Faking It With The Hockey Star

Harper’s POV

I stopped so abruptly that I nearly walked straight into the heavy wooden doorframe.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. My throat locked up, and the air trapped in my lungs felt thick and heavy.

Justin was sitting comfortably on a deep leather couch across from an elderly woman. Both of them were holding delicate china cups of tea, chatting effortlessly as if this were the most normal afternoon of their lives.

I looked at Justin. Then at the woman. Then back at Justin.

My mouth fell open, completely incapable of processing the scene in front of me.

The woman noticed me first. A gentle, knowing smile spread across her weathered face, her warm eyes sparkling with soft affection. "Are you going to stand there all day, sweetheart?"

I blinked, the sting of sudden, hot tears rushing to my eyes.

"Is this..." My voice cracked, breaking in the middle. I swallowed hard, my chest trembling. "Is this actually you?"

She let out a quiet, velvety laugh. "Last time I checked."

That was it. The tears I’d been desperately trying to keep back spilled over, tracing warm paths down my flushed cheeks.

"Oh my God," I whispered, covering my mouth with both hands to keep from sobbing out loud.

Justin pushed himself up from the sofa, standing tall and looking entirely too pleased with himself. A soft, tender light filled his dark eyes. "Surprise."

I turned toward him, my hands still covering my lower face. "You did this?"

He shrugged, his trademark smirk softening into something incredibly sweet. "I told you I had something to show you."

I couldn’t even formulate a response. I turned back to her.

Her.

The living legend whose body of work had shaped the entire blueprint of how I viewed cinema. The vision behind the documentaries I’d dissected frame by frame until three in the morning. The genius whose films I’d studied in university, whose old interviews I watched whenever I doubted my own voice.

She was sitting right here, in the flesh.

"Oh my God," I sobbed out again, completely unraveled by the emotion crashing over me.

She opened her arms to me, her smile full of motherly warmth. "Come here, child."

I didn’t need to be told twice. I rushed across the rug and wrapped my arms around her carefully, terrified of holding her too tightly. She laughed softly against my shoulder, her thin arms wrapping around my back with surprising warmth.

"You must be Harper."

I pulled back just enough to wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. "Yes. Yes, that’s me."

"I know," she murmured, taking both of my trembling hands between her warm, weathered palms. "Justin has told me quite a lot about you."

I whipped my head around to look at him. He gave me an innocent, amused little smile.

"You’ve been talking about me?" I asked, my voice high and breathy.

"Maybe a little," Justin murmured, tucking his hands into his pockets.

"A little?" The legendary director chuckled warmly. "More than a little, sweetheart. He hasn’t stopped talking about your talent since he reached out."

I shook my head, a shaky laugh bubbling up through my tears. "Thank you," I breathed, looking back at Justin, my chest aching with an overwhelming wave of love and gratitude. "Thank you for doing this for me."

"You’re welcome, baby," he said softly.

The woman gently squeezed my fingers, drawing my attention back. "Come. Sit down before your knees give out."

I let out a wet laugh and sank onto the plush leather couch right beside her. Justin sat back down in his armchair across from us, watching me with a look of quiet pride that made my heart do flips.

She studied me with keen, sharp eyes. "So, how has school been?"

"Good," I answered instantly, then caught myself. "Really good. I’m a graduate now."

"I know. Justin told me."

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. "He told you everything, didn’t he?"

"Almost everything," she smiled, leaning back against her cushions. "Especially about your documentary."

My eyes widened. "You... you know about my documentary?"

"I watched it."

My heart stopped beating altogether. "You actually watched my film?"

"I did," she said plainly. "Justin sent me the cut. You have an extraordinarily rare eye, Harper."

I stared at her, frozen. "Really?"

"Really," she nodded, her tone serious and deeply respectful. "You understand how to capture raw emotion without forcing the camera. You let the subject breathe. That is something you cannot teach a filmmaker you either have the instinct, or you don’t."

A hot flush swept up my neck, warming my cheeks. "I’ve always loved non-fiction," I murmured, my voice trembling with passion. "I like observing real people and finding a way to frame their truth without making it feel staged."

"And it shows," she said softly. "That is precisely why I agreed to let Justin bring you here."

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "I also understand you are planning to enter the industry immediately after graduation, and you’ve secured an internship?"

"Yes. It starts in the fall."

She exchanged a quick, subtle look with Justin before focusing all her attention back on me. "Then I have a proposal for you. A gift, if you will."

I sat up straight, my pulse hammering against my ribs. "What kind of proposal?"

"My final production," she said, her eyes gleaming with ancient fire. "I want you on my team."

My jaw dropped. The room seemed to tilt. "You... you want me to work with you?"

She chuckled softly, the sound full of joy. "You can breathe, sweetheart. Yes, I want you."

"What... what is the project?" I stammered out, desperate to hear every detail.

"A period piece," she revealed.

My attention sharpened instantly, every producer’s instinct in my brain firing up. "Which century?"

"The nineteenth century. A war story... woven together with a deep, tragic romance."

"Oh," I breathed, already entirely hooked. "Oh, wow."

A triumphant smile lit up her face at my reaction. "I knew that would catch you."

She spent the next hour detailing the scale of the film, and I hung onto every single word, completely forgetting the tea cooling on the table.

"It requires extensive historical accuracy," she explained, leaning in. "The costuming, the set architecture, the lighting... every single element has to feel lived-in."

"What about the weapons and artillery?" I chimed in naturally. "And the dialogue? Are you drawing directly from original nineteenth-century letters and historical sources?"

Her silver eyebrows lifted in absolute delight. "Look at you already dissecting production design and script authenticity."

"I can’t help it!" I laughed, feeling the familiar fire of my passion burning bright in my chest. "If the social hierarchy of that era isn’t reflected in how the characters speak, the romance loses its stakes."

"Exactly," she beamed, looking genuinely thrilled. "This is precisely the drive I needed on set."

When lunch was served, we barely paused to eat. The dynamic shifted seamlessly from a nervous meeting into a vibrant exchange between two passionate storytellers. We talked about directors, lighting styles, narrative pacing, and the raw beauty of unfiltered cinema.

She walked me through her trophy room, pointing out classic set photos and sharing hilarious, chaotic stories from her earliest days in the industry. I hung on every word, soaking in decades of wisdom.

Before we left, she gently clasped my hands one last time. "You have a rare gift, Harper. Curiosity and soul. Never let this brutal industry strip that away from you."

"I won’t," I promised, my throat tight. "I won’t."

She handed me a heavy card with her personal contact information written in gold ink. "We will speak next week about your contract."

By the time Justin led me back out to the truck, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the coastal sky in brilliant shades of amber and rose.

The second the passenger door clicked shut, I turned to Justin and let out a loud, breathless scream of pure joy.

Justin burst into a deep, booming laugh as he turned the key in the ignition. "What?"

"I cannot believe you did that!" I yelled, clapping my hands over my face before pulling them down to stare at him. "Justin! Are you insane?!"

He smirked, watching me as he pulled out of the private driveway. "You liked the surprise?"

"Liked it?!" I practically threw my hands into the air. "I am obsessed! I am floating! I just met my hero and she offered me a spot on her final movie!"

He chuckled softly, his dark eyes brimming with absolute affection as he reached across the center console and grabbed my hand, bringing it to his lips to press a warm, lingering kiss against my knuckles.

"You deserve every bit of it, baby," he murmured against my skin. "You earned that offer the moment she saw your work."

I squeezed his hand tightly, staring at his striking profile in the fading sunlight, my heart expanding so fast it hurt.

"This is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me," I whispered, the depth of my feelings spilling into every word.

Justin glanced at me, his smile softening into something raw and beautiful. "Anything for my girl."

I leaned back against the leather headrest, holding his hand firmly in mine, looking out at the glittering ocean. My mind was racing with endless possibilities, but right here, wrapped in the warmth of Justin’s love, I knew my life would never be the same again.

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