17. Stalk Me All Night Long
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?”