I find her in the break room, sitting at a small table with Lucy and Vivian. She’s got a salad in front of her, and she’s laughing at something Vivian said, and the sound hits me like a body check I didn’t see coming.
She looks good. Really good. Her hair is pulled back in some complicated bun thing, and she’s wearing a black dress that hugs her curves just right. Professional, put-together, completely out of my league.
And I’m about to walk in there and ask her out in front of her boss.
This is either brave or stupid, and I’m not sure which.
Though with hockey players, there might not be much of a difference.
I knock on the doorframe, and three pairs of eyes turn toward me. Clare’s go wide, surprise flickering across her features before she schools her expression back to neutral.
“Mitchell,” Vivian says with that smile that suggests she knows exactly why I’m here. “Looking for someone?”
“Actually, yeah.” My voice comes out rougher than intended, and I clear my throat. “Clare, could I talk to you for a minute?”
She glances at Lucy, who’s trying very hard not to grin, then back at me. “Sure. Just let me finish—”
“Actually,” I say, stepping fully into the room, “you don’t need to get up.”
Clare’s eyebrows rise, and Lucy makes a noise that might be a suppressed laugh. Vivian just leans back in her chair like she’s settling in for a show.
My palms are sweating like I’m sixteen again. This is everything I’ve been too chicken to reach for, wrapped up in one question I can’t afford to mess up.
“I want to ask you to dinner tomorrow night,” I say, the words coming out fast before I can lose my nerve. “I mean, if you’re free. If you want to.”
The silence stretches for about three seconds, which feels like three hours. Clare stares at me, and I can practically see thewheels turning in her head, calculating risks and professional implications and all the careful boundaries we’ve been dancing around.
“We’ll give you two a minute,” Lucy says, standing so fast her chair nearly tips over. “Come on, Vivian. I need to show you that... thing. In my office.”
“What thing?” Vivian asks, clearly enjoying herself.
“Thething. The very important thing that requires immediate attention.”
“Oh. Right,” Vivian agrees.
They disappear, leaving us alone in the break room with her half-eaten salad and my hammering heart.
Clare’s still looking at me like she’s trying to solve a complex equation. “Mitchell—”
“I know,” I say quickly. “I know this is complicated. I know we work together, and I know I screwed up before, and I know you have every reason to tell me to go to hell.”
“I wasn’t going to tell you to go to hell.”
“No?”
Something softens in her expression. “No. I was going to say yes.”
The word hits me like scoring the winning goal in overtime. Relief and triumph and terror all rolled into one perfect, terrifying moment.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She stands, smoothing down her dress, and I catch that hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Tomorrow night sounds good.”
“Good. Great. Perfect.” I’m probably grinning like an idiot, but I don’t care. “Does seven work for you?”
“Seven works.”
I should leave. Should say something smooth and confident and walk out before I can ruin this. Instead, I just stand there, looking at her, trying to memorize this moment where everything changed.