13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
The Man, The Myth, The… Home Decor Guru?
Shep Landon spotted at a home goods store!
Hold on to your teacups, friends, because this one’s a real head-scratcher.
Shep Landon—yes, I’m talking about our local hockey god, the Shep Landon, was spotted yesterday at a Home Goods store.
Now, we all know Shep is known for his speed on the ice, but it seems he might have a new skill in his repertoire: interior design.
We’re not sure if he had any companions on this shopping expedition, but the instant we find out, rest assured, the headline will be big and bold.
Meanwhile, my informants tell me he left with several bags of goods, including a suspiciously plush-looking comforter.
Is Shep Landon off the market? Is he decorating a new bachelor pad?
Stay tuned, my darling Puckleberries. Something tells me this story is just getting started. ~Penni’s Puckleberry Tea
Shep
The plane’s landing gear squealed against Richland International’s tarmac, jolting me awake. Cabin lights flickered on as we taxied to the terminal, turning my teammates into washed-out ghosts of themselves after our two-game road trip.
Zacha rocked my seat from behind. “Wake up, kámo?e. Time to go.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just waiting for Hammer’s slow ass to stop blocking the aisle.” My joints protested as I heaved out of the cramped seat and yanked my leather duffle from the overhead bin.
Hammer didn’t turn around, but he did raise his middle finger to acknowledge my complaint. About as much as could be expected from the perpetually silent defenseman.
The weight of fatherhood pressed against my shoulders as we shuffled along like good little soldiers. Hannah spent my road trip with Shy, probably asleep at this hour. My stomach churned at the thought of all the grown-up decisions looming ahead—schools and schedules and childcare apps.
“P.T. check in the morning then don’t even look for me until game time,” Zacha said from behind me.
“Big plans?”
“Not leaving my bed. I’ll load up on one of Novy’s concoctions and then spend the rest of the day under the covers. Naked if I’m lucky.”
Naked with Novy, he meant. He’d nearly lost his girl, but now played the part of perfect partner to a T.
Merri’s face flashed through my mind—her summer-green eyes and sassy smile a stark contrast to my sleep-deprived teammates.
The memory of her in the Thunder video room burned through my brain.
I’d gone looking for distraction. Found it in her soft gasps and the way she’d melted against me.
Then footsteps and voices in the hall dragged both of us back to reality.
The chill night air slapped my face as I descended the plane stairs.
I shouldn’t have sought her out after the game.
Should have headed back to the hotel like any other night.
But seeing Wilson leave, suspecting she’d still be up in that room alone…
The temptation of losing myself in her had overwhelmed common sense.
Now those stolen moments with Merri felt like a different lifetime. A new reality waited at Shy’s place. A teenager who needed stability, not a reckless man chasing distractions in video rooms with pretty coaches.
Reality.
Grown-up shit.
I shuddered.
The team’s shuttle dropped me at my truck, and twenty minutes later I pulled into my designated spot at the loft.
Morning meant picking up Hannah from Shy’s, diving into school enrollment forms, and figuring out childcare for away games.
Shy had sent some fancy app designed to match parents with qualified sitters.
Like ordering takeout, but with actual human beings. Simple enough.
I stepped out of the elevator, the soft click of the keyless entry unlocking my front door as I approached.
Inside, motion sensors triggered soft lighting across the open floor plan.
No hockey gear cluttering the marble tiles, no signs of my daughter’s presence.
Just designer furniture and those damn banana trees stretching their leaves toward empty space.
I shed my suit, Armani pooling on the imported tile between foyer and bedroom. The mattress cushioned my aching muscles, but instead of finding those zzz’s, memories of Merri flooded in—clever eyes gone dark with want, her sweet citrus scent wrapping around me like a drug.
The need to escape into her had overwhelmed everything else. Her quick breaths, the soft sounds she made when I touched her—pure distraction from the mountain of responsibility I had waiting for me.
The next morning, Shy swung open the door, a wave of breakfast scents rolling over me—sausage, maple syrup, butter melting on a hot griddle. “Just in time, I see.” She grinned at my lustful inhale.
“We can work out a swap. Next time I go home to 3C, I’ll bring back a Sugar Squared bag if you feed me now.”
“Tiago’s manning the griddle. Take it up with el príncipe.”
I grinned down at my little sister. When I’d first met Santiago Rivera, I’d had to hold myself back from knocking him into next week.
But within an hour of seeing him and Shy together, my brotherly protectiveness settled down into manageable levels.
He adored Shy and didn’t hesitate to make sure she knew it, that I knew it and I’d guess, if he could, he’d brand the knowledge into every head along the Eastern Seaboard.
With Tiago’s adoration came his own brand of protectiveness and possession. The moment I grasped he was an ally, not an adversary, in the care and safety of my sister, he’d earned my respect.
And bonus points—he kept Shy far away from any cooking implements. Bless my kid sister’s robot-loving heart, but she barely knew a frying pan from a toaster oven. But then, she could MacGyver an android out of a hair tie and a toothpick.
We all had our skills.
I followed Shy into the chef’s kitchen to find Tiago smiling at my daughter where she sat at a small round cafe table. He nodded encouragingly and Hannah launched into a description of some sort of frog drawing.
Shy tilted close, whispering, “They’re talking about skateboards. Your daughter has a frog prince board.”
“She mentioned princes that first night.”
“She thinks Tiago is a prince. She’s perfect and I’m keeping her.”
My laugh drew all eyes our way. “Morning,” I called, crossing to claim the chair opposite Hannah. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Uncle T is making pancakes. Banana ones for me, chocolate chip for Shy, blueberry for you and Mateo.”
Uncle T? My eyebrows shot up as I grinned at Tiago. He stood over the griddle, a black apron pulled taut over the breadth of his chest. He pointed the spatula in my direction. “You will accept the blueberries with gratitude.”
I smacked my belly and shot my new daughter a grin. “Darn right I will.”
Shy skirted around Hannah and grabbed the stack of plates by the griddle. “I’m helping,” she declared at Tiago’s arch look.
He nodded and flipped a pancake like a pro.
I shook my head at my sister’s antics and settled back into my chair.
My daughter looked even more like Shy today than when I’d dropped her off three days ago.
The jut of her chin, the way she tucked her chestnut hair behind her ear—Landon through and through.
“Aunt Shy said you’re going to take me shopping today?”
The corner of my mouth kicked up. “Sure. We need to outfit that bedroom, right?”
“I thought you were going to have a designer do it?”
“We could. But you really want to spend another night with those mashed potatoes looming over your head?”
The home goods store stretched before us like an unexplored continent.
The sheer size of the place had my palm itching for my phone.
Shy had already texted twice since we’d left her place, warning me not to wing it.
To accept my ignorance and consult the experts.
I pulled up her latest message. She’d forwarded an article, “20 Teen Girl Bedroom Essentials”, with a string of heart emojis after it.
My thumb hovered over the link. Did clicking make me less of a man? Less of a dad?
A sharp squeak cut through my internal crisis.
I glanced down to find Hannah dragging the toe of her Converse across the store’s vinyl flooring, creating that high-pitched rubber sound that drove people crazy.
The shoes themselves caught my attention—bright green canvas with pink laces woven through silver eyelets.
The kind of tiny detail that said everything about the kid wearing them. Not quite princess, not quite rebel.
She’d kept her eyes glued to her phone since we’d left the truck, but her feet betrayed her nervous energy—scuff, squeak, scuff.
“Any idea where to start?” Simple question. No sign of nervousness. Smooth.
She shrugged one shoulder without looking up. “Never been here before.”
Right. Virginia Beach was hours away. “Well…” I clicked the link. If they made me turn in my man card, so be it. I would ace this dad gig, come hell or high water. “Looks like we need bedding, storage solutions, and some kind of personality pieces.”
“Personality pieces?” She finally looked up, suspicion narrowing her eyes.
“Yeah, like…” I waved toward a display of wall art. “Stuff that shows who you are. That’s important, according to the article your Aunt Shy sent.”
“Aunt Shy.” Hannah’s voice went soft. She tucked her phone in her back pocket. “She’s nice.”
“She has her days.” I snagged a cart and muscled it around a display of candlesticks. “So, storage first? For your board and stuff?”
Her steps quickened to match mine. “You’d let me keep my board in my room?”
“Where else would it go?” The hope in her voice squeezed my chest. “Though we should probably find something to keep it off the floor. Fancy floors in that place—wouldn’t want to scuff ‘em up. What would the designer say?”
We rounded a corner into the furniture section. Hannah drifted toward a display of floating shelves and wall-mounted racks. Her fingers traced the edge of a shamrock green shelf.