Shea

Brenna holds a bouquet of baby's breath and lavender. The bow tying them together is made of sparkly burlap. A single sunflower sits in the middle of the bouquet. She's bent over the glass display of treats, trying to decide between lavender macarons or salted caramel macarons. I hope she chooses salted caramel. I'm not a fan of them.

Lavender? I'll devour those fuckers.

We've been to this bakery three times since arriving. While we scope out venues for our wedding, Brenna and I are staying with KJ and Melody. Their apartment is in the middle of Montréal. When they picked us up from the airport, they took us to this bakery-flower-shop-building for lunch. Everything is to die for.

Especially the goddamn macarons.

Leaning against the counter, I watch as Brenna taps her bottom lip with her pointer finger. By the way her jaw is moving, I can tell she's gnawing on her tongue. It's something she does when she's trying to decide.

As she's deciding, I survey the area. The conjoined shops are open-concept with a rustic-modern vibe. There isn't a speck of dust anywhere, and the displays are something from a catalogue. Whoever thought to combine flowers and cake is a genius. After flipping through the portfolio on display, I want Sebastian and Paisley King to design our wedding cake. It would be perfect, as we're having our wedding in Montréal in October of next year. There's just something different about autumn weddings. It'll clash with my hockey schedule (that's just what happens when you play for Vancouver), but we're amid figuring that out. Both Brenna and I want an autumn wedding.

"My daddy made those."

My head snaps back to Brenna and the display. A kid with long brown hair is standing beside her. Her grubby hand is resting on the glass display, leaving behind streaks. The apron she's wearing is a disaster, full of crusty icing and food colouring stains. She looks to be about seven years old.

Brenna glances down at the brown-haired girl, a smile already on her face. "Is your dad Sebastian King?"

"Uh-huh," the kid nods. "My name's Arielle. Daddy's in the back making more macarons. Mommy's helping him."

Brenna's gaze flicks to the display, then back to the kid. "Which macarons are the best?"

Arielle looks at the display. Her blue eyes inspect every macaron flavour before she leaves a fingerprint in front of the lavender ones.

Shit. There goes all my training.

"Lavender!" she smiles. "Mommy and I love them." She pauses, frowning. "But the pistachio ones are good, too."

From behind the counter, the cashier leans over and gives Arielle a look. Her auburn hair is tied up in a messy bun, and her bulging stomach looks like it's about to pop. "Arielle," she says. "Does your dad know where you are?"

Arielle rolls her eyes. "Yes, Aunty Cadence." She glances at Brenna and grabs her hand. Then she looks at Cadence again. "This lady wants lavender macarons."

Cadence turns to Brenna, offering an apologetic smile. "Sorry about her. She's a social butterfly just like her father."

Brenna loosens a polite chuckle. "It's okay. She's adorable."

"Everyone knows that," Arielle says.

Watching her roll her eyes makes me snort. This kid has some sass. Good luck to the parents.

Just then, a man pushes past me. He scoops Arielle up in a tight hug. "What did I tell you about running off, Arielle? You scared me."

"Daddy," Arielle drawls. "We're in the shop. Where else would I go?"

The man, who I'm assuming is Sebastian King, taps his daughter's nose. "Tell me next time you want to socialize."

While their conversation continues, I join Brenna at her side. The cashier hands Brenna her box of macarons and she pays.

"I wasn't socializing. I was helping a customer. You told me I could."

Sebastian sighs. "Tell me, though, okay? Tell me where you will be." He sets his daughter down and gives her a small push. "Go join Mom in the kitchen. She wants help to fill the macarons. Then you need to help her de-thorn some roses."

He doesn't have to tell her twice. The kid bounds off, disappearing behind the doors. After she's gone, Sebastian turns to us. "So sorry about her. She's—"

"A social butterfly like her father?" I supply.

The cashier, Cadence, covers a snort with her hand.

Sebastian's mouth quirks to one side. "I see you've met Cadence already." He glances between Brenna and I. "Let me guess. You're Paisley and I's one o'clock appointment?"

"Shea Smith," I nod. I hold my hand out and he shakes it.

"I know," he grins. "Sebastian King. It's too bad you don't play for Montréal. Otherwise, I may like you a little more."

I snort. Sebastian's comment doesn't bother me. I find it funny. So many people say that to me, depending on what team they're a fan of. Besides, his gaze holds a lot of respect. Hockey comes with a lot of love-hate relationships. "At least you have Jones."

He doesn't hide his impressed grin. "That is true."

It is. KJ was explosive during his first season, wracking up the points and winning the Calder Memorial Trophy. Montréal came close to winning the Stanley Cup because of him. He's still making a difference on the team.

God, I miss having KJ on my team.

"Rumour is Vancouver is looking at him," Sebastian says.

I rub my jaw. That rumour has been circulating for a while, and while it's tempting to want to believe it, I know I can't. "Money's a major factor. Don't know if we can afford Jones."

Sebastian pushes away from the counter. There's a grin that is similar to mine on his face. "Let me grab Paisley." He gestures to where the flower shop and bakery meet. On one side of the hallway is the bathroom. On the other side, there are two more doors. "Please, get comfortable in the office. It's the second door on your right."

We part ways with Sebastian, heading down the hallway. Between the doors is an extravagant display of cake and flowers.

Brenna and I both stop at the display, admiring it. The cake is complex. It's five-tiered and

"Do you think it's real?" I ask.

Brenna shakes her head. "It's difficult to tell, but I don't think the space is refrigerated. It must be a sculpture or something. Otherwise, that wouldn't be very sanitary. However, sculpture or not, it's beautiful."

Brenna continues to stare at it, her blue-violet eyes full of wonder. I cock my head to the side, rubbing my jaw as I look at her. We haven't discussed a lot of themes for wedding cakes. We wanted a professional opinion. As far as I know, there are different cakes. Structurally, that makes a difference. Brenna and I want a spiced apple chiffon cake with an icing that's dairy free. No way in hell am I subjecting myself to lactose-intolerance and risking not being able to fuck my wife post-wedding.

Plus, I feel like KJ would somehow discover the situation and tease me about it. That dude doesn't need more ammo. It's been two months since I proposed to Brenna, and a month since I had the vasectomy. Within that time frame, he's been in his prime. I've been facing a constant swath of memes and teasing texts. I'm wondering what will happen later, when we meet up again with KJ and Melody after the game. Brenna and Melody are attending the game together, so I'm talking more as a group.

I hold back a sigh, running a hand through my hair. Playing against KJ is fun, but I miss being his teammate. I wish those rumours Sebastian mentioned were true. And if Brenna didn't have her life set in Vancouver, I'd request a trade to Montréal. Even though we had this discussion before we moved in with each other, I want to do as much as I can to prevent Brenna from being uprooted.

Speaking of the game... KJ is always my check and we both participate in banter. I can only imagine what kind of shit he'll throw at me tonight, both during the game and after when we go out for a late dinner with Melody and Brenna.

Brenna taps me on the shoulder. I blink several times, turning to her. "Yeah?"

She reaches up and taps my temple. "Where's your head?"

I stuff my hands into my pockets, feeling sheepish about missing playing hockey with KJ. Focusing on the wedding cake should be my chief priority, but I can't help myself. This is a feeling I get every time KJ and I play against each other. If Montréal is visiting Vancouver or my team is in Montréal... either way, I want those rumours to be true.

"Hockey," I reply. There's no point in lying. Brenna knows I work damn hard to put our relationship before hockey. She also understands that sometimes it's difficult. I have a relationship with hockey and it's also my job. There is an inevitable commitment that needs to be applied. The lines will sometimes blur. "Just thinking about tonight's game. And what Sebastian said."

Her expression softens. "About the rumours?"

I press my lips together, returning my attention to the display. Discussing my old team makes me emotional. When Jayden, KJ, and I played together, I got along with my line. Right now, I'm struggling to find chemistry with Mikael Keravinen, the man who we just acquired this past summer. He's a right-wing, very aggressive player. I don't like him. He reminds me too much of who I used to be. Being on a team where you have a line with different outlooks on life is tricky. Being a hockey player, you're supposed to separate work from personal issues.

Which is easier said than done.

I don't have a problem with Mikael sleeping with women in every city we visit. As long as they're giving consent, sex can be recreational. What I don't like are his stories at practice about the women he's fucked (his words, not mine). He objectifies women, making them seem like prizes instead of humans. It makes me irate. And the more vocal I am about my dislikes, the more he embellishes his sexual activities. I'm surprised I have any molars left. I grind my teeth so much.

"I miss playing with Jayden and KJ." I sigh. "That being said, Jayden doesn't even play hockey anymore. He's a fucking cartographer."

Brenna chuckles, squeezing my forearm. "He's an excellent cartographer. When we went hiking in the Kootenays, he was our saviour."

A crease forms between my eyebrows. "That's where he did his thesis, Brenna!"

She raises her eyebrows, poking me in the side. "Someone's grumpy." Pausing, she taps her lips. There's a devilish grin on her face. "Could it be because you're the one who got us lost?"

Removing my hands from my pockets, I pull Brenna into a hug, squeezing her. "Watch your mouth, Bren." Using my pointer finger, I tip her chin up. Her gaze is a constellation of emotions: lust, mortification, playfulness. I dip my head down, my lips brushing hers. The red of her lipstick is sinful, and it makes my grip tighten around her waist. "That mouth," I continue, my voice rough. "Is sinful."

Her cheeks flush, and she looks at my mouth. "Not here," she breathes. "We're in public, Shea."

I press a quick kiss to her lips before straightening my posture and turning back to the cake. "What style should we go for? With the flowers? The flowers will decide how we want the cake decorated." I gesture to the bouquet Brenna's holding. Although I'm not a farm boy, the lavender, baby's breath, and sunflowers look good with the burlap. "That's a nice theme."

Strands of her hair fall around her face, protecting it like a curtain. Although I can't see her face directly, I can tell she's smiling. The corner of her mouth is upturned. "It is. But we'll see what the florist says, okay? I want to see some of her past work in case there's something we like."

Nodding, we settle into a comfortable silence, staring at the cake. It's phenomenal, and I don't understand how people are patient enough to work with food like this. A mental block would hit me as soon as I started making the batter. Why? Because I'd probably get egg shells in it.

"I see you've found our display."

Brenna and I jump, turning around. Next to Sebastian stands a woman in her early thirties. Her hair is several shades lighter than Brenna's and it's tied up in a long, low ponytail. She's curvy in the chest, hips, and thighs, and the black pantsuit she's wearing has remnants of flour. Flour aside, she looks stunning. While there's something soft about her face, the slant of her ruby-red lips and the angle of her cheekbones make her intimidating.

The moment she smiles, though, any of that intimidation is gone.

She presses a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. "Oh my God. You're Brenna Harrison!" She turns to Sebastian, giving him a soft shove. "Why didn't you tell me? This is too much." She turns to Brenna. "My daughter loves you. She mentioned something when she came back into the kitchen, but I didn't put two and two together."

Sebastian grins down at her. "Paisley, this is Brenna Harrison and Shea Smith. They're here to consult us about their wedding cake. Like I told you, remember?" He looks at us, raising his eyebrows. "And floral arrangements?"

"Yes," Brenna nods.

Paisley rolls her eyes. "You told me we had a consultation today. And you failed to disclose for whom. That information was null."

Grinning, Sebastian gestures to the door. "Shall we?"

I nod, but Brenna hesitates.

"Is it real?" Brenna asks. She gestures to the display.

Sebastian's mouth quirks to the side. "What do you think?"

Paisley smacks his arm. "Don't tease. They're customers."

He raises a finger. "High-quality customers." He sends us an apologetic grin. "No offense."

I cross my arms, cocking an eyebrow. "High-quality customers asking for high-quality work by a high-quality bakery and floral shop. We watch Canada's Food Network. Don't play coy."

Sebastian mirrors my grin. "Touché, mon ami."

"Qu'est-ce que je peux dire?" I reply.

He chuckles. "Not too bad. You're speaking through the nose a little too much, but not bad for a West Coast boy."

Brenna glances between us. Then she sighs. "Paisley, perhaps we should have a conversation about the wedding cake. I feel like the testosterone levels are too high."

Paisley snorts, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Yes, the cake is real. We make one every day for the display during busy periods. Otherwise, we have the display open and the portfolio of our previous works for people to browse here instead of in the main room."

Brenna's eyes widen. "Holy shit. That's amazing. But how do you manage that? It must be difficult with so many orders and running a business."

"Cakes last for a while if they're kept in the fridge. The display is refrigerated." Sebastian looks at the display. "Otherwise, we keep it out until the icing gets moldy."

"Sebastian!" Paisley exclaims. "We do not! The maximum a cake will stay there are four days or until the flowers don't look perfect." She gives us a reassuring smile. "I promise."

I rub the back of my neck. "While that is disgusting, I don't disagree. If it looks good, why not keep it out until it goes bad?"

Sebastian raises his eyebrows at Paisley, running a hand through his dark hair. "See? Most of my ideas are good."

Brenna and Paisley stare at each other.

Paisley's lips curve into a smile. "It appears we've come across a case of personality doppelgängers. Let's get this meeting over with before they become too attached."

"Agreed," Brenna laughs.

*  *  *

"That was the first cake we made together," Sebastian says. His accent is thick and rough, and when he clears his throat, I notice a slight flush across his cheeks.

I bite back a smirk. Glad to know I'm not the only one who can't control himself around his significant other. Well... there is an element of control, but natural reactions? Yeah, forget that. I can't stop myself from blushing or stop my heart from beating faster.

Sebastian clears his throat after exchanging a lovey-dovey glance with his wife. "How many tiers were you thinking?"

Brenna and I exchange a glance. Our wedding started out small: both our families (including aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc.), good friends from present and past, and a few teammates from both of our teams. Then we started expanding the list. When word got out, the list exploded. We're sitting at about five hundred people now, and it results from being well known. There are people I want at my wedding from the Olympics. Some of which played in other categories. Then we have extended family members. Coaching staff I've become friends with. Brenna's team from university.

After polishing off a bottle of wine, we threw our hands up and said, "Fuck it." Neither of us is attracted to the small things. For us, it's go big or go home.

We're aiming for five hundred people and have our wedding in the fall in Montréal next year.

"Five?" I ask.

Brenna nods.

I turn back to Sebastian and Paisley. "Five."

Sebastian slides his square-framed glasses on, picks up a pencil, and begins sketching something in his sketchbook. While he's doing this, I grab a lavender macaron and pop the whole thing into my mouth. Flavour explodes across my tongue. There's a sweet floral taste. It's delicate, reminding me of a spring day in April.

Chewing, I try to savour the flavour. Savouring them will stop my sweet tooth from activating... and my stomach from hurting later. While the cookie itself may be dairy free, the icing is not. Good thing I took a lactase enzyme tablet earlier. It should benefit me and help me digest the lactose.

After polishing that one off, I grab another. Paisley and Brenna continue to discuss flower style, and I tune them out. I'm too busy looking at the picture of the cake we fell in love with. Peonies, white roses, pale pink roses. White icing with intricate patterns. It's delicate, but it flourishes because of the waterfall of flowers and greenery.

What these two do is fucking amazing.

"How long are you in Montréal for?" Paisley asks.

"Until tomorrow," Brenna replies. "Late into the evening. Shea's travelling with the team and I'll be heading back to Vancouver." She pauses. "However, I could reschedule my flight and have another meeting. Melody would always let me crash at her place."

I rub my jaw. That's a good idea. Plus, I could fly back to Montréal after our game in Boston. We have two days off before returning home. Bren and I could have a mini-vacation. Nothing is better than Montréal in the fall.

Paisley gives Brenna a dazzling smile. "We could fit both of you in tomorrow, then finalize everything the day after. If it's not a bother."

Brenna shakes her head. "No, it's not a bother at all. I'd love to stick around and discuss flowers as opposed to chatting over Zoom or email."

"It's settled then," Paisley says. "Sebastian and I will draw up a draft and we'll see you again tomorrow."

Sebastian grunts in agreement. He's still hunched over his sketchpad, drawing. There's a crease of concentration between his brows.

Paisley chuckles. "Don't bother. He's in the zone. It'll be hours before I can get him back out working."

I chuckle. Maybe they had a point about the testosterone. When I work out or if I'm on the ice, I'm in the zone.

"Well," Brenna says. She holds out her hand. Paisley takes it and gives it a shake. "We're looking forward to working with you. And please, don't feel obligated to help up first. Our wedding isn't until next year."

Paisley chuckles. "Customers say that every time. We need to have it planned and ready to go. It's better if we know a year in advance, as opposed to a few months before. Just with supplies and what is in season."

Brenna nods. "Huh. I didn't think about it that way."

Stepping around the desk, Paisley and Brenna exit the room, leaving Sebastian and I alone. They're off in chit-chat land.

Resting my elbow on the arm rest, I rub my jaw. From everything we discussed, this industry seems crazy busy. How do they find time for their kid, let alone each other?

I say the next question before I can stop myself.

"How do you do it?" I blurt.

Sebastian looks up from his sketchpad. "Do what?"

"Be a father?" I run a hand through my hair. My shoulders sag. "No, that's not my question. Being a father... I think I can do that. Finding the balance. How do you do that?"

Sebastian sets his pencil and sketchbook down, then removes his glasses. "It's difficult. Being organized and productive is a key factor, though. But, Shea?"

I raise my eyebrows.

"Don't overthink it. Because that's what you're doing. Life isn't easy for everyone. Paisley and I went through some rough patches before things smoothed out. My advice to you is to read the moment. When your gut tells you something feels right, then that's true."

My gaze flickers to the light-coloured oak of the desk. I run my finger against the grain, tracing the pattern. "You make it sound easy."

He snorts. "It's never easy. I'm thirty-five, and things still feel fucked up in some areas, despite living the life I've always dreamt of." He picks up the sketchbooks and pencil, using the eraser to remove a pencil mark from the page. "We're human. Although we can break, we're resilient. Whenever something happens, we adapt to the situation and deal with it as best we can. That's all you can do. And when you have someone who loves you by your side, then it's easier. Don't let her go. Don't fuck up your chances."

When I think back to high school, I know in my mind. I'll never fuck up my relationship with Brenna. Nor will I fuck up our shot at achieving the life we deserve.

"Thanks, Sebastian," I say.

He flashes me a toothy grin. "That's me. A pastry chef by day and an undercover psychologist by night."

"Dude," I laugh. "It's two o'clock in the afternoon."

His expression is dead serious when he says, "I never said I was smart."

Tossing my head back, I laugh. He's spewing some serious bullshit. From my perception, he seems like a man who has all his shit together. Owning a shop, having a wife and a kid... these stem from smart decisions.

Sighing, Sebastian sets his tools down. "We should join the ladies." He nods at the table. "Dont forget your macarons. If there's any left."

I glance at the box. It's empty and my fingers are sticker. There's a floral taste lingering on my tongue.

Fucking Brenna. She had to choose lavender.

Sebastian and I exit the office, and re-enter the hallway. We take a left, sauntering back into the bakery portion.

My gaze falls on Brenna. She's holding their daughter, Arielle, while Paisley takes a picture. The light in the kid's eyes makes my heart feel mushy. My knees are weak.

And it stirs up a new feeling in my gut.

Shit.

Sebastian continues to walk, joining Paisley and the others. I stop, freezing in place. I have to lean against the wall.

Because the smile on Brenna's face while she holds Arielle... it fucking kills me in the best way.

I rub my jaw.

In the future, the vasectomy will be reversed. It's inevitable.

Truth be told, I was doomed since the night Brenna agreed to help me battle against Connor.