Caged (Gold Hockey #11) - Elise Faber Page 0,67

in this case, the Midwest and the West Coast.

She voice-texted back, asking for five minutes, able to hear that her tone was off, her words shaky, all because of a tiny, rattling box held in her hands, but beyond glad that the artificial intelligence wouldn’t pick up on her anxiety when it transcribed her words.

Technology was her friend.

For the moment, she had five minutes.

Sucking in a breath, staring at the box, debating opening it, she stroked the shiny ribbon for a few moments (which only further served to remind her of her fuck up with Ethan) before curiosity got the better of her and she slipped the bow off then tugged the envelope free. The flap was open a moment later, her fingers pulling out the note inside. As she processed the words, her lips curved up into a smile, and she felt a giggle bubble up, mix with relief in her throat.

Sweetheart,

Wouldn’t want your body to get low on all that refined sugar.

-E

Then she ripped off the paper, her head shaking in disbelief at the contents of the rectangular-shaped box.

Hot Tamales.

Probably the single type of candy she loved that she hadn’t actually bought with him on their trip to the grocery store and only because she had already ordered a giant stash, one that filled up nearly an entire shelf in her pantry. A stash she’d bemoaned to Fanny about forgetting to hit up before they’d gone on the road trip—stupid feelings making her forget the important things in life.

Refined sugar.

Cinnamon.

Ethan.

But the appearance of this yumminess meant that Ethan had mind-reading abilities, either that or he’d snooped in her cabinets.

Or . . . Fanny had spilled the contents of her bemoaning on the plane.

There was a knock on the door before she’d delved too deeply into that, into what else Ethan might have learned over the last few days. She swiveled in her chair.

Mandy, one of the team’s trainers, stood there, warmth in her eyes and another box in her hands.

“This is for you,” she said, crossing the room and setting it on the desk next to Dani. A squeeze of her shoulder, no further words, and Mandy was gone.

More turquoise paper.

Another silver bow.

No note on the outside, but she discovered that was because the note was inside the box, folded and placed in a small silver and turquoise-speckled bowl that had been painted with, “Dani’s Candy.”

She unfolded it with shaking fingers, read it, and was . . . touched and hopeful and charmed . . .

And still just a bit scared.

Okay, a whole lot scared.

But also, a whole lot relieved. Because Ethan wasn’t avoiding her—or she supposed he was avoiding her, but he didn’t hate her. Rather, he was being sweet and sending her notes, and . . . God, she loved him.

Her fingers trailed over the slanted letters of the note, the crisp handwriting.

For your sugar stash.

-E

She ran a finger around the smooth, glazed edge of the bowl, and then, very carefully, she opened the Hot Tamales and poured in the inch-long red cylinders.

As she suspected, the box filled it perfectly to the top.

“How?” she whispered. “Why?”

But there was no one around to answer her quiet questions, so she spent the next ten minutes on the phone with Jess, going through their checks, making sure all would run as smooth as possible while the game was running.

And during this time, she was interrupted by no less than three more players.

First Max, who handed her a brand-new pair of ridiculously pricey Bluetooth headphones she’d mentioned wanting to Ethan in passing once. Then Coop, who came bearing her favorite coffee. And finally, Blue, a giant smile on his face as he deposited a box that turned out to hold the softest, cuddliest hoodie ever.

Yes, she put it on.

Yes, she drank the coffee while it was hot.

Yes, she synced the headphones with her laptop.

And . . . yes, she fought off the urge to storm the locker room, to grab Ethan and kiss him senseless. Barely.

Knock-knock.

She glanced up, jerking her hand away from the bowl and the smooth edge she kept fondling to see Brit standing in the open doorway in her usual pregame workout gear, worn during her warmup of running through the arena. She also wore a knowing smile and held yet another small package in her hand.

Christ, at this rate, Dani wouldn’t have any room in her luggage.

“What now?” she found herself snapping. Then immediately slapping her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she mumbled, the word muffled.