Cliché

“Here, I can help you with that.”

Vero pulled the scraps from pumpkin decorating out of Allison’s reach. “I’m fine,” the raven-haired girl assured her blonde companion. “Really, you’ve ‘elped enough ‘ere today. Go ahead and go ‘ome.”

Allison wouldn’t budge. “You’ve been here longer than I have,” she reasoned.

“You came ‘ere from an eight ‘our day at work,” Vero countered with a frown, shooing Allison with her dainty engagement-ringed left hand. “Besides,” Vero continued, her tone growing serious, “Kris needs you. I’m sure you’ll be able to cheer him up.”

It was like a blow to the stomach. Allison felt attacked, blindsided. Not that she was angry at Vero for her words; she was more frustrated with herself that she’d been putting off seeing Kris for so long. There was no gauging his mood after Shanahan had sentenced his two-game suspension. Instead of taking the plane to Minnesota that morning with the rest of his team, Kris had come home to Pittsburgh. To their apartment over in the Chateau district. The place she’d been avoiding since his plane had landed at 10:20 that morning.

“I’m sure I will,” Allison answered meekly, wincing at the sting of her lie. Vero smiled kindly and went back to cleaning the table. Allison hiked her bag higher on her shoulder. “If you need anything,” she called as she headed slowly for the door, “please let me know.”

“Just go!” Vero giggled, shaking her head, her sleek hair billowing like a satin sheet.

---

At first, Allison thought there was no one home. Then she heard the quiet drone of the television, accompanied by its flashing glow. She dropped her bag by the door and keys on the counter before silently slipping from her shoes, stepping into the living room.

Kris was sprawled on the couch. Grey sweatpants and black sweatshirt. His dark hair was rumpled and the remote hung lazily in one hand. Supernatural was on, a repeat. Her favorite show, his guilty pleasure.

“Hey babe,” she whispered, her throat dry and suddenly scratchy. She kneeled on the carpeting in front of him, leaning her elbows against the cushion.

Kris studied her for a moment, as if unable to focus on her face. “You smell like pumpkins.”

Allison couldn’t help but laugh. “I went to that pumpkin decorating thing with the other girls today,” she explained, feeling the heat from the accusing spotlight he was putting on her. “With the kids over at the Children’s Center. Like you wanted me to.”

He didn’t say anything.

She sighed and tried another topic. “I watched your game last night.”

Kris emitted a low noise that sounded much like a growl. “That was bullshit,” he muttered, fixing his eyes back on the TV. Like he was looking right through her.

“Screw Shanahan,” Allison said, letting a hint of her anger towards the NHL’s disciplinarian slip.

Kris looked at her like it was the first time he’d seen her in months. Something fluttered in Allison’s stomach; that look made her feel special. Like she’d finally said something worthy of his attention. She loved that feeling as well as craved more of it.

Finally, he smiled at her. He didn’t say anything else, instead wrapping one of his thick arms around her small waist and pulling her effortlessly onto the couch next to him. Suddenly, she was launched into last year, when their relationship was new and exciting. She missed exploring every one of his features, figuring out who he was and getting to know everything about him. She missed the newness of what they used to be. Now they were an average couple. Used to each other. A cliché. Moments like these were few. That’s why Allison savored every moment.

“Remember when,” Kris said, his accented English low in her ear, “we used to plan our weeks around new episodes of this?” He gestured to the TV.

“And when you’d be on the road,” Allison continued, “I’d call you to tell you what happened. So you’d be caught up by next week.”

Kris exhaled and stretched an arm upward casually. “And then we got DVR.”

Allison laughed in spite of herself. Part of her wanted to blame the DVR for their problems. They no longer had those phone calls that started out as a short conversation about the show, but grew to be meaningless banter that would last for hours. And she felt like it was because of that bit of technology. But no - it’d be silly to blame an inanimate object. The problems were their own; both of them knew it, but neither wanted to approach the subject. It would only cause a further strain on their already fragile relationship.

“Sometimes I miss those phone calls,” Kris admitted, as if reading her mind.

Allison maneuvered in his arms to face him. “I do, too,” she said softly, their faces so close now that their noses almost touched. Hers narrow and feminine, his a perfect ski slope. She felt that fire reignite between them, sensing the intimacy. It was so rare now that the impact felt so much greater. Like tasting chocolate while on a strict diet. Sweet. Meant to be savored.

Slowly, she lifted a small hand to his face, brushing back the mess of hair that always seemed to get in his way. It was soft and silky, ten times better than it looked in photos. She missed how it felt when she ran her fingers through it, like touching ribbon. No man’s hair should be this soft, but Kris’s was.

Kris must have felt the rarity of the occasion, too; his arms firmed around her wait, eliminating any open space between their bodies. She could have lied there next to him all night, all week, forever. She’d make sure to never take this closeness for granted this time and just enjoy how they were together. How they used to be. She could feel things escalading - fast - and knew that the faster they went, the sooner it would be over. Carefully, she figured a way around that.

“What time do they play tonight?” she asked, leaning backward to see him clearly.

“Seven-thirty,” he answered, automatic.

“Do you want to watch it?” she asked him. It would be an easy excuse to spend three more hours with him on that couch.

His mouth curved downward. “I should watch it.” She could feel the bitterness pulse off of him - she knew it’d be hard for him to watch his team play knowing he wouldn’t be there to help them, winning or losing.

“I’ll watch it with you,” Allison offered, careful not to be too enthusiastic at the chance. “It won’t be that bad.” She grinned up at him. “It’s Minnesota.”

Kris chuckled, pulling her closer and closer to him until his lips met her forehead. He pressed a soft kiss there, close to her hairline but not quite. She tingled head-to-toe at his touch, absently letting her fingers comb through that mess of hair. Yes, she could definitely stay there all night.

“It won’t be that bad,” Kris repeated lowly, his lips still against her skin as he spoke.

Can’t be.