17. Stalk Me All Night Long
17
STALK ME ALL NIGHT LONG
Miles
Funny how I haven’t run into Leighton at High Kick in the last year, despite my best efforts.
Now, we’re meeting deliberately, and I don’t know how to feel about it. I know what I do feel, and it’s not what I should feel.
Catching my reflection in the shop window, I pause and run a hand through my hair, giving it a quick, unnecessary tousle. I tug at the hem of my Henley next. Everything looks fine, but here I am, adjusting anyway.
This is a fact-finding mission and nothing more.
Still, I’m eager to hear Leighton’s reason for revisiting our “no being alone together” promise.
I’ve been up for a while—I met with my local geocache club to search for a new stash over by the Ferry Building. Found it in thirty minutes, so I’m early. Anticipation feels like I’ve downed a couple of espressos, but it’s all about seeing Leighton .
Inside the café, I head to the counter, where my grandmother sets a plated toffee brownie in front of a customer, paired with what smells like a caramel latte.
“That’ll be nine dollars,” Birdie says. The woman has double French braids in her hair and a dusting of freckles across her cheeks. She hands over a ten, and while my grandmother makes change, the customer glances at me, then glances again, her eyes lit up with recognition.
“Oh my gosh! Miles Falcon, right?”
“That’s me,” I say evenly.
“I’m a huge fan! I’m so excited that hockey’s back tomorrow.”
“Me too,” I reply, keeping things polite and low-key.
“My friends will be thrilled when they hear I met you! My sister Cassidy likes Tyler, but you’re my favorite.”
“Ouch.” I pretend to be mortally wounded. “And he hasn’t even played his first game as a Sea Dog.”
“I know.” The woman shakes her head, so very disappointed in Cassidy. “I’ve told her I have better taste.”
She bounces on her heels, looking at Birdie, who takes her cue. “Want a picture?” my grandma asks, always my number one hype girl.
“I’d love one.” The woman thrusts her phone at Birdie like the offer might disappear. “I’m Kendra, by the way.”
Kendra steps in beside me, wedging herself close. I give the camera a practiced smile.
Birdie takes the photo and hands back the phone, adding, “Be sure to tag the shop if you post it. ‘Sea Dog Spotted in the wild at High Kick Coffee, home of the best toffee brownies and caramel lattes.’”
“I will! Thank you so much!” Kendra says, then heads off to a corner table with her drink and brownie .
I turn to Birdie, shaking my head. “So much for lying low. You totally blew my cover.”
She rolls her eyes. “Honey, sometimes people recognize you. You’ll just have to cope with some crushes on the Falcon brothers. I can’t help it if you inherited my fabulous facial structure.” She sets a hand on her chin and turns her head to show off those cheekbones. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
“I’m meeting Leighton in a few minutes,” I say, trying not to give away my amped-up feeling.
Birdie’s eyebrows shoot sky-high. “Are you seeing her again?” she whispers, eyes gleaming.
“Relax, no.”
She pouts. “Then why are you meeting her?”
I shrug, keeping it casual. “She wants to discuss something. I don’t know what,” I add before she can ask.
Birdie gives me a long, scrutinizing look. “But you think it’s a date.”
“No, I don’t,” I scoff. “Why would you say that?”
She grins smugly. “You’re dressed for a date, you keep checking the door, and you’ve got that ‘I’m trying hard to look good for the woman I can’t get over’ vibe.”
I scowl, annoyed she’s hit the nail on the head. “Don’t pretend you can see into my soul.”
“It’s not hard. You’re transparent,” she says, seeming completely unfazed.
“And you’re trouble,” I mutter. “Besides, nothing’s happening. Same deal as before. I’m focused on earning the chance to be co-captain.”
She pats my hand. “And you will.” Then she gives a subtle nod toward Kendra, smirking. “Want me to set you up with her then? ”
I roll my eyes. “Is that your way of getting back into The Underground Grandma Matchmaking Society?”
She laughs. “Please. I was reinstated the moment I matched a couple of my regulars. This shop is basically my own dating app.”
I shake my head at her antics. “Just don’t meddle with this, okay?”
With a knowing smile, she nods toward the door. “Darling, here comes your favorite match.”
I turn to see Leighton walk in, looking effortlessly put together, and my heart jumps. That’s seriously inconvenient. I remind myself she’s not mine. She can’t be mine.
She makes her way over, flashing a small grin at me before turning a brighter smile on Birdie. “Hey, Birdie! How did the Earl Grey lattes work out on social? I hope everyone flocked here after those pics.”
“With the showgirl latte art in them, no one could resist.” Birdie waggles her plucked eyebrows. “Want one?”
Leighton chuckles. “You know I’m a green tea girlie.”
“Live a little. I promise—if you love tea, you’ll love my Earl Grey lattes.”
Leighton’s eyes catch mine with a hint of amusement. “Does she always get her way?”
“Every single time,” I say.
Birdie grins. “Perfect. One espresso and one Earl Grey latte.”
As she sets to work making our drinks, I turn to Leighton. “Let’s snag a table. I’ll grab the drinks when they’re ready.” I pause for effect. “Even the vile one.”
She laughs lightly. “Thank you for keeping its vile-ness from me.”
“Of course, Leighton. I’ll always protect you from coffee drinks. ”
“Like I once said, you’re gallant.”
Her references to the day we met go right to my head. They’re not romantic inside jokes, I remind myself and gesture to the back of the café. “After you.”
Leighton walks ahead, and yeah, I’m not going to lie—the view’s nice. But Leighton’s like a Christmas tree in the middle of a department store—she looks good from any angle.
She picks a table tucked into the back corner, away from the chatter closer to the sparkly counter. Retro photos of showgirls decorate the exposed brick walls, adding to the vibe. The scent of coffee mingles with vanilla and cinnamon. Whenever I come here, I hardly ever want to leave.
Leighton sits, and I join her and notice her fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the table. She’s focused but seems a little distracted.
“How’s your day going so far?” I ask. Manners come before curiosity, after all.
“Not too bad. Yours?”
“Can’t complain. Training camp starts tomorrow.”
Her posture straightens, and she flashes a cheery smile, but there’s something professional about it that pings my radar.
“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” she says.
Scratch that. The radar is screaming. Before I can ask, Birdie calls out, “Hot chef!”
Leighton laughs, her eyes brightening with a warmth that makes my chest ache. “She’s so very Birdie.”
Dragging a hand down my face, I mutter, “She is.”
I head up to the counter, grab our drinks, and shoot my grandmother a look. “Did you really need to use that nickname? ”
“It amuses me.” With a sly smile, she sets a plate with a caramel toffee bar onto the tray. “And here’s a little something special on the house. For the two of you.”
“Birdie,” I chide, low, a warning.
“What?” she asks, feigning innocence.
“You’re playing matchmaker again.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “Oh look, I see other customers. Bye, bye.” And with that, she hustles over to the register.
I shake my head, bringing the drinks and pastry back to the table and setting the tray down. “A little surprise from Birdie.”
“For the hot chef,” Leighton teases with a hint of softness.
“For us,” I correct her, sliding the plate to the center of the table.
We share a look that lingers longer than it should, and I feel that familiar pull between us, something warm and charged we’re both trying to deny. Leighton picks up her Earl Grey latte, admiring the swirl of foam shaped into a woman high-kicking. “Almost a sin to drink it.”
“But everything’s ephemeral.”
She arches a brow. “Aren’t you philosophical today?”
“It was my major. Well, it was one of them.”
She tilts her head, her eyes registering surprise. “One of them?” she repeats.
“I double majored. Philosophy and psychology.”
“Who even are you?”
I laugh. “I was kind of into school.”
She lets out a low whistle. “I’ll say. Two? Wow. That’s amazing.”
Fine, it’s just a degree or two. But I like that she’s a little impressed. “Honestly, I was going to get a master’s or go to law school, but hockey called.”
“I don’t meet a lot of athletes who decided between graduate school and the pros.”
I square my shoulders and take the compliment because, yeah, it’s a fucking compliment and it feels good. “I like to aim high,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
“You really do,” she says, then sighs, a little thoughtfully. “You’re a planner?”
“I suppose I am.”
“Me too,” she says, her tone warm. “I like to have options too. Opportunities.”
“Exactly,” I say. “You never know, right?” Then impulsively, I let down my guard and add, “I considered going back to school after my injury. I thought my career was over.”
She gives me a sympathetic smile. “I get that, but I’m glad it’s not. You have a lot of hockey left in you.”
“I hope so,” I say, then return to her comment. “You’re the same? Planner?”
“Definitely. I don’t like uncertainty, I guess, so I try to plan for it. I want to be ready for anything. Be able to make it on my own.” Her tone is unusually vulnerable. It’s clear her independence matters deeply to her.
Her manner shifts though. “Which leads me to why I asked to meet. I took a job with the Sea Dogs. A temporary one,” she adds quickly, then takes a drink.
I blink, processing the news. “You did?”
She nods, her eyes searching mine carefully. “I’m filling in for Mako while he’s on paternity leave.” She pauses to gauge my reaction, her mouth pulled into a tight line. “I’m telling you in person because I didn’t want you to think I took the job just to be near you. ”
The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, but now it’s hard to ignore. “Why would I think that?”
“You’re used to people…hanging on to you, right?” She waits for me to answer, and I give a reluctant nod. “I saw that woman taking a picture with you before I came in.”
“It happens, true. But I’m not used to you hanging on to me.”
Her smile echoes my regret, even though she says, “I’m just trying to be cautious. Since people do that with you, but also in general. They try to get close to people for all kinds of reasons.”
I raise an eyebrow, half-smiling, then say dryly, “This meeting is doing wonders for my ego.”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t mean it like that. I just didn’t want you to think I was…stalking you.”
A laugh escapes me, and I lean in, meeting her gaze. “It’s funny that you think I’d be bothered by that.”
She dips her face briefly, and when she raises it, she says, “Good to know that stalking is approved by you.”
I wave vaguely in the direction of the Marina. “Feel free to wander past my home at night. You remember where I live, right?”
She laughs. “Sort of.”
My jaw drops. “You didn’t write down my address?”
“No,” she says, laughing harder.
“That’s going to make stalking me tougher, Leighton.” I know better than to flirt with her like this. But I know better than to fight on the ice, and sometimes I do that anyway too.
She studies me, a playful glint in those gorgeous blue eyes. “You’re making this hard. We’re supposed to have a deal.”
A gulp of espresso emboldens me. Or maybe that’s her. “I’m not breaking it, am I?” I challenge her, teasing her. If this is all I get, I want to make it good.
“Technically, I suppose not,” she admits.
“So, you’re free to stalk me as long as there are people around? I’ll send you my address just to be safe.”
Another laugh tips her head back, exposing her throat. That throat. Her neck. The softness of her skin. Memory crashes into me, and I wish I could kiss her again.
“I appreciate the invitation. But I probably shouldn’t,” she says, a little wistfully before she shifts to a more serious tone. “Anyway, I didn’t want you to be surprised when you run into me tomorrow at the rink. And I took the assignment because it’s a great opportunity professionally.”
“Absolutely. I should have said congratulations. It does sound good for you. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you.” She sips her drink while I finish mine. Her gaze is still thoughtful, and it’s clear she’s not done yet. “What I really wanted to say, though, is we won’t be able to completely avoid each other.” She glances around, checking for prying ears and eyes, then lowers her voice. “My dad gave me the warning .”
My chest tightens. I can guess what that is. “The ‘don’t get involved with a hockey player’ one?”
She winces but nods. “Yes. It was a little…weird.”
“Does he know? Or suspect?” I ask carefully, my jaw ticking.
“No. God, no.” She takes a beat. “He’s just doing his due diligence, I think. It was more like I know how hockey players are—charming and most don’t want to settle down yet, so be on your guard . That kind of thing.”
If she only knew I’d settle down with her in a heartbeat. My failed relationship with Joanne wouldn’t even stop me. I know how to work hard and learn from the past. So if I could, I’d explore the fuck out of this ludicrous chemistry that crackles and sparks every time we’re near each other. I’d see her every night and prove the lie in her father’s statement.
But I also get that proving him wrong has to be earned.
Over time, with evidence, and probably not while I’m trying to become co-captain. It’s too complicated. That’s the big issue—I’ve got responsibilities, plans, and most of all, a second chance.
I don’t want to fuck with something that required so much work and so much rehab to get.
“Your dad’s right about one thing,” I say, keeping things light.
“What’s that?”
“I’m charming as fuck.”
“So cocky.” She shakes her head, amused.
“You’re not denying it.”
She leans forward, locks eyes with me. “I think we’ve already established I’m charmed by you.”
“It’s the same for me.”
I say it quietly, but she hears me. Her smile is soft, borderline sexy. We’re silent for so long that it threatens to tip over into something else, something warm, something dangerous.
But then, Leighton sits taller and clears her throat. “Anyway, the promise we made to never be alone together might need revising due to work circumstances.”
The idea of working closely with her sparks excitement that has no business zipping down my spine. I should focus on the team, the potential captaincy, my family, the increased media scrutiny from Tyler on the team, two Falcons playing together. Already, the press requests are coming in fast.
“We’ll need to interact one-on-one sometimes,” I say thoughtfully. “Maybe the best way forward is to focus on building a genuine friendship.”
Her smile spreads, nice and easy. “I’d like that, Miles.”
I arch a playful brow. “So no stalking?”
“I don’t think friends stalk each other.”
“But they can have coffee and pastries,” I say, offering her a fork.
She takes it with a reluctant laugh, but a flicker of something warmer in her eyes. “Let’s be friends. It’ll be easier that way.”
If friendship is all I can have with Leighton, I will take it. Oh hell, will I take it. “Everyone can use a friend.”
“They can,” she says, then hands me the other fork.
We dig into the caramel toffee bar at the same time, the tines of our forks clinking. That feels a little like a metaphor.
And since friendship starts with talking, I point my fork at the bar, saying, “Caramel and toffee? Do you think Birdie’s saying you don’t always have to pick sides.”
Leighton thoughtfully polishes off a bite. “So you’re saying this pastry is kind of subliminal messaging?”
“That feels like Birdie’s style.”
She laughs, warm and bright, and peers down at the treat. “I don’t think she’s wrong. Too much of a good thing doesn’t necessarily make a bad thing. Maybe it just makes a very good thing.” She wiggles her brows. “How’s that for philosophy?”
“Very philosophical, Shutterbug,” I say .
She digs in her fork again, nodding to the front of the shop. “Have you two always been close?”
“Definitely. She helped raise us—my brother, sister, and me—after my dad left.”
Leighton sits up straighter, her expression shifting to something tender. “Wow, that’s…big. So she wasn’t just a grandmother who took the kids to the park and gave good birthday presents.”
“Exactly,” I say, my voice softening. “She helped Mom a ton. Picked us up from school, took Tyler and me to hockey, did animal rescue events with Charlie—my sister has always been into animals. Birdie did all that before Mom remarried. And after too, honestly.”
“That’s great. Not that your dad left,” she says, her tone caring. “But that Birdie was a big part of the family.”
“Now and then. And she still is. When everyone moved down here from Seattle, she moved too.” I pause, flashing back on the life and times of my grandmother. “I think she misses the rain though.”
“Does it really rain there a lot? In Seattle?”
“All the time. Constantly. It never stops,” I say, then lower my voice, as if sharing a conspiracy. But I keep my gaze locked on her. “It’s our best-kept secret to keep people out.”
She laughs. “Smart. I won’t say a word.”
“Appreciate that,” I say dryly, then add, “what about you? Are your grandparents around?”
She takes another bite before answering. “Same as you. When my mom left, the grandparents jumped in to help out. They still give Dad a hand with Riley when he’s…” She stops and winces as a storm cloud seems to pass over her. “On the road with the team. It really means a lot to us both. They made sure I didn’t have to be the grown-up, you know?”
My throat tightens. I know what it’s like to carry that kind of weight, whether someone hands it to you or you take it on yourself. “I’m glad,” I say, leaving the dad comment untouched.
“It really is.” She pauses, her brow scrunching like she’s debating something. “Your dad…is he?—”
I shake my head, fighting the latent anger, resentment, and, yep, grief that still swims up when I think of him. “He took off with barely a word when I was twelve. Didn’t hear from him at all during high school,” I say, then swallow past the ancient hurt. “He died when I was seventeen.”
“Oh, Miles,” she says, her voice hitching. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, it sucked. And…thanks.” What sucks the most—which I don’t say—is that I never got to ask him why he left, why he told me to be the man of the house, why we weren’t enough for him to stay.
But the world only spins forward, so l keep moving on.
I switch gears. “Your mom’s still around? Do you see her?”
Her smile seems forced as she says, “Usually only if she wants me to take photos of her or whatever her new handbag line is.”
“Ouch.”
“Yup,” she says. “And if I don’t want to take pics, she’s excellent at passive-aggressively pointing out how I’ll make time for other things. Like myself, and my dad, and my sister. Ironic.”
“That sucks,” I say with a sympathetic sigh.
“It does. But I try not to let it bug me,” she says .
“I hear you. I do the same. To try to let go of the things I can’t control.”
“You get it,” she says. Understanding passes between us as we hold each other’s gazes. I can see some of what drives her independence. And I suppose she now knows more about me than she did before.
Leighton points to the half-eaten pastry and the crumbs of our enjoyment scattered all over the plate. “I like not choosing between caramel and toffee.”
“She’s got a lemon raspberry cake too.” I want to ask her to come back and try it with me. As friends. But I’d only be using friendship to cover up the date I wish we were having.
After we leave, I send her my address, as I’d said I would. But deep down, I’m hoping someday she’ll wander past my home.
The weights clank as I set down my dumbbells during that afternoon’s workout. On the bench, Tyler pushes through another set and then sits up, a resolute grin on his bearded face. The dude loves working out and always has.
“So, how’s the adjustment going?” I ask. He’s only been here a week, and he’s had the kids most of the time, so he’s had a lot to juggle. “Settling in okay?”
Tyler nods, grabbing a towel and wiping the back of his neck. “For the most part. Agatha just arrived, so that’s good.” Agatha is the kids’ nanny—an older woman who’s worked for him since his ex went back to college. “And Elle—she’s doing well in med school. I think she likes the change—new city, fresh start. ”
I get that. I desperately needed that feeling when I moved here. “Seems like things are coming together.”
He runs a hand through his hair, which is longer than mine now. “Just gotta, you know, play good hockey for a new team. No big deal.”
“Right, no pressure,” I deadpan, grabbing a heavier set of weights. “I mean, you only have to live up to my impressive stats. And that’s not easy.”
Tyler smirks, tossing his towel at me. “You’ll be thanking me when I’m carrying you through the season.”
I snag the towel and fling it back. “Oh, you think you’re carrying the team? I was here first. Makes me the better Falcon.”
Tyler raises an eyebrow. “Better? You mean…older?”
“Oh, please.” I flex in mock confidence before I lift the weights. “I’m in my prime.”
He shakes his head, grinning. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”
“I fucking will. Especially tomorrow when we start,” I say, already feeling the thrill of stepping back on the ice.
I’m ready to make this year my best yet. Especially with Leighton there to capture it all.
Maybe, possibly, that’s why I switch to even heavier weights. Well, there’s a good chance she’ll see me shirtless.