“He reached into his jacket, grabbed a box, and put it on her knee. “There.” She blinked and then frowned unhappily at it. “Is this a proposal?” Suddenly, he was feeling unsure of himself. He shifted nervously in his seat. “Sorta.” She threw the box firmly back onto his lap. “You’re not proposing to me when there’s blood smeared all across the glass in front of us. Not at a hockey game at all, and not with that blasé attitude. I want fancy romance! I want a bent knee. I don’t want you in your old hockey letterman shirt like you think you’re the Fonz.”