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note: I know I should be working on my other series, and I'm about halfway done the next chapter but I just got really inspired for this fic and I couldn't shake the idea. Hope y'all enjoy. Happy reading!

Simon Benoit x Reader

wc: 10.5k

warnings: not beta'd, one night stand (not Benny), cryptic pregnancy, baby (she is named), mentions of food, alcohol, fluff, angst, reader drinks coffee, team and WAGs find out at the same time, some Portuguese phrases (not important to overall story), a few French words (might be wrong, I tried my best but I only did French in school til grade 8), some time jumps but they're fairly obvious, not beta'd

check out my main masterlist here!

St. Lawrence Market is already busy and bustling by the time you get there.

Strings of little white lights, unlit, crisscrossed above the rows of kiosks, sun bright enough that they’ve been rendered unnecessary until later. The air smells like coffee, fresh bread, and strawberries—the kind that have just been picked.

You love it. Arranging to come almost every weekend is a small, relaxing routine. Wandering between stalls, buying too many fresh-baked goodies, and pretending you were the kind of person who could cook elaborate meals on zero energy with an array of fresh herbs and seasonal produce.

Today, you have a canvas tote slung over your shoulder and an iced coffee in your other hand as you browse the wares, pausing at a stand selling peaches.

Roberto, the 70-year-old Portuguese man who runs the stand, is standing there with his usual kind smile. Over the time you’ve been coming to the market, you’ve become a regular at his stall.

“Olá! Tudo bem?”

“Good morning Roberto,” you answer with a smile, sighing a little. “I’m good, Roberto. Glad it’s the weekend. How are you?”

He shakes his head at your words, lines on his face deepening as he frowns. “Querida, you work too hard.”

Before either of you can get another word in, a little girl no older than 5 runs up to him, tugging on his sleeve. “Avozinho, quem é este? Posso comer outro pêssego?”

He picks the girl up, propping her on his hip, and the way he speaks is the same soft voice he uses to speak with you. “Querida, ela é minha amiga. só mais uma, não quero que estragues o almoço, a avó fez o teu favorito.” He turns to speak to you again, a smile back on his face. “Querida, you need to enjoy life more. You’re young. Have fun. And the peaches are really good this week.”

“You say that every week, Roberto,” you say with a smile.

“They’re good every week, Querida. What can I say?”

You laugh, picking up one of the peaches and turning it in your hand. Behind you, someone else steps up to the stall. You just barely see him in your peripheral vision. He’s tall enough that he casts a shadow across the table in the midday September sun.

“Are they actually good?” He asks, accent blanketing his words.

His voice is warm and curious, and it's enough to have you glancing in his direction—and tilting your head up farther than expected.

The guy standing beside you is huge. Not just tall, but broad shoulders and long legs, definitely athletic in that unmistakable way that suggests professional sports or, at the very least, a lifelong dedication to a strict training regimen. His simple black t-shirt clings to his defined upper body, arm tattoos showcased, and definitely catches your attention. And the baseball cap, pulled low in a poorly veiled attempt to shield his eyes from the sun or conceal his identity, doesn’t stop you from recognizing him.

How could you not? He’s become a more consistent presence on your screen during hockey season.

Simon Benoit.

Defenceman.

You look back at the peaches as soon as you remember to, trying to avoid him noticing your moment of recognition. Roberto catches your eye as your gaze shifts, and you swear he smirks a little.

When you speak, your voice is steadier and calmer than you feel. “They are. But, you have to smell them first?”

“Smell them?”

You pick one up and hold it in his direction. “If it smells sweet, it’ll taste sweet.”

Simon studies the peach. It's almost like he can’t decide if it’s a prank or not. Then he leans down and sniffs it.

“…okay,” he says thoughtfully. “That does smell good.”

“Congrats,” you say. “You’ve successfully passed Peach Selection 101.”

He laughs softly, the sound a little more raspy than you expect.

“Is there a final exam?”

“You eat it.”

Roberto chuckles while Simon picks out two peaches and pays.

Grabbing three for yourself, you pay and step away from the stall, assuming that’ll be the end of your interaction. But as you move toward the bakery tent a few stalls down, you hear footsteps trying to catch up behind you.

“Hey.”

You turn.

Simon is standing there holding one of the peaches out to you.

“I feel like I should thank you properly for the lesson,” he says.

“You already paid for the peach.”

“Still,” he says. “Seems rude not to say thanks.”

You study him for a moment. Up close, he looks different from how he does on TV—less polished, more like a regular guy. A little awkward in a way that feels surprisingly genuine.

“You’re Simon Benoit,” you say.

He grimaces as you full name him. “Yeah.”

“I figured.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No,” you say. “Just means if I give you bad fruit advice and it ruins your day, someone might blame me.”

That earns another laugh. Simon rubs the back of his neck, awkward, most definitely endearing, and absolutely debating something.

“So,” he says, finally. “Do you come here a lot, or were you just wandering around educating strangers on the finer points of produce shopping?”

“Mostly the second one.”

“Good to know.”

There’s a brief pause.

Slightly awkward.

You expect him to say goodbye. Instead, he glances toward the coffee stand a few stalls down.

“Can I buy you a coffee?” He asks.

You lift the iced beverage in your hand. “Already have one.”

He’s quick to bounce back. “Okay. Next one?”

You raise an eyebrow.

He seems to realize how that sounded.

“I mean—not immediately. Like…sometime.”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips at his awkward correction. “Are you asking me out?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. Then, after a half-second: “I think so.”

That makes you laugh outright. For someone who plays in front of almost 21,000 people on any given night, several nights a week, Simon looks remarkably nervous.

“What if I say no?” You ask.

“Then I’ll pretend this conversation never happened and go home with my emotional-support peaches.”

You consider him for a moment.

He’s handsome, sure, anyone with working eyeballs could see that. And his tattoos are definitely a selling point. But, more than that, there’s something earnest about him. And you like earnest.

“Okay,” you say.

He blinks. “Okay…?”

“Coffee,” you clarify. “Next time.”

His face lights up in an almost boyish way.

“Really?”

“Really.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “Can I get your number?”

You type in the digits, giving yourself a cute contact, and hand the phone back. Simon glances down at the screen, then back up at you.

“I’m glad I asked about the peaches,” he says.

“Me too,” you reply, adjusting the strap of your bag. “Well, Simon Benoit, enjoy your fruit.”

Then you turn and continue down in the direction you were initially headed.

Simon stands there for a second, watching you walk away, still holding the peach. Then he grins to himself.

Best damn decision he’d made all day.

It doesn’t even take two days before the Maple Leafs locker room notices the change.

The room is loud in the comfortable, familiar way it always is after practice. Gear clattering as it's thrown into stalls, music playing a little too loudly from someone’s speaker, and half the team gathered around the whiteboard, arguing over something that has nothing to do with anything.

Simon is sitting in his stall, unlacing his skates, when someone drops heavily into the seat beside him.

“Alright,” Matthew says, tossing a stray roll of tape into his cubby. “What’s going on with you?”

Simon doesn’t even look up. “Whadd’ya mean?”

“You’ve been smiling at your phone, two days straight, like a guy who just discovered the best thing ever.”

Simon snorts at his teammate's words.

“I always knew you were dramatic Kniesy.”

Matthew leans over, crowding him, trying to peek at the screen Simon had just turned off.

“Is it a girl?”

“No.”

Matthew waits, just staring.

Simon sighs. “…yes.”

Matthew slaps his knee. “I knew it!”

That gets the attention of another teammate a few stalls away.

“Benny’s got a girl?” Someone calls.

“Shut up,” Simon mutters.

Matthew’s grin just widens. “What’s her name?”

Simon hesitates for a moment before answering.

Matthew tilts his head. “Last name?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“You’re going on a date with someone and you don’t know her last name?”

Simon shrugs. “We met at St. Lawrence.”

Matthew stares at him. “…the farmers market?”

“Yeah.”

“You picked up a chick over veggies?”

Simon is quick to correct him. “It was peaches.”

From his stall a little ways down, OEL leans over. “Did you just say peaches?”

Matthew points at Simon dramatically. “He got produce-rizzed.”

“That’s not a thing,” Simon says.

Matthew ignores him. Staring as he presses for more information. “So? What happened?”

Simon leans back in his stall.

“She helped me pick out good peaches.”

“That’s the whole story?”

“She was funny.”

Matthew smirks. “Dude. Oh, god. You’re so gone.”

“She just seemed…normal.”

The teasing directed at Simon eased, just a little.

“That’s rare.”

Simon nods. “Exactly.”

He pulls his phone out again, glancing at the last text you sent him.

Princess Peach 🍑: don’t be late. I’m judging you already

Matthew notices immediately. “Oh yeah,” he says, standing up. “He’s completely gone.”

You arrive at the restaurant ten minutes early. Double-checking the text Simon had sent you earlier that night with the name and address—only sending it after your insistence on at least one nice date before he picks you up.

It’s a fancy place. Somewhere you’d definitely not ever take yourself. It’s the kind of place you’d only go on someone else’s dime—and you suspect he’d picked it, on the recommendation of a teammate, and in an effort to impress you. It’s modern, not in a cold way, bathed in warm mood lighting and accented by a stunning view of Toronto.

You’re grabbing a sparkling water at the bar, halfway through reading the menu, when someone approaches you.

“Hi,” Simon says.

You look up. And blink. He had clearly tried. Dark jeans. A white button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up a little, hair still slightly damp like he’d been in a rush and didn’t have enough time to fully style it.

“You clean up well,” you say.

Simon laughs nervously. “Is that good?”

“It means you don’t look like you just came from the rink.”

“At least that’s something.”

The hostess escorts the two of you to your table, right in front of the window, and Simon pulls out your chair, helping you into your seat before sitting down across from you.

For just a moment, you both smile, that slightly awkward way people do when they’re excited but still figuring each other out.

“So,” you say. “How were the peaches?”

Simon leans back dramatically.

“Life changing.”

“Wow.”

“I ate one in the parking lot.”

“You couldn’t wait until you got home?”

“No.”

“That’s…something.”

The waiter comes by, listing off the specials. You listen carefully before agreeing on two appetizers, followed by drinks and mains.

Conversation flows surprisingly easily after that. Simon tells you about the constant travel during the season. You tell him about your job and how you’d once locked yourself in a library study room during college. He laughs so hard he nearly knocks over his water glass.

“So what made you talk to me at the market?” You ask eventually, curiosity getting the better of you.

Simon rubs the back of his neck. “I was trying to figure out if the peaches were good.”

“Sure.”

“And,” he admits, “you looked interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“You didn’t seem like someone who was gonna freak out about me being…me.”

You tilt your head. “You mean a giant hockey player buying fruit?”

Simon laughs. “Exactly.”

The food arrives, and you keep talking. About everything and nothing at all. Two hours pass without either of you noticing.

When you do finally step outside, the night air is cool and quiet. A tell that fall is in full swing. On the sidewalk, you and Simon stand side-by-side for a moment.

“So,” Simon says. “I had a really good time.”

“Me too.”

He hesitates slightly, the same way he had at the market before asking you out.

“Can I see you again?”

You pretend to think about it. “Hmmm.”

Simon waits patiently.

“…yes,” you say.

His shoulders relax instantly. “Good.”

There’s a small pause. Probably thirty seconds. Then you step closer, pressing a light kiss to his cheek.

Simon blinks in surprise.

“Goodnight, Benny,” you say.

Then you walk to your car.

Simon stands on the sidewalk for a second, stunned. Then he grins to himself. The boys are absolutely going to hear about this tomorrow.

What started as a simple coffee turned into a fancy dinner at Canoe the next week. Then another dinner. And another.

Simon is gone a lot for games and road trips, but when he is in town, he’s surprisingly normal—funny, thoughtful, the kind of guy who remembers all the little things. He brought you take-out after long, late work days. Sends you pictures from hotel rooms with messages like This place has terrible coffee. Miss you.

Simon doesn’t realize he’s nervous until he checks his phone for the fourth time in two minutes.

“You waiting on a trade call or something?” Matthew asks from the hallway outside the locker room.

He shoves his phone back into his pocket. “No.”

Matthew gives him a long look. “…you’re waiting for her, aren’t you?”

Simon sighs. “She’s meeting some of the guys’ girlfriends upstairs.”

Matthew’s grin is immediate. “Oh man.”

“What?”

“You’re finally introducing her to the WAG committee.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It’s absolutely a thing.”

Before Simon can argue his point any further, one of the equipment staff members pokes his head into the hallway.

“Benny, your girl’s here.”

Matthew claps him on the shoulder. “Good luck, buddy.”

Upstairs, in the hallway outside the boxes, you pause at the top of the stairs.

You’d only been inside one of those once. It was fancy. And definitely out of your price range. Walking closer to the suite number you were told, you pick away at non-existent lint on your top. You can hear the girls chatting from outside the door.

Pushing it open, you see exactly what you were expecting. A bright, modern space, overlooking the arena. Furnished, decorated and packed with a buffet and an array of drinks. And a group of women, standing around the island/bar-top in the suite.

The girls notice you right away.

One of them waves.

“You must be her!”

You walk closer, cautious. “Yes?”

“I’m Aryne,” the woman says warmly, standing to hug you like you’d known each other forever. “John’s wife.”

Another woman stands up, moving a little out of the group.

“I’m Ella. I’m dating Matthew.”

Within about thirty seconds of entering the suite, you were introduced to six other people and handed a drink you didn’t ask for but were thankful for anyway.

“You’re Benny’s mystery girl,” Ella says with a grin.

“Mystery?”

“Oh yeah,” Aryne says. “He’s been really weird all week.”

You laugh. “Weird how?”

Aryne leans forward dramatically. “Smiling.”

Laughter erupts in the suite at her words.

“That bad, huh?” You say.

“For him?” Ella says. “Extremely suspicious.”

You relax a little. They’re friendly. Easygoing. Way less intimidating than you were expecting. So much better than you’d been bracing yourself for.

“So, how did you two meet?” One of the girls asks.

You smile. “At the farmers market.”

There’s a collective pause.

“…Really?” Ella asks.

“Over peaches,” you add, nodding.

Aryne bursts out laughing.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” You ask.

Aryne wipes her eyes. “John told me, he heard Benny telling Matthew about that like it was a life-altering event.”

You lean back a little in your chair. “I did give excellent peach advice.”

“I believe it,” Ella says.

Moments later, the arena lights are dimming slightly as warmups start on the ice below. The ladies move towards the glass railing. You follow behind. The team skates out a minute later, helmets and jerseys flashing under the lights.

Simon comes to a stop near the blue line.

Aryne nudges you gently. “Watch this.”

No sooner than she finishes nudging you does Simon look up toward the box. His eyes immediately find yours. And his whole face lights up, something you know is uncharacteristic for him, especially when he’s “in the zone.”

“Oh yeah,” Ella says softly on your other side. “He likes you.”

Down on the ice, Simon lifts his hand and gives a small wave.

You don’t waste any time waving back to him.

Then Aryne leans toward you conspiratorially. “Don’t worry. We already approve of you.”

You laugh.

“Is there a test I’m supposed to pass?”

“Just keep him smiling like that,” Ella says.

You look down at the ice again. Simon keeps glancing up at you while warming up. It makes your chest feel warm.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I think I can manage that.”

It wasn’t long after your first official date that you and Simon made it official. And then you met the WAGs (getting along pretty quickly), which only bolstered in your mind how seriously he was taking your relationship. September changed to December really quick. Now the cold front was deep in the city, snow coating most visible surfaces. The usual Toronto winter.

Simon is halfway across the country on a road trip—last one before the holidays—when you wake up with a sharp cramp in your abdomen. You groan, rolling onto your side.

“Okay,” you mutter to yourself. “That’s…new.”

The cramps don’t stop. In fact, they actually get worse. By mid-afternoon, you were pacing in your apartment, clutching your abdomen, and then all of a sudden, something warm trickles down your legs. You freeze in place.

“…what the fuck?”

Your first thought is that something is really, really wrong.

Your second thought is to call your best friend, Olivia.

Olivia arrives less than fifteen minutes after you’d called her. She takes one look at you, doubled over on the edge of your couch, before making an executive decision.

“Yeah, nope,” she says immediately. “We’re going to the hospital.”

The hospital visit starts out like any other. Questions. Blood pressure. A nurse asking about your symptoms. Then another nurse comes in. Then a doctor. Then an ultrasound machine.

You’re lying on the bed, confused and uncomfortable, while the doctor frowns at the screen, pressing and moving the doppler against your abdomen.

“Ok,” the doctor says carefully, “did you know that you’re pregnant?”

You blink at the doctor, trying and failing to comprehend what she’s telling you. “I’m sorry…what?”

“You’re pregnant,” the doctor repeats gently. “And you’re in active labour.”

For several seconds, the room is completely silent save for the beeping of monitors and the usual hospital sounds. Your mind, though, is swirling with panicked thoughts. There’s no way that it's Simon’s—you’d been careful, and even then, you’ve only been seeing each other for 3ish months. That spirals you into panicked thoughts about his possible reactions. Would he stay with you? Would he want to break up? Is he gonna think you tried to trap him and have just been lying this whole time? Even if he does stay, is he really going to want to raise a child that’s not his?

“…That’s not possible,” you say, finally forcing out a coherent sentence.

The doctor just gives you a practiced, sympathetic smile. “Actually, it happens more often than you’d think. It’s called a cryptic pregnancy. Affects about 1 in every 500.”

You just look at Olivia sitting in the chair beside your bed. She looks like she’s about to faint.

Simon’s phone buzzes just as the team bus pulls into the hotel.

Olivia: Call me. Emergency.

His stomach drops instantly.

Fingers shakily tapping at the screen. The phone only rings twice before Olivia picks up. Simon doesn’t even have a chance to say anything before Olivia blurts out, “she’s having a baby!”

Pushing out the breath he was holding, he felt his muscles relax. For a joke, it definitely wasn’t funny.

“She didn’t know she was pregnant!” Olivia rushes out. “She’s in labour right now!”

The tension that had released from his muscles only seconds earlier seemed to return with a vigour that he’d only experienced during previous playoff runs. And he’s moving before he even realizes it.

“Which hospital?”

Simon makes it back to Toronto and to the hospital just after midnight. His hair is mussed from running his hands through it, travel bag slung over his shoulder. He rushes into the hospital following the signs to the maternity ward, barely paying any mind to the people around him. He’s moving so quickly that he almost collides with Olivia in the waiting room.

“Simon! You made it,” she says in relief.

His chest is tight with worry and something else he can’t name. “Is she okay?”

Olivia smiled at him, relief palpable. “She’s fine.” Then she steps forward, looking for him to follow her. “And so is the baby.”

When they arrive at the private room, Olivia knocks before gesturing for Simon to go in, whispering that she’ll be in the waiting area if they need anything.

Simon walks into the room slowly. Steps controlled and calculated.

You’re sitting up in the hospital bed, exhausted—and a little sweaty- holding a tiny bundled newborn wrapped in a hospital blanket against your chest. You only look up when his footsteps get closer to the hospital bed. For a moment, neither of you says anything.

“So…funny story.” You say, voice quiet, breaking the careful quiet.

Simon stares at the baby.

Then back at you.

And the first thing he asks is, “are you okay?”

The question surprises you. And brings tears to your eyes.

“Yeah,” you say, voice hushed. “I think so.”

There’s a long pause.

Steady.

Not awkward.

“I know the timing doesn’t make sense,” you add, rushed. “You and I haven’t been together long enough. And Simon, honestly, I completely understand if this situation—”

Simon places a hand on the edge of your bed.

“hey,” his voice is gentle as he speaks. “Breathe.”

He walks closer to the bed, closer to where you’re sitting.

The baby makes a small squeaking sound and nestles deeper into the blanket.

Simon looks down, his expression softening in a way you’d only seen him do a couple of times before.

“She’s beautiful,” he says. “And really small.”

“Seven pounds,” you say, voice weak, wavering.

Simon nods slowly, then he looks back at you.

“You went through all of this today,” he says quietly. “Mostly alone. And your first thought, is to worry about me.”

You swallow.

Simon rubs the back of his neck, stalling, clearly searching for the right words.

“I know I’m not the dad,” he says finally. “Timelines obviously pretty clear on that.”

You look down at the baby in your arms.

“But,” Simon continues, voice steadier than before, “I care about you. A lot. And if you’ll let me…I’d like to stick around.”

As you try to absorb the words, all you can do is blink at him.

“For you,” he says. “And…for her too.”

The baby makes another soft noise, like she’s upset no one's giving her attention. Simon looks completely captivated. And you, you feel tears prick the back of your eyes.

“You’re sure?” You ask.

He smiles at you. “Yeah. I am.” Then he sits carefully on the edge of the bed, doing his best not to jostle you too much. “Besides, I think I’m already a little attached.”

The baby stretches one hand out of the blanket, and Simon reaches over, rubbing his finger across the back of her hand. Then she reaches out, gripping tight onto his finger.

And in the Toronto hospital room, a few days away from the winter holidays, your strange, unexpected family began.

Simon had seen Adelaide before, technically.

The night she was born—tiny and sleepy and fresh, bundled up in that pink blanket at the hospital. But that night was chaos. Full of exhaustion. And shock. This time it feels a little different.

You’d been texting and calling and FaceTiming with him while he gave you space to try and adjust to being a mom. And today, you invited him over to your apartment.

You’re sitting on the couch, Adelaide tucked against your shoulder. Simon just hovers awkwardly nearby, and he tries to remind himself that you’re both new to this, that you’re both adjusting.

“You know, you can hold her Simon,” you say, voice gentle.

Simon rubs at the back of his neck, tugging slightly at the ends of his hair. “She’s still really small.”

“She’s eight weeks old.”

“That’s still small. What if I hurt her?”

You laugh softly. “Babies are built for first time parents. She’s sturdier than she looks.”

He hesitates for a moment longer before carefully sitting beside you on the couch. You shift Adelaide slightly and guide her towards him.

“Support her head,” you say as you place your daughter into his waiting arms.

Simon nods as you’ve just given him extremely serious instructions. And when Adelaide settles into his arms, something in his expression gives way instantly. His body goes completely still, like he’s afraid even breathing too hard might send her tumbling to the floor. Adelaide blinks up at him, and he just stares back down at her in quiet amazement.

“…bonjour ma petite coccinelle,” he whispers.

You watch him. This man that you’ve been falling for, definitely against your better judgment, looking like an absolute marshmallow, holding your daughter. His big hands looked slightly absurd holding such a tiny thing. But somehow it also looks exactly right.

Adelaide makes a tiny squawk before wiggling a little and resting against his chest.

Simon’s eyes widened. “Is she—”

“She does that when she’s getting comfy,” you say.

Simon smiles down at the baby in his arms before directing his gaze to yours. “She’s got your nose.”

You tilt your head. “You think so?”

“Yeah.”

Adelaide grabs onto his thumb, the one that had been gently rubbing her tummy, and holds on tight.

Simon freezes again.

“…okay,” he says, voice quiet. “I’m in trouble.”

“why?”

“Because now, I’m definitely attached. Good luck getting rid of me.”

You laugh and smile at him. Even with his words, you’re pretty sure that train had long left the station.

The locker room is loud after practice, in that same way it always is. Simon is halfway through unlacing his skates when Matthew walks over.

“So,” Matthew says casually.

Simon looks up. “What?”

“You gonna tell them or should I?”

Simon narrows his eyes at his teammate, who’s standing there with a smirk and that look in his eye.

“Tell them what?”

Matthew grins. “That you’re basically a dad now.”

Simon groans.

Across the room, two teammates look over.

“…a what?” One asks.

Matthew points dramatically at Simon.

“Benny’s got a baby!”

The room goes uncharacteristically silent for a hockey locker room.

Simon sighs. “It’s not like that.”

“What’s the baby’s name?” John asks.

“…Adelaide.”

“Hold up,” Domi says. “You’ve been hiding a baby?”

“She’s my girlfriend’s daughter,” Simon clarifies.

Matthew leans further back in his stall, acting casual. “And Benny here is already carrying baby pictures.”

Simon glares at him.

Matthew pulls out his phone. “Oh look, I still have the one you showed me.”

“Matthew—”

Simon is too late to stop him. The photo of Simon holding Adelaide pops up on the phone screen, and all too soon, the phone is getting passed around the room.

One of the guys lets out a teasing, “Awww.”

Simon buries his face in his hands.

Easton grins, looking at the photo before looking at Simon. “Dude, you absolutely look like you’re shitting bricks.”

“I was terrified,” Simon admits.

OEL nods approvingly. “She’s cute.”

Matthew claps Simon on the shoulder. “Congrats on the emotional growth dude.”

Simon rolls his eyes, smiling at his teammate's antics.

You didn’t intend to keep it a secret.

That was the frustrating part. You just…you hadn’t managed to figure out how to share the news yet. Because honestly, how are you supposed to bring up something like this?

Hey, yeah, by the way, I ended up having a cryptic pregnancy, and now there’s a baby.

Every time you tried to go over the words in your head, they sounded more and more ridiculous.

So you kept putting it off.

One more week.

One more conversation.

One more game night staying home.

When the dam breaks, it happens on a Tuesday afternoon. You’d asked Olivia to watch the baby while you met Aryne and Ella for coffee near the arena. The café was crowded in that familiar way that comes with the lunchtime rush, and simultaneously makes you glad that you didn’t bring the baby with you.

Aryne’s already there when you arrive, waving you over to the table with a smile.

“Ella’s parking,” Aryne says.

You sit down and smile. “How’s John?”

“Still getting used to not being captain whilst still trying to be a mentor, it’s a fine line apparently.”

“I can only imagine.”

Aryne laughs lightly. The two of you chat for a few minutes—weekend plans, the game from two nights ago, and some gossip about a rookie prank that resulted in orange hair. Then Ella slides into the chair beside them.

“You guys will not believe—”

Her words cut off mid-sentence, and her eyes drift past your shoulder.

“Wait,” Ella says slowly.

You turn in your chair.

Across the café, Olivia had just walked in. Holding your daughter.

You freeze.

Olivia spots you immediately. There’s a brief moment where your eyes lock with Olivia’s. Aryne follows your gaze. Takes in your best friend. And the baby she’s holding clearly has some of your features.

“…girl?” She asks carefully.

You turn back to look at the girls.

Aryne’s expression had shifted. Not angry. More like confused.

“Is that…your baby?” Ella asks, voice soft.

Your table goes completely silent, and Olivia approaches, steps hesitant.

“I can—uh—I can go,” she says, words rushing out.

But it’s too late. They’d seen the baby. They knew she was yours; there was no point in delaying anymore.

Adelaide makes a small, sleepy noise, and Olivia hands her to you gently. She instantly settles in your arms. Olivia apologizes to you softly before moving to sit at the next table.

Aryne looks at you. “You have a baby?”

You swallow.

“Yes.”

Another momentary pause hangs heavy between you.

“You didn’t tell us,” Ella says.

The words aren’t harsh or accusatory, but the way they land—heavy—feels like something sitting on your heart.

You open your mouth, words coming out fast. “I was going to, I just—”

Aryne leans back slightly in her chair, voice shaking when she speaks, not with anger, but hurt. “We’ve been hanging out for months. And I’ve been through that a few times, you know that.”

“I know.”

“We talk about everything,” Ella adds quietly.

“I know,” you say again, gently bouncing the baby as the guilt eats at you.

Aryne rubs her hands together, thinking. “Does Simon know?”

You nod. “Yes.”

That confirmation seemed to sting more than anything, that you hadn’t leaned on your friends.

“So Simon knew,” Ella says softly. “But we didn’t.”

Your chest tightened. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you.”

Aryne shakes her head slightly. “Maybe not. But that’s kind of what it feels like though.”

You look down at the baby. She just blinks up at you sleepily, completely unaware of the tension hovering over the table.

“I just…I wasn’t quiet sure how to explain it,” you say quietly. “Every time I thought about it, it sounded dumb.”

“Explain what?” Ella asks.

You take a breath. “I didn’t know I was pregnant.”

Both women at your table just blink at you.

“What?” Aryne says.

“It was a cryptic pregnancy,” you say, words sounding weak even to your own ears, despite them being the truth. “I found out when I was in labour.

The table falls silent again.

Ella’s eyes widen. “…wait. Seriously?”

You nod.

Olivia chimes in carefully. “It was insane. One minute she was having stomach pain and called me to the apartment, the next minute we were at the hospital and the doctor was like ‘surprise, there’s a baby in there.’”

Aryne processes it. “That’s…wild.”

“Yeah,” you say, quieter than intended. “That’s also why I didn’t know how to bring it up. It sounds absolutely bonkers.”

Ella looks at the baby sleeping in your arms. Then back at you.

“You still should’ve told us.”

The words aren’t cruel, but they are honest.

You feel your throat tighten. “I’m sorry.”

Aryne sighs, leaning forward again. “We’re not mad that you have a baby. Were hurt because we thought we were…closer than that.”

You blink hard, fighting back the tears that were pricking the back of your eyes. “You are. You’re some of my closest friends here.”

Aryne studies you for a moment, then she softens slightly. “Then let us be part of your life.”

You hesitate, just for a second, then carefully pass the tiny bundle of blankets across the table.

Ella holds the baby first.

Her expression melts instantly.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. “She’s adorable.”

Aryne leans closer. “What’s her name?”

You smile faintly. “Adelaide.”

Aryne reaches out and touches the baby’s tiny hand. “Well, I guess we’re going to need a lot of baby pictures.”

You laugh shakily. And relief washes through your chest as you watch your friends fawn over your daughter, thankful that you didn’t lose them.

Simon notices something is off the moment you walk into his apartment later that day. The routine had stayed the same since he’d given you a key to his place; hang your bag on the hook he hung up just for you, drop your keys into the dish, greet him with a kiss, and start telling him about your day before he even finishes asking the question.

Today, though, you just lean against the doorframe.

Silent.

“Hey,” Simon says cautiously.

“Hey.”

He crosses the room, closing the distance between you. “You okay?”

You hesitate for a second.

“I had coffee with Aryne and Ella this afternoon.”

Simon’s shoulders immediately relax.

“Oh yeah? Where?”

“Aroma, by the arena.”

Simon nods. “Good place.”

There’s a pause. A short lull.

“They saw Adelaide.”

Simon frowns, not really understanding the issue.

“…okay.”

“The girls didn’t know about her.”

In an instant, it’s cleared up for him. He straightens up, looking right at you. “They didn’t?”

You shake your head. “I kept meaning to tell them. I just…didn’t know how. It sounded so silly every time I thought about it.”

Simon runs a hand through his brown locks.

“So they found out by accident?”

“Yeah.”

He studies your face, trying to see what you’re not saying.

“Did they say something to you?”

You shrug, voice wavering slightly as you try to sound casual. “They were just…hurt.”

His frown deepens at the sound of your voice and your word choice. “Hurt how?”

“They thought I didn’t tell them because I don’t trust them,” you say, softly. “Or that I don’t see them as friends they same way they do me.”

“Were they mean about it?”

“No. They just…just told me how they were feeling.”

Simon sighs. “That sounds like them.”

You look up at him. “You’re not mad?”

“At them?”

“Yeah.”

“No.” He shakes his head and then steps a few steps closer to you. “But I am a little upset that you thought you had to deal with that alone.”

You blink at him.

Simon reaches over gently and nudges Adelaide’s tiny socked foot where she’s sleeping strapped to your chest. “You know they’d lose their minds over her, right?”

You smile faintly. “They already did.”

He moves so he’s beside you and wraps an arm loosely around your shoulders. When he speaks, his voice is soft with a tenderness you’ve really started to notice: “You’re allowed to let people care about you.”

You lean into his embrace. “I’m still getting used to that.”

Simon kisses the top of your head.

“Good thing we’re not going anywhere.”

Three days later, you’re home with Adelaide in your apartment, Simon out of town for a roadie, and you hear a knock on the door.

Looking at the baby in the bassinet, you lower your voice, “are you expecting company baby girl?”

Shuffling over, you swing open the door to find Aryne and Ella standing in the hallway. And behind them…bags. Lots of bags and boxes, all varying in size, shape and colour.

You blink at the girls standing at your door. “…what is happening?”

“We’re here,” Ella says.

“I can see that,” you say slowly, still a little confused. “For what?”

Aryne holds up a giant tote bag, packed to the brim with goodies. “Baby reinforcements.”

Before you could say anything else, they walked inside the apartment and immediately rushed over to the bassinet.

“There’s our beautiful girl,” Ella says softly, voice sounding a little goofy.

Adelaide just blinks up at the faces staring down at her.

Aryne turns to you. “We might have overreacted the other day.”

You’re quick to wave off her worries. “You didn’t. You’re my friends, and you should’ve found out in a better way.”

“We overreacted a little,” Ella admits. “But we were mostly just sad we couldn’t help you, that we missed the beginning.”

Her words have your heart squeezing in your chest, a little bit of guilt still eating at you.

“You guys didn’t miss it, not really,” you say, looking at them. “I’m still figuring it out.”

“I thought you might be, so we talked to Simon,” Aryne says, smiling, pulling a tiny onesie out of one of the bags. “Because we brought supplies. All the stuff you’re missing or don’t have enough of.”

Ella holds up another bag. “And snacks.”

“And coffee.”

“And a list of babysitters, all vetted or pre-trialed by one of the other moms on the team.”

You stare at them. Shocked by their kindness and generosity.

“You guys didn’t have to do this.”

Ella looks at you like that’s the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “Girl, you’re dating one of the boys.”

“Okay?”

“That makes you family.”

Aryne nods. “Adelaide too.”

That warm feeling that only happens when you’re cared for and truly feel loved spreads through your chest.

“Well in that case,” you say, gently lifting Adelaide out of the bassinet. “Who wants baby cuddles?”

Both faces light up, but Ella is quicker to jump in. “Oh, absolutely.”

You smile at that, sharing a look with Aryne, and make a note to yourself to tell Simon to tell Matthew about her reaction.

You definitely weren’t expecting to see him again. It was a short relationship—casual, a friend of a friend, months before you’d even met Simon, and long before you knew Adelaide existed. And you still haven’t forgotten how, when you texted him, you wanted to talk; he hit you with a “new phone, who dis?” And when you explained who you were and the situation, he’d blocked your number.

So you thought that was it.

You’d never have to worry about him again.

So when you open the door one afternoon, expecting to sign for a delivery, and instead find Kevin standing there…it feels like your heart drops out of your ass.

“…hi,” he says awkwardly.

You close the door, leaving it open only enough for your body. “How did you find me?”

He shifts, uncomfortable. “I ran into Olivia and some other friends last week. They let it slip.”

You sigh.

Because of fucking course.

“What do you want?”

He rubs at his right shoulder. “I heard about the baby.”

Irritation prickles under your skin, but it’s overpowered by your lungs suddenly feeling too small.

Panic over anger.

And like a small miracle, Simon chooses this exact moment to appear in the hallway behind you. Adelaide balanced easily in the curve of his arm.

“Everything okay?” He asks.

You watch as Kevin’s eyes flick from you to him and then to Adelaide. His expression changes immediately.

“…that’s her?”

Simon steps closer to you, almost instinctively.

“Yes,” you say quietly.

Kevin stares for a long moment. At the baby. At you. At the family unit in front of him. Then he shakes his head slightly.

“I just wanted to see her.”

Simon’s voice stays calm; it’s the kind of calm that has that underlying anger. “You’ve known about her the entire time. Now you’ve seen her.”

Kevin looks between you like he’s only now getting it. “You’re…together?”

“Yes,” you say.

Kevin nods slowly. Taking a deep breath, he gets ready to leave when his gaze catches on something he didn’t see before. Adelaide’s tiny hand tangled in Simon’s hoodie string, gripping tight, completely comfortable, completely relaxed. And he exhales.

“…she likes you.”

Simon glances down at the baby in his arms. “Yeah.”

There’s a long, awkward pause. And once again, it’s Kevin who breaks it.

“You’re doing a good job.”

The words are general enough, but the way he’s looking directly at Simon tells you they’re meant for him.

“Thanks.”

Kevin looks at you, for what you hope is the last time.

“I didn’t come here to cause problems,” he says. “I just wanted to know how she was. That she’s doing okay.”

You soften slightly at his words. “She is.”

Kevin nods. Then he turns and walks away.

Simon closes the door with his free hand.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, then Simon pulls you into his side with his free hand, and you let him. You let yourself lean into his warmth and comfort.

“Well…” you say, “that was weird.”

Simon laughs quietly. “Very.”

It starts around 2am.

Simon wakes up first. His first thought is that he imagined the sound—a sound somewhere between a whimper and a cough, coming from the baby monitor on the nightstand. And then it echoes again, a tinny sound in the otherwise mostly quiet bedroom. A thin, unhappy cry.

Simon reaches across the bed, nudging you awake gently. “Hey.”

You roll over and crack your tired, heavy eyes open just barely, looking at him. “What?”

“I think Adelaide’s awake.”

“I’ll get her,” you groan softly, sitting up, still half asleep.

By the time you’re standing, Simon is already moving down the hallway to the nursery.

As soon as the light switches on, the crying gets louder.

Not the normal fussy noise she makes sometimes. This is panicked crying.

You make it to the nursery in time to see Simon lean over the crib.

“Hey, hey,” he says softly, voice still thick with sleep.

Adelaide’s little face is flushed, tiny fists clenched as she cries and cries. Simon picks her up carefully. Her body feels warm. Too warm.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

“What’s wrong?”

Simon shifts the baby slightly, walking closer so you can touch her forehead. As soon as you feel the warmth of her skin, your expression changes.

“Oh no.”

“She’s warm.”

“Yeah.”

Adelaide cries harder. You take your daughter out of Simon’s arms and cradle her in your own, rocking her gently.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, tone soft and gentle, “it’s okay.”

But she just keeps crying.

Simon’s still standing in the same spot, body tense. “Should we call someone?”

“Probably just a fever,” you say quietly, though even to your own ears you don’t sound completely convincing. “We’ll wait till morning, if nothing changes we’ll go to the doctor.”

You try rocking Adelaide again. It doesn’t help. The pained cries continue to echo in the nursery.

“Shhh…” you whisper. “Baby, it’s okay.”

Nothing seems to work. Not bouncing. Not rocking. Not gentle pats on her back. Even with the baby Tylenol, her cries didn’t seem to subside.

Simon’s chest tightened. He hates this. Watching the tiny baby, the one he’s come to see as his own daughter, feeling miserable and not being able to fix it for her.

“Hey,” he says, voice soft.

You look up at him.

“Let me try.”

You hesitate, just for a half second, before deciding what harm that could possibly do. Maybe your boyfriend could perform a miracle. Then you carefully pass the baby back to him. Simon holds her against his bare chest, one big hand supporting her head.

“Hey,” he murmurs again.

Adelaide hiccups between sobs.

Simon slowly continues pacing the nursery.

“It’s okay ma petite coccinelle,” he says quietly. “You’re alright.”

You lean back in the glider, watching. For a moment, just a moment, Adelaide keeps crying. Then the cries soften before slowly coming to a complete stop. She sniffles once. Simon just keeps pacing the room. Adelaide’s tiny hand rests on his chest, close to his heart. Within another minute…she falls asleep.

“…what?”

Simon looks down at the sleeping baby. “She just needed a walk?”

You just stare at him. “I tried that.”

Simon shrugs helplessly, trying not to jostle the baby too much.

“I’m just very calming, apparently.”

You laugh softly, relief pooling in your chest.

Simon carefully sits on the ottoman in front of the glider, still mimicking the movements of walking about. Adelaide continuing to sleep peacefully against his chest. For a few minutes, neither of you speaks.

Simon’s the first to break the silence, “that scared me.”

“Me too.”

You watch as he looks down at your little girl, safely cradled in his arms. When he speaks, his tone is almost reverent.

“She trusts me.”

“You’re her safe person,” you say gently.

Simon swallows. He wasn’t quite expecting that feeling—the sudden, fierce certainty that if anything ever hurt this tiny girl…he’d move mountains to stop it. He tears his eyes away from her and looks up at you.

“I know she’s not mine,” he starts, voice soft and gentle.

You shake your head, immediately cutting him off. “She is yours…”

Simon blinks at you.

“What?”

“You might not be her biological dad, Simon,” you say. “But you’re her dad in all the ways that matter.”

He looks down at Adelaide again. Her tiny fingers still curled up against his chest.

“…yeah.” He gently kisses the top of her head. “Okay.”

A couple of nights later, you and Simon are halfway through a grocery store aisle on a dinner run when Adelaide starts fussing.

Not crying.

Yet.

Just unhappy.

You shift her slightly in the car seat perched on the shopping cart. “She’s probably getting hungry.”

Simon frowns. Then he crouches down to look into the car seat.

“Hey,” he says softly.

Adelaide blinks up at him, momentarily distracted. Simon makes a ridiculous face, and her attention is fully on him instantly.

Then, she giggles.

It’s a tiny, breathy baby laugh.

You just stare at the sight in front of you.

“…what.”

Simon grins at you proudly.

“How did you do that?”

He just shrugs.

Adelaide reaches up toward him again.

Simon straightens up to his full height. “She likes me.”

You cross your arms. “You know she does.”

“Well,” he says thoughtfully. “She has excellent taste, just like her mom.”

You try to stay annoyed, but the smile on your face gives you away so easily.

Adelaide’s three months when you finally return to the WAGs box for a game. She’s staying with your friend Olivia for the night, upon some firm insistence that you desperately need a “normal adult evening.”

You had just grabbed a drink from the kitchenette when you overhear someone say— “wait, that’s Simon Benoit’s girlfriend, right?”

Another voice answers. “Yeah. The one with the baby.”

The tone isn’t kind, and whoever speaks next isn’t much better.

“…pretty convenient timing if you ask me.”

The conversation stops you in your tracks. Even if you weren’t supposed to hear it, you did. Before you have a chance to turn around and defend yourself, Aryne jumps in.

“Excuse me?” She says, voice sharper than you’ve ever heard her.

The two women on the other side of the suite look startled.

“We were just saying—”

Ella cuts them off, voice almost eerily calm. “No. You were implying something.”

One of the women shifts awkwardly in place at being called out, while the other stands firm, both in her spot and in position, lifting her brow at you with a distinctly nasty expression on her face.

“Well it’s just kind of weird isn’t it?”

Aryne folds her arms over her chest. “What is?”

“That she suddenly has a baby, just barely into her relationship with Simon.”

Ella smiles.

It’s definitely not a friendly smile.

“I mean it’s not really any of your business.” She says. “Cryptic pregnancies are a documented medical phenomenon.”

The woman, the one who looked so sure of herself, blinks at you. “…what?”

“And, even if it wasn’t,” Aryne adds coolly, “Simon knows the timeline.”

“And we know her,” Ella finishes, gesturing to you.

“So unless you’re secretly her doctor or Simon himself…maybe mind your business.”

The one girl looks ready to say something until her friend tugs on her arm, pulling her back to their seats.

Ella turns to look at you. “You okay?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

Aryne squeezes your shoulder with a smile. “Good. Now sit down.”

“Why?”

“The teams about to score.”

As if on cue, the puck flies into the back of the net, the goal horn sounds, and the crowd below erupts, all in quick succession.

You laugh. But for the first time since everything changed, you finally feel normal again.

It’s been 10 months of you, Simon and Adelaide, and while unexpected, you wouldn’t change it for the world. The day it happens, it’s entirely by accident. And somehow, that makes it worse.

Simon’s sitting on the carpet with Adelaide in your apartment's living room while you make coffee. Simon has one of her toys and is dramatically shaking it; she’s laughing along.

“Attention please,” he says in a mock-serious voice. “Important meeting.”

Something about the way he’s talking sends Adelaide into a fit of giggles.

Simon points to himself. “This is Simon.”

Then he points to her. “This is Adelaide.”

Then back to himself. “Simon.”

Adelaide stares at him, and he repeats the sequence. She opens her mouth, and instead of repeating after him, she says, “Dada.”

Simon freezes on the spot. Completely.

In the kitchen, you stop moving mid-stir.

“…did she just—”

Simon slowly looks up, catching your eye as you walk into the living room over to where they are.

“Say it again,” Simon whispers, barely managing to get the words out.

Adelaide claps her hands happily. “Dada!”

Simon looks like someone has just unplugged his brain. “That—” he points to himself. “That’s not even close to my name.”

You’re trying not to cry or laugh or both at the scene in front of you. “Babies say ‘dada’ first sometimes babe.”

Simon just stares at your daughter. “You know I’m not actually your dad, right?”

Adelaide grabs onto the strings of his hoodie, pulling.

“Dada!”

Simon sighs dramatically, but this time he is fighting a smile. “I guess I’ve been chosen.”

You sit down on the carpet beside them. “You don’t seem very upset.”

He looks down at the baby and then back at you.

His voice softens dramatically. “…I’m really not.”

The season’s now in full swing, and he should be focused on other things. Instead, he’s had this idea haunting his brain for weeks now—since Adelaide first called him dada, and since a week ago, a teammate had to rush away for an emergency with his kids, and Simon couldn’t help but think about what would happen to him in that position. But saying the words out loud, that is terrifying.

He finds you over at his apartment after a game one night. You’re sitting on the couch while Adelaide sleeps away in her crib. Sitting on the arm of the couch, he takes a deep breath, then pushes out harshly.

“Hey?”

You look up at him. “Yeah?”

“So…I’ve been thinking about something…”

The words alone make you nervous.

“Okay…”

Simon takes another deep breath. “I know Adelaide’s not biologically mine.”

You nod slowly, unsure where the conversation is going.

“But,” he continues, “I want to be her dad.”

You blink at him. “You are her dad, Simon. In all the ways that matter.”

“I know. But I mean legally.”

Your eyes widen.

Simon rubs the back of his neck, nervous, and your reaction doesn’t really help reassure him that he’s not asking too much.

“I’m not asking right now. Or trying to pressure you. I just…” he glances over to the hall, and then to the baby monitor, where you can see Adelaide sleeping. “I want her to have our last name someday.”

Your eyes fill instantly.

That reaction sends Simon panicking. “Hey—no pressure—”

You shake your head, laughing thickly through the tears. “Simon.”

“Yeah?”

“That’s really sweet. Really one of the nicest things anyone’s ever asked me.”

He relaxes slightly. “So that’s not a no?”

You stand up from the couch, moving to stand in front of him. You wedge yourself between his thighs and wrap your arms around him.

“It’s definitely not a no.”

The Leafs do a variety of events for charity every year. The charity skate is a favourite of both the players and the community. Kids everywhere. Fans packed the stands.

Simon crouched in front of the bench, trying to tie Adelaide’s tiny skates.

“You ready?”

“Yes!”

You laugh from behind them. “She’s been looking forward to this all week.”

Simon lifts Adelaide from the bench and carries her onto the ice. You move from behind the bench to lean on the boards and make it just in time to see your daughter wobble dramatically on the unfamiliar surface.

Matthew skates over.

“Whoa,” he says. “Mini Benoit.”

“Technically no,” Simon says.

Adelaide grabs onto his pant leg, clutching tight. Then she points proudly at Simon and shouts. “Daddy!”

Matthew can’t manage to hold back his laughter.

“Well,” he says. “Guess the kid settled that debate.”

Simon looks down at Adelaide. His chest feels ridiculously full. Heart feeling unfathomably lucky.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “She did.”

Once again, Simon had been stewing on something for weeks. Not the game, not the practice schedule, not instability of living on contracts—which he should’ve been thinking about—this was different.

He’s been thinking about home. About what that means. And every time it came to mind, he landed on the same conclusion: home is you and Adelaide.

So on Saturday, while on a roadie, on a rare-ish day off for him, he calls you.

“Hey,” he says when you pick up.

“Hey yourself, you sound serious.”

“I am.”

“Uh-oh,”

Simon laughs softly. “I promise it’s a good uh-oh. I’ve just been thinking…I want you and Adelaide to move in with me. Or me with you. Or we just find a new place.”

Even though he can’t see you through the phone, he hears the way your breath catches. “Wait…what?”

“I mean it,” Simon says, words coming out fast. “I know it’s a lot. But I think we’ve been building up to this—I mean we basically have doubles of all Adelaide’s baby stuff at my place. I can’t imagine doing this without you two.”

There’s another pause on the other end of the line.

“Are you…are you sure?”

“Yes,” he says, voice certain. “I’m sure.”

When Simon gets back in town, you make a plan to spend the following Friday driving around neighbourhoods and checking out potential houses.

Adelaide’s tucked into her car seat in the backseat of Simon’s car, and you can hear her babbling to herself softly as you drive around.

“Red!” Adelaide squeals, pointing out the window at a two-story with a bright red front door.

Simon smiles at the excitement in her voice, looking to the backseat in the rearview. “Do you like it?”

“Yes!”

You glance over at him. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Simon takes your hand, kissing the top of it.

“Yes. More than anything.”

In that moment, he’s not thinking about how he could be traded at literally any time. Or that putting down roots, buying a house, could be all for nothing if he has to leave or if you decide one day that you’re done living with his lifestyle.

The inside of the house is even better. It’s updated, modernized, without feeling cold and sterile. It’s warm and cozy. On the main level, you walk into a perfectly sunlit room together, and Adelaide’s attention is immediately drawn to the painted pink walls.

“Pink!”

Simon kneels on the floor so he can see Adelaide’s level. “This could be her playroom.”

You laugh. “You know she probably won’t keep it pink forever.”

He shrugs, grinning. “She can choose. Whatever makes her happy. I want her to feel at home.”

You wander through the rest of the house. Through the kitchen, imagining meals together, the living room for movie nights, and a decent backyard, perfect for Adelaide.

Just as you’re nearing the end of the walkthrough, Simon pulls you aside. “You know, this isn’t just about the house.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“It’s about us,” he admits with no prompting. “I want this…our life. I want to come home every night to you and Adelaide and whatever else we choose. I want us to build everything together.

“I…I want that too,” you whisper, feeling your chest tighten at his words.

Adelaide runs back to you, giggling. Simon is quick to scoop her up, effortlessly, and it sends her into a fit of giggles. Giggles that echo through the fairly empty house and make it that much easier to picture a future here.

“This is the one. This is our home now.”

The party takes over the living room and a lot of the main floor. Streamers. A cake shaped and decorated like a hockey puck, with extra sparkles upon Adelaide’s insistence.

Half the team showed up.

All of the WAGs.

Matthew’s leaning against the side of the house, on the covered patio where Simon is working the grill—the Toronto winter weather not enough to discourage them.

“You realize you’ve completely turned into a suburban dad right?”

Simon shrugs. “It feels right.”

Food is served. Everyone eats. Adelaide claps her hands excitedly at the decorations every time a balloon catches her attention.

Once all the plates are cleared, Ella walks over. “Ready for cake?”

Simon laughs. “She’s been ready for cake for weeks.”

You sit Adelaide in her highchair and place the smaller cake in front of her. Adelaide stares at it. Only for a moment. Then, she immediately shoves both hands into the frosting deep as they go. Everyone cheers. Simon’s laughing so hard he’s nearly crying.

“This is chaos.”

You smile up at him. “You love it.”

“Yeah. I really do.”

The courtroom is small and quiet. Just you, Simon, Adelaide, a judge, and a few of your close friends sitting in the back. You’ve already been here for a while, going over paperwork and evidence and answering questions.

Adelaide is sitting on Simon’s lap, swinging her legs back and forth, playing with his hand that’s resting on her midsection.

The judge smiles at her. “And what’s your name?”

“Adelaide.”

“And who’s this?” The judge asks, gesturing to Simon.

Adelaide looks up at Simon, a proud smile on her face and then turns to the judge.

“My dada.”

Simon’s throat tightens.

The judge smiles warmly, looking at the paperwork again. “Well, it looks like he would like to be your legal father.”

Adelaide nods very seriously. You assume she understands, both you and Simon have talked with her at length to make sure she’s involved and understands what’s happening, to the best of her abilities at least.

“Okay.”

Everyone laughs softly.

The judge turns her focus to Simon, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.” Simon doesn’t hesitate.

The judge nods, then looks at the table in front of her, signing the documents.

“Congratulations.”

Simon looks down at the little girl on his lap, the one who’s become his whole world. “I guess it’s official.”

Adelaide twists in his lap, hugging him to the best of her ability. “Dada!”

You wipe tears from your eyes.

That scary night in the hospital feels like a lifetime ago now.

Simon didn’t want a huge, dramatic proposal. And when you’d talked about it, you told him you didn’t either. He’d given it serious thought—arena scoreboard, fans cheering, centre ice—but it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like you. Too public. Definitely too much pressure.

Instead, he chose somewhere simple. Somewhere with meaning for both of you.

The farmers' market.

The same stall where you’d met almost 2 years ago.

You didn’t suspect anything when Simon suggested going on a Saturday morning.

“You’re craving peaches again?” You tease as you walk between the stalls.

“Always,” Simon says.

Adelaide toddles between you, holding each of your hands. She’d recently mastered walking and treated it like a competitive sport—constantly ready to take off in a sprint.

“Slow down,” you laugh as Adelaide pulls you and Simon forward.

When you reach the peach stand, it’s exactly the same as it always is, exactly the same you remember it being the day you met Simon.

Same crates.

Same lights.

Same signs.

Same Roberto.

When he looks up and sees you all together, he smiles that same kind smile. “Back again?”

Simon grins. “Best peaches in the city.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head.

Simon turns toward you. For a moment, just a moment, he looks at you, really looks. Then he drops to one knee.

You freeze. “Oh my god.”

Adelaide claps excitedly, thinking Simon is playing with her. Simon ruffles her hair, laughing nervously, then turns his attention back to you, pulling a small ring box from his pocket.

He starts by saying your name softly, “meeting you here was the best accident of my life.”

Your eyes are already filling with tears.

“You and Adelaide changed everything for me.”

Adelaide leans forward curiously, eyes focused on the shiny ring nestled in the box. “Pretty.”

Simon smiles.

“I love you both more than anything. Will you marry me?”

You laugh through your tears, smiling so wide you feel like a crazy person—you’re sure you look like one too. “Yes!”

Simon barely gets the ring on your finger before Adelaide is throwing her arms around his neck.

“Dada!”

People who’d stopped around the stall clap for a moment before going on their way.

Roberto wipes his eyes with a handkerchief dramatically. “Estou tão feliz por ti, Querida. Sempre soube que estes pêssegos eram especiais.”

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