19. Angel
CHAPTER 19
ANGEL
T his morning feels like an obstacle course designed by a sadist with a sense of humor only Edgar the goat could appreciate. I distractedly pour Oat O’s into my bowl until they spill over the rim, creating a crunchy yellow moat on my countertop. The irony isn’t lost on me—overextending seems to be the theme of my life.
With a sigh, I pick up my coffee mug, a relic from a second-grade Mother’s Day gift, and take a sip that’s way too eager. My tongue sears with the heat, and I curse under my breath, setting the mug down with more force than necessary. The universe clearly hasn’t had its coffee yet either.
As I shuffle toward the sink, a sharp pain shoots up my foot. “Edgar!” I hiss, looking down to see one of his “treasures”—a small, suspiciously sticky object that has no business inside a human dwelling. Andy must have left the back door open again, and that goat never understood that houses are for humans. I kick the thing aside, mentally adding clean the floor to my ever-growing to-do list.
Clearing up the Oat O’s disaster, I spot a note from Andy, weighed down by the salt shaker. It reads, “Important mission before school. See you at the game! Can we watch with Lil’?” His handwriting is all enthusiastic loops and whirls, the kind that suggests he’s plotting more than attending a simple hockey game.
I lean against the counter, folding the note. Andy and his “important missions” often involve more scheming than a Bond villain. And now he’s roped Lily into his plans. For three days straight, he’s taken off for destinations unknown, and the last thing I need is Scotty thinking I’m running a junior espionage ring out of the ranch.
Scotty.
Nope, not going there, not now. Today is all about Game One of the Ice Breakers, since their success would mean a lot for Happy Horizons. If every time I have a free moment I’m thinking about what almost happened, didn’t, and then became a middle school drama with Scotty, I’m never going to live to tell the story.
I pick up my now tolerably drinkable coffee, take a cautious sip, and commit. It’s game day and I’ve got a ranch to run, a son to corral, and a team to cheer on.
And it’s not even seven in the morning yet.
The sharp ring of the doorbell makes me jump out of my skin. Grumbling about the injustice of early morning visitors, I stumble to the door, pulling it open to find my cousin Harlow grinning like she’s discovered coffee beans that don’t stain teeth.
“Surprise!” she chirps. “Given your new celebrity status, I thought a visit to the ranch was overdue.”
“This early in the morning?”
“I thought all farm folk were up at the crack of dawn?”
She’s not wrong, I’m just barely getting by these days with a minimum amount of sleep. I may feel like a zombie, but Harlow’s presence fills the space. “You know that it’s always a pleasure, cuz, but you’re still in Maple Falls? I thought you’d be getting out of Dodge as soon as you could. ”
She breezes past me into the kitchen, setting down her bag and heading straight for the coffee pot like it’s her home, too. “I really needed a little escape, and the getaway I won made it worth my time to stay.”
I narrow my eyes. “So you’re taking an extended getaway … still alone?”
“Mostly.” She tops up her coffee and avoids my eyes. “Hanging with a friend, too.”
“Oh, really?” I pour myself another coffee, leaning against the counter, eyebrow raised in mock suspicion. “This friend wouldn’t happen to be more than just a ‘friend,’ would he?”
Harlow rolls her eyes. “We’re friends, Angel. Not everyone operates at soap-opera levels of drama.”
I sip the hot brew, Harlow’s news suddenly makes me feel more awake. “In Maple Falls, you’d be surprised. So, what’s his name, and when do I get to meet this platonic paragon?”
“Teddy,” she answers, a flush creeping up her neck. “And we’re keeping this trip low-key.”
“Low-key or under wraps?” I tease, because I love how easy it’s always been with Harlow, especially when she’s pretending she’s not flustered.
Harlow glares, but I’ve known her long enough to know she’s only playing. “Speaking of under wraps, how about you, Miss Hermit? Seen any action on the romantic front lately, or are you still guarding that heart like Fort Knox?”
I’m not prepared for the direct question, and Scotty’s smile flashes through my mind—the way his eyes crinkled when he laughs at his own dad jokes, his hands steady and sure when he caught me from falling. And how I was a little unfair about everything that happened with the kids. I shove the thoughts aside.
“Me? Oh, you know, drowning in a sea of eligible bachelors,” I deadpan, avoiding her probing gaze. “The wild nights I have with my livestock really set the bar too high.”
Harlow snorts, sipping her coffee. “Sure, and I’m the Queen of England. Come on, Angel. It’s me. And I’ve heard that Andy and one of the kids from the team have been spending a lot of time?—”
“Harlow,” I cut in, a warning note in my tone, but she just raises her eyebrows, daring me to confess.
We sit down at the kitchen table, the morning light casting yellow-orange around us.
“Okay, fine.” I take an extra-long sip of coffee for courage. “There might be someone, but there’s nothing to tell. I’ve got these weird feelings and nothing concrete. And it’s complicated. Oh, who am I kidding? It’s not like anything’s happened .” Holding hands doesn’t count, nor do joyful embraces that the kids walk in on.
“But you want something to happen?” Harlow’s voice is gentle, and I wish she were teasing me instead of making me feel like there could actually be something between Scotty and me.
“I don’t know. It’s possible. He’s a different kind of dude. He’s present, he’s real, seems to be a great dad, and he stayed up all night helping me fix the barn.”
“Sounds like there’s more happening than complicated ,” Harlow teases, reaching over to squeeze my hand. “Sounds like it’s worth exploring.”
I make a noise that resembles a groan mixed with a gag. “You know how I am with feelings. But who knows? Now, tell me more about this escape you’re on.”
As Harlow talks, this vision of Scotty kneeling beside me in the barn comes floating up. Those strong arms around me. His silly but sweet sense of humor, and what about the whole red sock-green sock thing? Is he colorblind or is that his own fashion sense?
We have a nice visit and as she leaves, Harlow gives me a big hug. “I’ll see you around, Angel. And hey, give this guy a chance. Some of these hockey dudes ,” she air-quotes, “are really good guys.”
As the sun drags itself across the sky like it’s too early for even itself, I wrestle with a paintbrush and the never-ending list of DIY projects. Harlow’s visit has left a weird brew of nostalgia and possibilities swirling inside me.
But sentiment doesn’t paint fences, so I throw myself back into work with a vengeance. Until Troy shows up.
“Top of the mornin’!” Despite being brothers, Troy and Zach don’t have much in common, but that confident stride is one of them. Seeing him now is like watching a celebrity drop by for coffee—pleasant, but perplexing.
“What brings you to my chaos circus?” I ask as he approaches, squinting a little because Troy turning up unannounced usually means he’s up to something.
He grins, that all-too-familiar smirk that tells me he’s not here for a casual visit. “I come bearing gifts,” he announces, producing a pair of shiny tickets from his jacket. “Rink-side seats for tonight’s game. Thought you might want to scope out the bench, get a good look at the coaches in action.”
I roll my eyes, snatching the tickets to inspect them. “Like any of that matters to me. You could’ve stuck me in the nose bleeds for all I know about hockey and its coaches.”
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” Troy’s eyes crinkle at the edges.
“I doth not protest enough,” I shoot back, waving the tickets in his face. “You enjoy stirring the pot, don’t you?”
He pats my shoulder. “Just promise me you’ll be there. It’s a big night, Ange. And by the way, that donation that came through? Courtesy of a luxury hotel in Colorado.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Even has a dog spa.”
My head snaps up. “Wait, that donation?” The pieces click into place, a little too neatly. Scotty’s former stomping grounds funding my future plans. “You’re telling me Scotty was behind it?”
Troy’s only response is a knowing wink. “I suspect he pulled some strings. See? Not just a pretty face behind that bench. ”
I smack him on the shoulder, which makes him giggle like a kid.
He turns to leave, his mission apparently accomplished. As his truck kicks up dust down the driveway, I’m left holding the tickets. That Scotty might have had something to do with it is unnervingly sweet.
“Dog spa, huh?” I mutter to myself, tucking the tickets into my pocket. I shake my head as Edgar struts past the porch. “I wonder if they do goats.”
The rink is a sensory overload, alive with the sort of electric buzz that can only happen with the fire of opening night nerves and undiluted fanatical enthusiasm. The place is draped in a kaleidoscope of team colors, swirling around like a painter’s palette gone wild in the hands of a hyperactive toddler.
As Andy drags me through the doors, we’re hit with a wall of sound—a cacophony of cheering fans, the thunderous stomp of feet, and music blasting through the speakers so loud it vibrates in my chest. It’s Game One and even I, a self-professed rink-resister, am caught up in the wave of excitement that seems to sweep through the crowd, infecting everyone with a potent dose of team spirit.
“It’s so different with thousands of people here!” Andy calls out.
“What do you mean, different?” I ask, leaning toward him so he can hear me over the crowd. “Since when do you come to the rink?”
Andy stops in his tracks. “Did I say I came to the rink?”
“Yes, you did.”
He shrugs. “These days, everyone’s at the rink. I have as much reason as anyone, especially when it comes to inspecting how they’ve implemented new climate-helping protocols.”
His answer is believable, but I’m not quite buying it.
The air is thick, and makes me wish I’d thought more about my choice of jacket, but the smell of popcorn—buttery and tempting—is enough to make me forget the cold.
Why didn’t I eat dinner? Oh yeah, the nerves that are chewing away at every bit of my insides.
The bright lights of the arena, blinding against the creeping darkness of the evening outside, cast a spotlight that feels almost tangible, like I could reach out and hold a beam. Children dash around with cotton candy clutched in sticky hands, their faces painted in the Ice Breakers’ colors, eyes wide with glee.
It’s hard not to get swept up in it all—the anticipation of the game, the shared camaraderie of the fans, the collective breath-holding as the game draws near. Even the ice, gleaming under the arena lights, looks inviting rather than cold and hard.
For a moment, I allow myself to forget the pile of paperwork waiting for me, the never-ending responsibilities, and let the energy of the place wash over me.
Navigating through the dense, cheerful crowd, with Andy’s excitement buzzing like the overhead lights, a shout catches my attention.
“Hey, aren’t you the lady from Happy Horizons?” I turn, facing a woman wrapped in a team scarf so vibrant it could probably be seen from space. Her smile is just as bright.
“Yeah, that’s me,” I say, a little awkward about being recognized in the wild—outside my usual habitat of goat pens and finance spreadsheets.
“I saw your interview on TV. What you’re doing for those kids, it’s incredible,” she continues, her voice carrying over the hum of pre-game chatter.
I shuffle my feet. “Thank you,” I reply, trying to gather my usually quick wit. “We do what we can, you know?”
She nods, her hand briefly touching my arm. It’s a simple gesture, but with so much kindness that I think I might get a little misty-eyed. “It’s amazing . Makes cheering for the Ice Breakers even more meaningful, knowing they support Happy Horizons.”
I crack a smile, my first genuine one of the evening. “Means a lot to hear that, really. Hopefully, we can keep the momentum going.”
Well, gosh. Who knew hockey could be so feel-good?
“Those are our seats there, Mom! Lily’s already there.” Andy rushes ahead to the very first row, but the first thing I notice—well, let’s be honest, the only thing I notice—is Scotty.
He’s swapped his usual laid-back, mismatched style for a tie and a crisply ironed shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide the contours of his shoulders. Ridiculously, I find myself envying the fabric, which clings to him in a way that’s probably only decent in a dimly lit room. The tie, a dark, sedate affair, somehow makes the whole ensemble less formal and more like he’s playing dress-up. Which, given the mischievous glint in his eye, might very well be the case.
The sight sends a surprising jolt through me, like I gulped down my coffee too fast and it’s scalding its way down. There’s this ridiculous sensation that I’d like to chalk up to just about anything else, but my conscience smirks and calls it like it is—attraction, plain and simple.
I imagine unlacing that tie, undoing that top button, grabbing that crisp white collar, and pulling him in for the kiss I’ve been waiting my whole life for.
Scotty leans over the half-wall toward me.
Do not grab the tie. Do not grab the tie.
“Really appreciate you being here with Lily,” he says, his smile spreading as he straightens the knot on his decidedly un-Scotty-like tie. “You know, they say a tie is a cape on backward. Guess I’m ready to save the day, huh? Better get going?—”
“Dad, wait!” Lily’s practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, the urgency cranking up a notch. “You can’t go yet!” She looks at Andy, a strange urgency in her eyes.
Scotty pauses, his head tilted as Lily snatches Andy’s phone from his hands. Her fingers swipe with practiced speed. “We need a selfie, come on. For the ‘Gram. You know, to capture the tie catastrophe and all.”
Scotty laughs, stepping closer, and the next thing I know, we’re being herded together.
Andy and Lily are mischievous puppet masters, arranging us so Scotty and I are almost cheek to cheek, our heads touching. The warmth from his skin is probably a figment of my overactive, slightly panicky imagination.
“You take it, Scotty. Say cheese!” Andy commands, and I’m about to protest, but Scotty is already snapping the photo.
“All right now,” Scotty passes the phone back to Andy. “I’ve got to get going?—”
“Wait!” Andy shouts. “Now the adults only—say winners on ice!” and Lily shoves us a little closer together.
“Come on, you two. Pretend you like each other,” she teases, and it’s ridiculous, because I don’t need to pretend at all.
I don’t know if Scotty feels the same, but we both burst out laughing, arms around each other’s sides, which is right when Andy snaps the picture.
“I’m sorry about how we ended things the other day,” I say as we separate our cheeks from each other.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” He runs his fingers through his hair, and the shirt, tie, ruggedly mussed hair is all about to do me in. “Maybe we can heart-to-heart about it soon. I’d love to hear your advice.”
“Oh, I’m full of great advice that I never follow myself. Sounds like a date.”
I just said date. What was I thinking? Naw, it’s okay, everyone says that … Right?
Scotty seems unfazed by my use of “date” and starts to back away. “Wish us luck out there. ”
“Luck?” I fire back, aiming for light, breezy, utterly unaffected as I lean forward on the half-wall. “Trust me, you don’t need it. If anyone needs a bit of that tonight, it’s me watching you try to coach in that tie.”
His fingers wrap around mine and I squeeze his hand like I’ve done it a thousand times before.
I don’t need luck. What I need is more time with this man.