Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Willa
I pulled my coat around my body tighter. I’d come straight from work, so I was wearing my lovely professional wool peacoat. It was clearly no match for January in Maine or a Tuesday night at the Lovewell Arena.
But the longer I watched Cole coach these little girls, the warmer I felt.
He was adorable, with his backward hat and the whistle hanging around his neck.
The girls looked so tiny standing next to him, even in all their giant pads.
I’d always been a hockey fan—I was raised in northern Maine, after all—so it wasn’t difficult to follow along.
He ran drills, wrangling the girls with more ease than I could have imagined between water breaks. Most of the time, when his back was turned, the girls shot pucks.
Then he guided them through kill penalty drills. He drew out diagrams, then moved each girl into position like they were chess pieces.
This side of Cole was unfamiliar. This man was having fun. He was smiling as he scribbled on his little board and chatting with the kids as he walked through the plays.
It was adorable. Like ovary-squeezing, heart-meltingly adorable. He wasn’t stern or authoritarian. He was supportive and encouraging. Especially to the poor girl playing goalie, who could barely stand with all those pads on.
When practice had wrapped, the girls skated off the ice, wiping off their skate blades and putting their guards on as they went.
The instant their guards were on, two girls headed straight for me. When they took their helmets off, I recognized their sweaty faces—Goldie Gagnon and Kali Farrell.
Goldie, a firecracker with freckles and mischievous blue eyes, walked right up to me and tipped her head back. “So you’re Coach’s wife?”
“No,” Kali corrected. “She’s the doctor. You gave me a flu shot a while ago. And a lollipop.”
I nodded, unable to hold back a smile as they sized me up. When had eight-year-old girls become terrifying? With my white coat and stethoscope, I had some authority, but here? I was clearly positioned low in the hierarchy.
“Be nice to him,” Goldie said coolly, her blue eyes going icy.
“Yeah,” Kali said. “He’s really cool. And awesome at hockey.”
“Yup. And he talks about you a lot.” Goldie twirled the ends of her blond ponytail and tipped her head from one side to the other exaggeratedly as she said, “Blah, blah, doctor. Blah, blah, smart.”
My chest warmed as her words registered. He was talking to his players about me? I was strangely flattered.
“We only push him around because it’s funny and he’s kind of afraid of us. Really, we love him. So be a good wife,” Kali warned.
“Girls.” Henri Gagnon appeared and grasped them both by their shoulders and spun them so they faced the locker room. “We’ve got to get home. You both have homework.”
They groaned, but without another word, they took off.
“Sorry.” He gave me an awkward smile. “Goldie is…” He scratched at his beard. “Sassy.”
“I can tell.” I chuckled. Goldie and her brother had been through a lot in their short lives, but the Gagnons had been incredible with them. “You’re doing a great job.”
I wasn’t a parent, but one thing I’d learned in family medicine was how often they needed to be told they were doing okay.
And it worked, because Henri’s stern face brightened instantly. “She loves hockey,” he explained. “Tucker’s in high school. He won a debate tournament last week.”
His love for his children was palpable. I wanted to hug this man. People like Henri Gagnon made life as a small-town doctor more than meaningful. He was also a model patient. His blood work had improved dramatically since I mentioned to his wife, Alice, that he should watch his cholesterol.
“Congrats on the wedding too,” he said, flagging another parent to get their attention.
After he stepped away to round up his daughter, I waited for Cole, saying hello to the other parents as they trickled out. I knew most of them. Matt Brown our mailman, Meg Garcia, who ran the preschool, and of course Becca, my hair stylist and single mom to Kali.
I was in the lobby, wondering why my husband hadn’t made his way out yet, when I caught sight of him through the frosted swinging doors.
The man was perched in the seat of the Zamboni, gliding across the ice.
Curious, I walked back into the rink and watched him.
He wore a smile as he drove the big-ass machine, with his hat backward and his head high. He’d traded his skates for work boots and was expertly carving ovals on the ice.
Turning the massive steering wheel with ease, one-handed, effortlessly gliding around.
My body temperature rose, despite the frigid air in the arena. Damn. This was hot.
Strangely hot.
He was full of surprises. At no point in my life had I even considered adding “can drive a Zamboni” to the list of attributes my future husband must have. But at this moment, it hadn’t only made the list, but it landed pretty close to the top.
I watched as he exited the ice, presumably to dump the accumulated snow, and then returned.
He swung himself down, and with a grin, he strode toward me.
“You came to watch practice?” His brows were lifted high, as if he were surprised by my presence.
“I wrapped up early, and I wanted to see you in action. Your penalty kill is looking sharp.”
“I wish.” He chuckled. “But thanks. It means a lot that you’re here.”
His dark eyes lingered on mine for a moment, his attention causing my thoughts to jumble. Before I could come up with a response, he turned and walked away, closing the boards and latching the gate.
“Arthur asked me to close up tonight. I have a few more things to do.”
“I actually brought my skates,” I said sheepishly. For days now, I’d had the urge to skate with him.
He whipped around, his eyes bright in the fluorescent lighting. “You own skates?”
I scoffed. “I’m a Mainer. Of course I do.”
“Okay,” he said, smacking the boards. “Then I’ll lace up.”
We hit the ice together and slowly made laps. It had been a while since I’d skated, but I was decent on my feet. My wool dress pants were not the best attire for this activity, but I was having too much fun to care. I’d forgotten what it was like to feel the wind in my hair and the crack of a crisp edge beneath my feet.
Cole skated backward, facing me while we chatted. He was so natural, so at ease, it was like he’d been born with blades for feet.
“You’re a good skater,” he said.
My cheeks heated at the praise. Like any overachiever, I craved compliments. “When I was a kid, I played shinny on the frozen lake with my dad and the other kids almost every weekend,” I explained. “After a few hundred falls, I got the hang of it.”
He shook his head. “That sounds awesome. I was never allowed to skate on the lake like that.”
“Why not?” I frowned. I supposed, now that I thought of it, I’d never really seen him there, even in high school, when the boys would show off to impress the girls.
“Natural ice messes up your blades, and since my dad insisted I wear fancy custom skates, he wouldn’t let me. Also, he didn’t want me to get hurt. Would say he spent too much money on my hockey career to risk a stupid injury.”
My heart ached for young Cole. I didn’t say so, but his dad was an asshole. Some of my happiest memories were of those winter afternoons on the lake. Usually, someone’s mom would show up with hot chocolate, and sometimes one of the dads would bring a boom box and we’d skate around to music. Eventually, a group of kids would gang up and start a snowball fight.
“I’m sorry you had to sit it out.”
He shrugged.
“The lake doesn’t freeze anymore,” I said. “But the pond does. I’ll take you skating there.”
A smile spread across his face. “I’d love that.”
With a quick spin, he took off, like his body was itching for that burst of speed.
Those long legs ate up the ice with every stride, his tight butt flexing in a way that made my mouth water.
Holy hell, was this a turn-on.
The way he coached, ever patient with the girls, and the way they teased and pushed him was adorable.
And the man on skates? Damn. It only amplified how gorgeous he was.
Whether it was knitting or reading or cooking or drawing out plays for his team, he could lock in and give 100 percent. And his dedication was hot as hell.
That intensity radiated from him now. We were in a giant, frozen enclosure, and somehow, this moment felt more intimate than watching Jeopardy on the couch while snuggled against him.
He circled back around and linked his arm through mine. “Thank you for coming. Today was weird, and I’ve been feeling shitty, but seeing you helps.”
“What happened?” I blurted, frowning up at him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He dipped his chin. “But can we just skate and talk about nothing for a bit?”
My chest tightened at the vulnerability in his tone. “Sure. But I kinda want to score some goals.” I pointed to the big red nets that had been pushed to the side while he made ice.
“Ooh, done.” He darted toward the bench.
He pulled out a couple of sticks and a bucket of pucks.
“See which one is the right size for you, and I’ll get the net.”
We shot around for a bit. My shots were pitiful, but I got the hang of it after a little instruction and started scoring eventually. It was fun, skating and joking and shooting pucks. Cole still hadn’t mentioned what was bothering him, but he was smiling and laughing as he whizzed around, doing his fancy moves.
He spun, flipped the puck up, and batted it out of the air like a baseball.
“Ten bucks you can’t score like that,” I wagered, figuring he probably could but wanting to cheer him up.
“Ten bucks? I don’t need your money,” he said. “I’ll pick my prize.”
I shifted uncomfortably on my skates in response to his flirty tone. I’d done a really good job of ignoring how much this felt like a date for the past hour, but now I was starting to sweat.
He raced around the rink, getting a full head of steam, and barreled powerfully down the ice, cutting in with his outside edge, spinning, then flipping the puck up effortlessly. Between one heartbeat and another, it hit the back of the net with a gentle swish .
He raced over to me, stopping abruptly and spraying me with snow.
“I’m here to collect.”
The cold air hung between us as my heart raced. If he asked me to kiss him, I was pretty sure I’d do it. There was nothing more irresistible than seeing him in his natural environment. This was Cole at his most relaxed. It was a privilege, I knew, to see him like this.
“Truth or dare?”
The air stuttered out of my lungs. That was what he wanted in payment? I leaned back, and I would have fallen flat on my ass if he hadn’t grabbed my arm to steady me. His breath fogged the cold air between us, catching my attention and urging me to make a move. But given the height difference and my position on skates I hadn’t worn in years, I figured doing so would probably end in catastrophic injury.
“Truth,” I said softly.
He regarded me, licking his lips.
My breath hitched. I shouldn’t want this. But I did.
He lowered his head slightly, and my heart stuttered to a stop.