotating color-coded system.”
I laughed against her mouth. “I’m falling in love with you even though you name your bacteria cultures and talk about enzyme kinetics during sex.”
“I did that once!” she protested, pulling back slightly, her cheeks flushed.
“Once was memorable enough,” I teased, tucking her hair behind her ear.
My phone rang from the bedroom, interrupting our moment. I groaned, pressing my forehead against hers.
“Ignore it,” Kate suggested, her fingers playing with the hair at the nape of my neck.
“Might be the team.” I sighed, reluctantly pulling away.
I jogged to the bedroom and grabbed my phone, my good mood faltering when I saw the caller ID: Dad.
I hesitated for a moment before answering, steeling myself for whatever critical assessment was about to come my way.
“Hello, Dad,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.
“Austin.” My father’s clipped tone held no warmth. “I’ve been reading about your return to the lineup. Tomorrow night’s game?”
Of course, he’d start with hockey. Not ‘How’s your recovery?’ or ‘How are you feeling?’ Just straight to performance expectations.
“That’s right,” I confirmed. “Doctor cleared me last week. Coach wants me on the second pairing to start, ease back into things.”
“Second pairing?” His disapproval was immediate. “You should be pushing for first. Show them you’re not damaged goods.”
I gritted my teeth, an automatic response developed over decades of these conversations. “It’s the smart play, Dad. Better to build back gradually than risk re-injury.”
Kate appeared in the doorway, concern evident in her expression. I tried to give her a reassuring smile, but from the way her eyes narrowed, I knew I’d failed.
“Your mother tells me you’re seeing someone,” my father continued, changing topics with the abruptness I’d come to expect. “A scientist?”
I raised my eyebrows at Kate, who shrugged innocently. Clearly my mother had been more successful getting information from her than I realized.
“Yes,” I said, suddenly protective of what Kate and I had built. “Her name is Kate. She’s a microbiologist.”
“Hm.” The single syllable carried a lifetime of judgment. “I’d like to meet her. Dinner tonight before your game tomorrow.”
It wasn’t a request.
“Dad, I don’t think?—”
“Seven o’clock. The Capital Grille downtown. I’ve already made reservations.”
Before I could protest further, he added, “I want to see for myself if she’s going to be a distraction during your comeback.”
I closed my eyes, counting to five silently. “Kate isn’t a distraction.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Seven o’clock.”
The line went dead before I could respond. I lowered the phone, fighting the familiar frustration that always followed conversations with my father.
