The Summer Proposal by Vi Keeland by Vi Keeland

“Are you truly this easygoing?”

He laughed. “I don’t know about easygoing, but I’m up for an adventure with you.”

“An adventure, huh?” God, why can’t I see things this simply? I bit down on my bottom lip.

Max leaned forward and used his thumb to gently rub it loose. “Don’t overthink it. Just say yes.”

I took a deep breath. “I know you proposed spending the summer together. But could we just see how it goes? It’s less intimidating if it’s…I don’t know…less, I guess.”

“Whatever you want.”

I nodded nervously. “Okay. Screw it. Let’s hit my list.”

“Nice.” He hooked a hand around my neck and pulled me to meet his lips for a kiss. “This might be the first time since I was a kid that I’ve been glad hockey season ended.”

The waiter interrupted to take our order, but yet again we hadn’t even looked at the menu. So we asked for a minute and quickly decided to order two dishes and share them. After we’d ordered, I shifted the conversation to something that wouldn’t freak me out as much as what I’d just agreed to...again.

“So tell me about your photo shoot today? Was it for a sports magazine or something?”

“Underwear ad.” Max shook his head. “I called my agent on the way back and told him that was my last one of those.”

“Why?”

“They wanted me to wear a Velcro strap around my junk. Not just the frank, the beans too.”

I chuckled. “What?”

“Apparently it’s a thing underwear models do to make the package more pronounced.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t doing it.”

I covered my smile with my hand. “Oh my God. What did they say when you refused?”

He shrugged. “They took the pictures. My junk’s just fine on its own.”

“When will the ads run? I’m curious to see them now.”

“They said they would send proofs to my agent in a few days. He negotiated approval rights. But if you’d like to take a look at my junk sooner…”

I laughed. “I was asking for business purposes. If you look good, maybe we can have you hold up some flowers in tightie-whities. I’d need to check out the merchandise before deciding, of course.”

Max winked. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

I drank the rest of my wine. “So how long does a hockey player usually play professionally? I know football players must retire pretty early because of how big a deal everyone makes out of Tom Brady still playing in his forties.”

“The average retirement age in the NHL is something like twenty-nine.”

“Twenty-nine? But that’s your age.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“That’s so young.”

“It’s not by choice. Hockey is rough on the body. Between injuries and joints and ligaments not holding up, a lot of guys are forced out earlier than they’d like. But there’ve been a few dozen guys who have played into their forties. Gordie Howe played until he was fifty-two, but that’s definitely not the norm.”

“Then what? If the average player is done by thirty, what does he do after?”

“Some guys stay in the business—coaching, broadcasting, fitness, that type of thing. Some go into sales. If they have a well-known name, it opens a lot of doors for the company they represent. A lot actually buy businesses. They know the odds of an early retirement are pretty high, so they stash away money and buy into a business once they hang up their skates. I know guys who own gyms, car dealerships, restaurants, a little bit of everything.”

“What do you think you’ll do?”

“I’d like to stay in the sport in some way. But I’d also like to open a small business. My brother Austin was a really talented woodworker, like my dad, who was a carpenter. Do you remember Lincoln Logs?”

“I think so. They came in a bucket and you could build little log cabins, right?”

“Yeah, that’s them. My brother loved them as a kid. He was obsessed with building. When he was maybe ten, he and my dad made big Lincoln Logs together. Life-sized ones my brothers and I used to build forts and stuff in the yard. Austin wanted to make a business out of it. The two years before he went to college, he perfected a set of large-scale pieces and illustrated a book of fifty different structures you could build with just one set of interconnecting wood logs—everything from a swing set to a fort to a tiny two-story house. Most kids love to build, so these were a way to teach them how to build their own stuff. When they’re done, they also have something to play with. And once they grow bored with whatever they build, they can reconfigure it into something else.”

“That’s a really cool idea.”

Max nodded. “Austin was smart. He was a dual major in architecture and architectural engineering. I have his prototypes and illustrations. He never got to see his ideas become more, so I’m hoping maybe I can finish things for him.”

“Wow. I think it’s pretty amazing that you want to honor his memory by bringing his ideas to life.”

The waiter came with our meals. We’d ordered the pan-seared sea bass and the risotto Milanese with asparagus and shrimp. I salivated as the plates were arranged on the table. Max split up the dishes and passed one over to me.