Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Clark
“You’re totally cheating,” my cousin Laura says, punching my shoulder so hard that I nearly swerve the truck off the road.
We’ve been playing a game of “Guess the Christmas Song,” just like we had as kids, since we pulled out of her driveway in Starlight Bay an hour ago.
“I’m not cheating, you just aren’t any good at this.”
“I’m the reigning champ since two thousand six, thank you very much.” She turns up the volume and waits for the next song to start with the concentration of a goalie getting ready to pounce on a flying puck.
The song starts, and I hesitate, letting Laura win just so she can keep her title. I’m a softie like that.
She smirks in satisfaction and pumps her fist in the air. “Take that, loser.”
I give her the side-eye. “Competitive much?”
She sighs and takes a sip of her long-cold peppermint latte. “At least I’m not as bad as Mike.”
Her father-in-law, Mike, is the head coach of the kids’ hockey team I volunteer for. “The Mighty Mites have a chance of winning the Gilded Goblet this year.”
“He rides them like it’s The Stanley Cup on the line.”
“Gotta start somewhere. I found my love for hockey with my first win of the Gilded Goblet.”
“They’re five years old, Clark. Five.”
I chuckle. “He just wants them to be tough.”
“They’re supposed to be learning how to skate forward without face-planting.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Not perfecting hat tricks.”
She’s got me there. “At least he’s committed?”
Laura gives me a look that says she’d rather eat fruitcake than agree with me—and she hates fruitcake. “As long as he doesn’t turn my son into some cocky, obsessive athlete by the time he starts first grade, I guess it’s okay.”
I clear my throat noisily. Fame got ahold of me for a few years when I was a big deal in the league. But I’m making my way back to small town life and humility these days, one step at time.
Laura darts an apologetic gaze at me. “I didn’t mean you.”
I wave her off. “It’s all good. I know what I used to be. I’m not like that anymore.”
Her eyes gleam and her grin stretches like she’s been waiting all day for an opportunity to bring something up. “Ingrid sent me that picture.”
“What?” I take my eyes off the road and look at her. “I don’t follow.”
“Your kiss with a stranger at the game.”
My chest tightens at the very thought of Jess, who hasn’t called or texted. “Ingrid took a picture?”
“Of course she did.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “You looked pretty cozy with mystery girl.”
Cozy isn’t the word I would have chosen. Perfect is more like it. We’d been made to kiss. Her lips were soft and sweet, and now I’m thinking so hard I miss the only available parking spot near the boutique.
“Damn it,” I mutter as another car snags the only open spot. “This place is a madhouse.”
Laura gives me a knowing look. “Got a certain someone on your mind?”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Her name is Jess.”
“Back to your old ways, huh? The player returns.”
My cheeks burn. “I’m not a player.”
Laura snorts and pulls up the screenshot on her phone. “Pictures don’t lie.”
I glance at the photo of me and Jess kissing, and my heart kicks. “It’s not like that.”
She lifts her brows. “What’s it like, then?”
“So what if I had a lot of consensual sex back in the day? It wasn’t my fault.”
Laura laughs so hard she snorts. “You act like you literally fell into bed with these women on accident.”
I finally find a spot to park three blocks away. “Puck bunnies threw themselves at anyone who could skate with a stick, but I got it out of my system. And since moving home? I’ve been too busy chopping down trees to even go on a date.”
“You don’t have to chop down the trees.” She points at me, like she’s caught me in some sort of scandal. “You own the place.”
I pat my belly. “Keeps me in shape. And it keeps me out of Mom’s hair.”
That earns me another snort. “What happened with you and this girl?”
“Jess,” I say. “She never called me. I gave her my number, and that was it. Two weeks later, nothing.”
“Sounds like you fell for the old, give me your number line.” Laura shakes her head sadly. “Always get the number, Clark. Always get the number.”
“What do you know? You’re an old married lady.”
“Yeah, but I’m not stupid.”
We get out of the truck and start the trek back toward the popular boutique where Laura swears we will find the perfect Christmas present for my soon-to-be-born niece or nephew. After driving an hour into the city, I’m not planning on going home empty-handed.
Even though the sky is heavy with rainclouds, the city looks like it’s been dipped in Christmas cheer. Every lamp post has a wreath, shop windows sparkle with fake snow, twinkling lights, and painted murals of Santa on a snowboard.
Inside the store, it smells like cinnamon and Douglas fir. Twinkle lights hang from the exposed-wood ceiling beams, fresh garland drapes the tops of counters, and Christmas songs drift from hidden speakers.
Every display looks like it belongs on the cover of some lifestyle magazine. And I’m sure the prices reflect the high-end merchandise.
It’s the kind of place where you feel guilty if you don’t buy something. Salespeople hover around every potential buyer, buzzing with suggestions. I already feel out of my league.
The racks are full of impossibly tiny sweaters with hand-stitched snowflakes, hats topped with pompoms, and matching wool blankets soft enough to make you want to curl up with a nursery rhyme right there on the floor.
Tables are laid with delicate glass ornaments, gilded picture frames, and candles that cost more than I’d spend on a full tank of gas for the pickup.
We wander through, Laura gasping every three seconds. “Oh, look at this onesie. And this blanket. Clark, touch this sweater—it’s softer than heaven.”
I pretend to roll my eyes, but end up buying the blanket anyway. And a stuffed reindeer with bells on its antlers because, why not?
I’m putting away my credit card before I can buy anything else when the first crack of thunder sounds. Seconds later, rain slams the windows like somebody flipped a switch.
Laura groans. “Perfect. Just when I got my hair to cooperate.”
I jerk my thumb toward the door. “Stay put. I’ll bring the truck around.”
“Chivalry’s not dead,” she says with mock swoon.
By the time I jog through the downpour to the truck, I’m soaked. When I pull in front of the shop, Laura darts from the door, shielding her bag of baby treasures, and hops in the passenger seat, dripping.
“You are not gonna believe this,” she pants. “I swear I just saw her. Mystery girl. In the shop.”
My fingers tighten on the wheel. “You’re seeing things.”
“Nope. It was her. Clark—” she pokes my arm like we’re kids again—“this is fate. Your perfect opportunity.”
My gaze drifts back to the glowing boutique windows. Through the rain-streaked glass, I catch a flash of someone—a tall woman with shiny dark hair, standing near the counter. My heart lurches. For a second, I’m sure it’s her.
My hand goes to the door handle. I picture it: walking back in, catching her eye, seeing if that spark from the arena still exists. And maybe accidentally falling into bed together.
I shake my head to get rid of the image of our long legs tangled together in the sheets. Suddenly, reason kicks in. If she wanted to see me, she would’ve called. I let go of the handle and put the truck in drive.
“She has my number,” I say, more to convince myself than Laura. “If she doesn’t call. It’s not meant to be.”
Laura groans. “You’re insufferable.”
“Stubborn,” I correct, pulling onto the rainy street. “It’s different.”
But as we drive away, I can’t stop myself from glancing back at the boutique. And in the golden light spilling through its windows, I swear I see her silhouette turn toward the street—like maybe she’s looking for me, too.