Chapter 8
eight
. . .
The bell above the cakery door chimes at five-forty-five in the morning, and I don’t need to look up from the batch of pumpkin pie cupcakes I’m frosting to know who it is.
We don’t even open until seven, which means my dad let someone in, and I only know one person crazy enough to be up this early in the morning.
Then my father says, “She’s in the back,” and the black plastic door swings inward.
Finn appears in the doorway, still in his practice gear—sans the skates and helmet. His dark hair is damp with sweat, and concern etches lines around his eyes.
“You weren’t at the rink,” he says.
“No.” I squeeze the piping bag harder than necessary, creating a frosting column that’s more like a blobby tornado than the perfectly thick swirl I was going for. I indicate the stool where I’m kneeling to keep my weight off my ankle.
“I’m keeping my promise.”
He steps closer, and I catch the way his gaze travels over my face, taking in what I’m sure are the remnants of last night’s crying session. Fine, and maybe a lot of double-dark chocolate cupcake crumbs. “How’s—how are you?”
“Fine.” It’s mostly true. The swelling has gone down in my ankle, and I can walk without limping too badly. Me as a whole? How can I answer that? No one is ever whole as a whole person, are they?
“Ivy.” His voice comes across my eardrums gentle, patient. “What happened?”
The simple question nearly undoes me all over again. I set down the piping bag and lift my head to face him fully, noting the way his practice jersey clings to his shoulders, the concerned tilt of his head.
“My mother happened.” I lean against the prep table. “She knows about us, and she’s furious.”
Finn’s jaw tightens. “What did she say?”
“The usual. That I’m throwing away my career, that I’m distracted, that you’re going to break my heart.” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “She threatened to move my training to another facility.”
I gesture around the kitchen. “This is the only place that’s actually mine.”
Finn studies me for a long moment, then glances toward the front of the cakery where surely my father is stocking the cases with my overnight bake-off. “Come on.”
“Where?”
“Away from here. You look like you haven’t slept at all.”
He’s not wrong. After Mae and Dad left around two in the morning, I’d stayed and tried my hand at carrot cake cupcakes, replaying every word of my fight with my mother, reviewing the story Mae had told.
Trying to figure out what I really want.
“I can’t just leave. I have cupcakes to finish, and my dad needs help with the morning crowd.”
“I’m sure your father can handle it.” Finn takes my hand, his thumb brushing across my knuckles. “You need—it snowed overnight, and you like the snow.” He offers me a small smile. “And coffee you didn’t make yourself.”
He’s right on both counts, and I let him help me into my coat and out of the cakery.
Twenty minutes later, we’re walking through Brookside Park with steaming lattes from Mugs I want to look at him as earnestly as he looked straight into my eyes and told me I was good enough to win Olympic gold.
Snow clings to his dark hair, and his cheeks are flushed from the cold. “You, Finn Travers, are a starting forward on a professional hockey team. You’re listed first or second at all signing events. People buy jerseys with your name on the back.”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Stop it.”
“I won’t,” I say. “You’re amazing on the ice, Finn. Really, truly amazing. I’ve never seen anyone skate like you.”
“Liar.”
“Mm, kittens don’t lie. They’re actually incapable of it.”
Finn laughs fully now, and I love the sound of light and air it carries.
“You’re so good, and so amazing, and you’re living your dream.”
“Am I? Or am I just trying to prove something to a man who’s never going to be proud of me?”
The vulnerability in his voice makes my chest ache. I reach up and brush snow from his hair, my fingers lingering against his cheek. “Maybe we’re both trying to prove things to the wrong people,” I say. “Take me home and check on my ankle?”
Finn takes a deep breath and blows it out over the pond. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
Back at my house, I settle on the couch while he kneels in front of me, his hands gentle as he examines the joint.
“It’s much better,” he says, but he doesn’t let go of my foot. Instead, his thumbs massage the arch, working out tension I didn’t know I was carrying.
“Finn.” His name comes out as barely a whisper.
He looks up, and the intensity in his dark eyes steals my breath. “Yeah?”
“I’m scared of failing at the qualifier, but I’m also scared of succeeding for all the wrong reasons. I’m terrified that I’m falling for you when I should be focusing on skating.”
His hands go still on my foot. “Are you? Falling for me?”
Heat floods my cheeks, but I force myself to hold his gaze. “Yes.”
He moves up onto the couch beside me, his hand cupping my face. “Good. Because I’m already completely gone for you, Kitten. I have been since that first morning when you nearly took my head off for being on your ice.”
My pulse prances through my veins like a proud pony who’s just won a major tournament, and I want to tell him so. Thankfully, my mouth doesn’t join my riotous heart and mind, and I have at least one body part I’m still in control of.
He presses his forehead against mine. “I don’t want to derail your dreams, Ivy. I want to support them in any way possible. But I also want you to make sure they’re actually your dreams.”
The simple statement breaks something loose inside me. “I don’t even know anymore.” I lean into him, breathing in his familiar scent, letting his solid presence anchor me. I do know I don’t want to give him up, not for skating. Not even for cupcakes.
“Promise me something,” I whisper.
“Anything.”
“Promise we’ll be honest with each other. About our fears, our goals, everything.”
“I promise.” He presses a soft kiss to my temple. “Now promise me you’ll get some sleep.” He touches his lips to my cheek next, then below my ear. “Okay?”
I curl up against his side, my head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped securely around me. For the first time in days, the constant tension in my chest eases.
I promise. I’m not sure I say the words out loud, as I’m already drifting toward sleep. The last thing I remember is the steady rhythm of Finn’s breathing and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, I’m already gone for Finn too.