The Girlfriend Zone (Love and Hockey #4)

1. My Future Wife

1

MY FUTURE WIFE

Miles

I didn’t expect to meet my future wife today.

I had other plans. But as she heads toward me in the coffee shop’s doorway, I know that’s who she is.

Maybe the ink on her arms does it—the stenciled flowers cascading down them—or possibly the mesmerizing sea-blue shade of her eyes. But honestly? It’s probably the cute-as-all-get-out smirk she sends my way.

I’d smirk at me, too, considering the spangled and sequined mannequin I’m lugging down Fillmore Street. The full-size feathered headdress is wider than the door, and the espresso cup glued into the dummy’s stiff fingers seems a little weird. No way is my future wife going to realize I’m her future husband with this level of awkward.

But I’m not the kind of guy to let a six-foot-tall faux showgirl get in the way of Fate.

The inked beauty holds open the door to the shop, and I step up to prove that chivalry isn’t dead .

“I’ve got this.” I manage to grab the door with my free hand, opening it wider so she can exit first. Inside the café, Birdie—AKA Grandma—has caught sight of the byplay and watches, eagle-eyed, from behind the counter.

The brunette with the flower tattoos sweeps her gaze over my cargo. “I hope your date appreciates what a gentleman you are,” she teases as she slips past to the street.

“Actually,” I lean in and stage-whisper, “she doesn’t have much to say.” I glance at the mannequin Birdie asked me to bring to her. Well, insisted, really. Be a dear and grab Dolly from the foyer, will you? I need a greeter for the shop.

“Occupational hazard, maybe,” the woman deadpans. “She’s trained to keep smiling no matter what.”

“She does have a hell of a poker face,” I agree, furrowing my brow at Dolly, then meeting the brunette’s eyes again. “I can’t say I know her opinions on anything, really.”

“But maybe that’s what you want in a date?”

“Nope. A good date needs opinions.”

“Oh? Are you a fan of opinions?” She sounds doubtful as she adjusts the sweater she carries. It’s September in San Francisco, which means you never know if it’ll be warm or breezy—or both.

“Love them,” I say definitively, matching her raised brow. “The more the merrier.”

“Noted.” Her tone is playful, the kind of playful that says keep talking .

“In fact, here’s one for you,” I say, leaning in just slightly as I lay the groundwork for asking her out. “The espresso here is excellent.”

“You’re gallant, and you give free hot beverage advice too? Is it my lucky day or what? ”

“It’s mine. That is if you want to share some of your opinions with me.”

She takes a beat, likely assessing me with those curious eyes. Then she nods toward the neon menu behind the counter and gives a sly smile. “Here’s one. Coffee drinks are vile.”

“That’s a bold statement to make in a coffee bar.”

She rolls her beautiful blue eyes. “A ‘ bold ’ statement? Really?”

I grin, delighted that the future Mrs. Falcon has the quick wits and sense of humor to catch that. “What? You don’t like coffee or coffee puns?”

“I like good puns.” Her lips twitch in a sly, bewitching smile.

With my free hand, I clutch my chest melodramatically. “You wound me.”

“I’m made of pure marshmallow fluff when it comes to helping out my grandmother.”

Her brow arches in a playful challenge. “Did you really just drop that helping out a grandma bit to let me know you’re the kind of guy who helps out his grandmother?”

Taking my arm from Dolly’s shoulder I gesture to the inside of the café—a perfect place for a date. It’s pre-season but there’s no hockey practice tomorrow, so why not lock in the chance right now? “Maybe I did. I’d be happy to explain more over a not-coffee beverage of your choice.”

She taps her to-go cup with polished black nails. “I’m a green tea girl.”

“This is great. You think coffee is vile and prefer to drink something that smells like a just-mown lawn. Look at all the opinions we have. ”

“So many more to learn, I’m sure,” she says and we’re this close to a date, but then she dips her face and checks her phone screen.

It’s in her hand, and from the looks of it, someone’s calling, but I didn’t hear it ring.

Odd. I’d think it was a save me tactic, but her phone flashes with the word Dad.

She raises her face, her smile fading, and the playful atmosphere shifts. Before she answers though, she looks my way once more. “I hope you get to enjoy your next not-coffee date,” she says. Then, with maybe some reluctance in her expression, she turns away and answers her phone in a warm voice, “Hi, Dad.”

She walks up the street. Away from me.

I stand there for a second, weighing what just happened. Did she actually turn me down or did she leave the door open? I’d like to think that was a breadcrumb— not-coffee date— but she could just be phenomenally smooth. I’m not sure. But then, I remind myself this wasn’t going to be as easy as asking her out right here, right now. Nothing good comes easily. I watch her go, admiring her attitude, her sass, her banter, and, well, let’s be blunt—her ass.

But what gets me most is when she reaches the corner. It’s almost imperceptible—just a quick glance over her shoulder—but I see it. She steals a final glance at me.

Yes. Fuck yes.

It was a breadcrumb, and I will take it. Follow it. And devise a plan.

I pump a mental fist, then haul Dolly inside High Kick Coffee, past chattering customers camped out at tables and a handful of people waiting to place their orders. Birdie has plenty of employees here to tend to them, but she opened a coffee shop because she likes people as much as she likes bling. In typical Birdie fashion, everything in High Kick Coffee sparkles, from the countertops to the mirrors on the walls to the clock with a woman’s leg kicking back and forth to keep time.

I prop Dolly out of the way behind the counter as my grandmother starts an espresso for me. “Tell me the brunette with the flower tattoos is a regular,” I say, thoughts still centered on the woman who’s gotten away for now.

“Why? Are you in love already?” Birdie teases with a knowing grin.

“More like insta-infatuation,” I admit, leaning on the counter. “But sure, call it love.”

Birdie’s smile widens. “The woman with the flower tattoos is a photographer. We’re working together soon.” She gestures to her old showgirl photos hanging behind the counter—pictures of her kicking her leg high while wearing spangled bikinis and feathered headdresses. “Time to update the pics, don’t you think?”

I try to imagine Grandma dusting off her sequins and feathers to recreate her glory days on the Vegas stage. Is she serious about the photo shoot? She did insist I drag Dolly all the way from her home to her coffee shop after this morning’s practice. When my grandmother has a vision, I wouldn’t put anything past her.

“New photos sound great.” I lean my elbows on the counter in an oh-so-casual way. “Especially if you let me know when you’re doing them.”

“We haven’t picked a date yet.”

“But you will,” I predict.

“I will,” she says with a sly smile. “Eager much?”

I shrug. “I know what I like. What’s her name? ”

“Leighton,” Birdie says. “She comes in about once a week.”

“Leighton,” I echo, enjoying the sound of it. “Perfect. I’d hate to miss her, so I guess I’ll be stopping by every day till I ask her out.”

Birdie laughs, shaking her head. “You were always my most determined grandchild. Now, be a dear and put Dolly by the door. She has a job to do.”

“Right.” I carry the mannequin to the front where she can welcome customers to High Kick Coffee—where the caffeine comes with an extra kick.

Before I duck back into the shop, I sneak one last look up the street.

You’ll be back, Leighton, and so will I.

I return to the counter as Birdie steps around the counter to the stool I always sit in.

“How was practice?” she asks, eyeing me over the steaming espresso she slides my way.

“Great,” I say, pride surging through me. “Playing better than ever.”

“You’ve worked so hard. I’m not surprised,” Birdie says.

“I think it’s more that I have the best coach.” I owe Coach everything. I’m still grateful for the chance he gave me when my career was circling the drain a couple years ago. My last team let me go, and for a while there, I was sure my hockey days were done.

Now, everything’s looking up—and has been for my last couple of seasons with the Sea Dogs.

Especially with my future wife coming back next week.

So I can buy her a cup of tea and hear more of her opinions.