Chapter 7 Sawyer
SAWYER
The locker room is intense, boiling to the literal brim with post-practice energy.
Sticks clatter into racks while skates thud onto rubber mats, and everyone in here is talking over one another as they peel off their gear.
Steam curls up from the showers at the far end, fogging the mirrors and softening the harsh fluorescent lights.
The Birdcage never really quiets; even here, even now, it feels like it’s waiting for something.
I drop onto the bench and loosen my skates first, flexing my feet until the pressure fades. Then I stretch out my calves, slow and deliberate, before rolling my shoulders and working out the ache in that good, bone-deep exhausted way.
Owen drops down beside me, tugging his towel over his head. “Grab some dinner?”
“Nope,” I say without looking up.
Ty swivels from his locker, half-dressed, hair still plastered to his forehead. “Wow. Didn’t even pretend to think about it.”
“I’m getting up early,” I say, yanking one skate free. “Extra ice.”
Owen nods. “Playoff brain.”
“That, plus,” I add, “I’ve got the plant store tomorrow afternoon.”
Ty scowls my way. It’s one thing he can do really well. I mean, he’s good at a lot of things, but scowling? He should get a gold medal for it.
“I know we were all jokey and ‘ha ha’ about it the other night, but…” He shakes his head. “But this timing, you having to do extra things while we’re focused on getting to the playoffs, feels irresponsible to me.”
“If anyone can handle juggling a full schedule, it’s this guy.
” Owen stands, tossing his towel into the team hamper, and shuts his locker door before he thumps me on my back.
I nod a silent thanks his way as he continues.
“Sawyer Stockton might be our defenseman by night, but for a few weeks, he is also a fern enthusiast by day.”
“I am not an enthusiast,” I say flatly. “I am fulfilling a promise. But, I should be a lesson to all of you to not do what I do.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. You are.” Owen chuckles.
“Look, I’m not giving you grief, I just want to make sure you’re good with it.” Ty’s tone is thoughtful, but then it shifts. “And, actually, my place could use some plants.”
Owen looks his way. “Oh yeah? Know a good store?”
I look up, already regretting everything. “Don’t.”
“What?” Ty holds up his hands. “I’m serious. I love a Benjamin fig.”
“I am begging you,” I say. “Do not show up there.”
Owen leans back against the lockers, clearly enjoying this. “Pretty sure he said it was called Leaf & Letter.”
“You’re both terrible,” I mutter.
Ty is already pulling out his phone. “Leaf & Letter,” he repeats, typing. “That is a terrible name for a bar.”
I grab the nearest item, in this case a discarded and sweaty T-shirt, and throw it at Ty’s head. “It’s not a bar.”
He keeps scrolling. “Shame.”
Owen peers over his shoulder. “I think I know where this is.”
My hands pause on my laces. “You do?”
“Same,” Ty says slowly, scrolling. Then his expression shifts. “Wait.” He squints at the screen. “What’s the owner’s name again?”
Something tightens in my chest. “Juliette,” I say. “Juliette Gianelli.”
Ty stops scrolling and frowns at his phone. “Huh.”
Owen glances over. “What?”
“I don’t know,” Ty says as he stares at a photo on his phone. “This place. The shop feels familiar.”
I tense without meaning to. “Familiar how?”
Ty shrugs. “Like I’ve seen it before. Not in person. Maybe on TV or something.” He scrolls again, thumb slowing over another image. “There was press here. I remember that much. Cameras, reporters camped out front.”
My hands still on my laces.
“Why would reporters be outside a plant shop?” Owen asks.
“I’m trying to find out.” Ty clicks into a link. “Hold on.”
He squints, then lets out a quiet breath. “Okay. Yeah. This is ringing a bell.”
“What?” I ask.
“Caps game,” Ty says, reading as he goes now. “Kiss Cam thing. The chief financial officer of a local company was busted on the jumbotron at a Caps game making out with a gorgeous blonde…” He pauses, then looks up. “The catch? They were both married, just not to each other.”
Owen gasps. “Dude.”
“Oh yeah,” Ty continues, showing me his phone.
“Camera lands on this David Gianelli with another woman. The whole world, meaning the internet and most social media, thought it was funny until it was not. According to this article, she, being this Juliette, found out after,” Ty says.
“Same time everyone else does. Clips everywhere. Internet went nuts.”
A locker door slams nearby.
“Oh wow, core memory unlocked,” Liam says, stopping short when he hears us. “I totally remember that story.”
We all turn, as if we were perfectly synchronized (which, after time on the ice with this group, we should be), and wait for Liam to spill more.
“My mom knows Juliette from shopping at her store.” Liam drops his bag, eyes wide. “The press wouldn’t leave her alone. The shop was in every shot they videoed or photographed, like they needed a backdrop.”
Ty nods as he reads something on his phone at the same time. “Says here that reporters were parked outside for days. Asking for comments. Asking how she felt.”
“Like she owed them something?” Owen exhales. “That’s brutal.”
I think of Juliette standing behind the counter, spine straight, voice steady. Of Theo hovering close like he’s learned the world can turn sharp without warning.
“She didn’t ask for any of it,” I say.
“No,” Liam agrees. “But she became the story anyway.”
“I didn’t know,” Owen says.
“Neither did I,” I reply, even though part of me did. I just didn’t know why. But now, now I’m beginning to understand.
“So, we won’t go there for a plant unless you say it’s cool.” Ty clears his throat, his tight expression returning. “I was joking earlier.”
“I know,” I say. Still, I’m grateful.
My phone buzzes against the bench. I grab it, grateful for the interruption.
PR TEAM:
Reminder for tomorrow’s community outreach shift!! Please wear Dominion hoodie (navy) to Leaf & Letter. Juliette has agreed to a short Plant Daddy video segment !!
PR TEAM:
We want light, fun, approachable, learning curve energy!!
I groan, tipping my head back.
“What?” Owen laughs as he takes the phone out of my hand. “Oh, I see. Plant Daddy.”
“That and,” Ty’s weighing in now, tapping on the phone, too, “that’s an excessive use of exclamation marks. How is everything that exciting?”
“Cause it’s for Plant Daddy,” Owen answers.
“Don’t,” I say. “Ever.”
Ty grins. “Too late.”
“They want tutorial videos,” I add, scrolling. “This is apparently part of my redemption arc.”
I lock my phone and stand, slinging my bag over my shoulder. I picture Juliette’s shop. The way Theo watches me like he’s trying to figure out whether I’m real or just passing through.
I don’t want to mess this up.
“I’m heading out,” I say.
Owen bumps my shoulder as I pass. “Bye, Plant Daddy!”
I flip him off without slowing down—but I’m smiling.
Leaf & Letter looks different in the afternoon.
Sun streams through the front windows, lighting up the plants like they’re mid-performance—hanging, climbing, spilling wherever they feel like it. The place has a quiet rhythm all its own.
The calm doesn’t ask permission. It just shows up. Suddenly I’m standing there with my shoulders relaxed, wondering how a plant shop managed to do what pregame meditation never has.
Her scent hits me so suddenly I almost stop walking. Something floral and familiar—like magnolias and sunshine got together and decided to ruin my concentration. I have the absurd thought that if comfort had a scent, this would be it. Why does she smell so…good?
I’m still locked onto the scent when Juliette turns and smiles in my direction. There’s a pang right in my gut as she does, because I can see that this smile is a new one. It’s genuine, like she is actually happy to see me. “Hey, Sawyer.”
“Hey,” I say back, still trying to remember how breathing works.
“Ready to shoot a video?”
“As ready as I can be.” Which is my truth.
She gestures toward the back counter. “I’ve got everything set up. Snake plant, fresh soil, clean pot. We can film back here.”
“Perfect,” I say, following her past the register. The bell over the door jingles as we pass, and I clock Charlie near the front—apron on, glasses perched low, humming softly while he tends to a tray of seedlings—and I wave.
The counter in the back is neat and ready, camera tripod already positioned. Juliette moves with easy confidence, sleeves rolled up, hands steady as she adjusts the angle.
“I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. You really do have it all set up and ready.”
“I told you I like to be prepared. I’m organized, remember?”
“Noted.” Our eyes meet for a second.
“Okay,” she says, breaking the moment and bringing me back into the store. “Whenever you’re ready, Plant Daddy.”
She laughs, and it does something unsettling to my chest. Warm. Unexpected. Like it’s settling somewhere it plans to stay.
I’m just reaching for the plant when the bell over the door rings again. This time, I don’t miss it. The way Juliette’s shoulders draw in. The way her smile goes careful around the edges. It’s subtle, barely there, but it’s enough. Her protection, and I see it.
A woman steps inside, phone already in hand. “Sawyer Stockton?” she asks brightly. “Do you have a quick second?”
My instincts kick in fast and I step forward without thinking. “You’ll need to go through Dominion PR for anything official,” I say evenly. “Or speak to the owner of the store.”
Juliette’s hand lands on my shoulder. Gentle. Grounding and warm. And that delicious scent that lingers.
“It’s okay,” she whispers. “They called earlier and asked.”
I glance at her. “They did?”
She nods once, calm and unflinching. “I don’t like being surprised, but if I get to have a choice in the matter, then my nervous system is inherently calmer. I told them if someone stopped by today, I’d allow a quick quote, but quick. No hanging out.”
The reporter smiles, relieved. “Just a few questions for a social roundup. Nothing big.”
I look back at Juliette. “You’re doing a video, and letting a reporter in?”
“I am.” She meets my gaze. “Look, I’m not trying to be difficult here, I just need to protect what I have. Okay?”
Something settles in me at that. Not relief. Understanding.
“Okay,” I say, turning back once I’m satisfied Juliette is truly okay. “You’ve got one minute.”
The reporter asks about community outreach. About learning plant care. About what it’s been like spending time at a local shop. I keep my answers light, supportive, careful not to pull focus where it doesn’t belong.
“Leaf & Letter has a way of pulling people in, and that’s not an accident,” I say, easing us toward the end. “Juliette’s built something special and full of heart here.”
Juliette glances at me, surprised. Just for a second, and I pretend not to notice.
The reporter thanks us and heads out, the bell chiming softly behind her and allowing the quiet to rush back in.
Juliette exhales. “Thank you.”
I blink. “For what?”
“For your kind words and for stepping in,” she says. “I saw it. You didn’t have to do that.”
I shrug. “Felt automatic.”
Her gaze lingers on me then—longer than before. Warmer. Like she’s seeing something new.
There’s a hitch in my chest that floods me with electricity.
I didn’t realize we’d been moving like magnets, so that we’re now only a few inches away from one another.
Up close, she’s…wow. Not just pretty—though she absolutely is—but she’s also stunning.
In the way that I’m beginning to see how her insides match the outsides, even if it does come in a grumpy little package.
She’s strong in a way that doesn’t need to announce itself.
She smiles, just a little, and the world tilts. Oh yeah.
I’m in trouble.
“Ready to repot a snake plant?” she asks, no clue of the car crash happening inside my brain at this moment.
“Yeah,” I say, even though what I really mean is I’m ready for whatever this is.
And somehow, I know. This is only the beginning.