“Like I said,” I tell her as I reach my hand back across the table, palm up. She doesn’t hesitate and puts her hand back in mine where it belongs. “That shit doesn’t happen often. It’s mostly younger kids that want the autographs and pictures.”

“That was kind of cute,” she says as her eyes crinkle with amusement.

“It doesn’t matter though,” I tell her. “I’ve only got one woman on my mind and that’s you.”

“Well, that’s good,” she says with a sweet smile. “Because I’ve only got one man on my mind and that’s you.”

“Which is a good transition then for me to ask you for a favor,” I tell her as I lean across the table. She sits up a little straighter, her look welcoming and eager to give me something.

She wants to give me something.

She wants to make me happy and she’s excited to do so.

“I’ve got three things to ask you for, actually,” I tell her.

“Okay,” she says, eyes still shining. “Lay it on me.”

“First, Thanksgiving is right around the corner and it’s not something I traditionally celebrate because, hello . . . Canadian here. But we have a few days off and I was thinking of maybe having a dinner over at my house. Would you be willing to help me?”

“Of course,” she says excitedly. “That would be awesome. But I think my dad’s going to try to get in for a visit. Is that cool?”

“Totally,” I say, and then as an afterthought, “Maybe I should invite my parents for a visit?”

“Oh my God,” she says with a laugh. “Are we meeting each other’s parents?”

“I guess we are,” I tell her with a grin.

“Okay,” she says with a nod of her head. “That’s one thing. What else do you want?”

“You know I’m flying back in Tuesday afternoon from our game in Pittsburgh, and Sports World magazine wants to do my photo shoot that evening. Do you think you could maybe give up painting one night, get a sitter and come with me? I hate that shit and would really like you to be there . . . you know . . . to not make me feel so fucking stupid.”

Jules’ eyes warm and her lower lip purses out in sympathy. “Of course I will. I’ll hold your hand and everything.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief because while I really don’t need Jules there, it would make it at least bearable and I’d get some extra time with her that week.

“And the third?” she prompts.

“This coming weekend we have back-to-back games in Boston,” I tell her hesitantly. “I’d really like you to come with me.”

“You want me to come to Boston with you?” she asks, her brows furrowed. “With the kids?”

I give a shake to my head. “No. I want you to myself. I’ve already asked Kate and she said she’d be glad to have them for the weekend.”

“I can’t,” Jules blurts out without giving my request any thought. This I understand, as she’s operating from an overly protective place as well as a place of insecurity in her role as a mom and what is appropriate.

I have to let her work this out, but I’m going to make her work it out. “Why not? What’s holding you back?”

“I just can’t leave the kids for two days,” she says firmly.

“Technically it will be three days,” I tell her, but before I can let that deter her further, I say, “And who says you can’t? Where does it say that mothers can’t have time away from their kids?”

“Well,” she stammers, “it’s just . . . they’re just getting settled in with me—”

“Five and half months,” I tell her bluntly. “They’re settled.”

“I don’t want to keep pawning the kids off on Kate,” she murmurs, and I sense we’re getting closer to the heart of the issue.

“Kate has watched the kids twice for you,” I point out. “So you and I could go out. And if I’m not mistaken, you’ve taken Ben one night for a slumber party so she and Zack could have some alone time.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No ‘buts,’ Jules,” I say firmly, and I squeeze her hand a little harder. I lean across the table and lower my voice so she knows I’m serious. “You are an incredibly hard-working woman and you are devoted to those kids. You kill yourself to give them what they need. But . . . I need you too and we don’t have a lot of time together as it is. I’m asking you . . . please . . . come away with me for a few days and give me some time, okay?”

Jules’ face immediately crumbles before me. Her brow furrows and her lips flatten for a moment in disgust.

“I am so fucking sorry,” she says in a small voice. “I wasn’t thinking. Fuck . . . of course we need some time to ourselves, and God . . . I’m so sorry. You’re always the one that takes the backseat to everything.”

“It’s okay,” I assure her quickly as I see the sheen of tears forming in her eyes.

“No,” she says in a ragged breath as she jerks her hand away from mine, only to fling herself out of her side of the booth and fling herself onto my side. Her arms fly around my neck and she pushes her face against mine, cheek-to-cheek, as she whispers, “God, Max . . . I’m so sorry. So selfish. Yes, I will go with you. If you still want me to.”

I press my palm to the back of her head, hold her there for a minute before I gently push her back. Her eyes are swimming with apology.

“I’m so damn sorry—” she starts to say but I put my mouth right on hers and make better use of it.

I kiss her hard and fiercely, leaving her breathless and without words when I pull away. I use it as an opportunity to set her straight. “I don’t take a backseat to everything, Jules. You’re the one that does that. This trip will be as much for you as it is for me, okay?”

She nods at me, smiling, her eyes still looking like they might be on the verge of filling with tears. I want to tell her I love her and that I will do whatever I can to make this work with us, but it’s not the time. That time has to be special.

So I tell her the next best thing. “I adore you, Jules. And I know I’ll adore you even more tomorrow, and even more the day after that.”

And the tears fall.