Chapter 6
six
. . .
Rhett
“Helmet,” I remind Matty for the third time as he laces up his skates.
“I know.” He rolls his eyes with all the drama a seven-year-old can muster.
He may be Gwen’s kid, but the boy is so much like me at that age that sometimes it’s scary. I secretly love it though. Payback for all the tormenting Gwen has done to me over the years.
I grin and tap the top of his head anyway. “Coach’s rules.”
That earns me a smirk.
Matty’s been doing that a lot lately—smiling easier, standing a little taller.
It’s good to see. He’s had to grow up fast in some ways.
His dad checked out before Matty could even remember what he looked like, leaving Gwen to do it all on her own.
She’s never complained. Just adjusted. Worked harder.
Loved louder. And knows when to ask for help.
Now she’s getting married, and the man she’s marrying treats Matty like he’s always been his kid. Shows up. Cheers him on from the stands, even though he doesn’t know the first thing about hockey. And he makes sure Matty knows he belongs.
Still, change is change. And kids feel it, even when everything’s going right.
The rink smells like cold air and sharpened steel—familiar and grounding. I grew up here. Youth hockey through high school, early mornings and frozen fingers, learning discipline the hard way. Coaching now feels like giving something back. Something boys like my nephew can count on.
The kids spill onto the ice in a tangle of sticks and laughter. I blow the whistle, calling them into line.
“All right, team,” I shout. “Let’s warm up. Remember—control before speed.”
The kids push off in a rush of blades and chatter, but Matty skates past me with his head down and his focus locked in. His strides are steady. Intentional. Tongue poking out just a little as he digs in, like he’s silently counting every move.
I recognize it immediately.
That was me at his age—trying so damn hard to get it right. Trying to prove something I didn’t yet have words for.
Pride hits me square in the chest.
Not because he’s the fastest. He isn’t. Not because he’s the loudest or flashiest. He’s not that either.
It’s because he listens. Because he cares. Because he wants to be better—not just for himself, but because he knows someone’s watching.
I catch his eye as he circles back, and give him a quick nod.
He straightens a fraction.
And yeah—maybe that’s what this is really about. Giving him something he can trust.
The drill runs clean. Not perfect, but better than last week.
I skate along the boards, calling out reminders, correcting grips, nudging kids back into position when they drift. There’s laughter when someone wipes out, a few groans when I make them redo a lap. Normal. Good.
Matty misses a pass, recovers, and hustles back without looking to see if I noticed.
“Nice recovery,” I call out.
His head snaps up, surprise flashing across his face, before he nods and skates harder.
We wrap up practice with a short scrimmage. I blow the whistle when time’s up, and the kids pile toward the bench, flushed and breathless.
“Sticks up,” I remind them. “Good work today.”
Helmets come off. Gloves get dropped. Parents filter in, offering water bottles and high-fives.
Matty jogs over, cheeks red, his hair plastered to his forehead. “Did you see my stop near the end?”
“I did,” I say. “You didn’t panic. That’s the part that matters.”
He grins like I just told him he won the Stanley Cup.
After I help him load his gear into my trunk, we talk about pizza toppings like it’s a serious negotiation. Pepperoni wins. It always does.
Once he’s settled back at Gwen’s, I head home, the quiet hitting me the second I shut my front door.
I drop my keys in the bowl by the entry, toe off my boots, and lean back against the door for a moment, reflecting on the day.
It was busy, but good. Really good. Getting to see Bristol in her element was an added bonus.
Pushing off the door, I head for the shower to clean up and change into sweats before I finally settle into bed with my phone in hand.
RedBarnRhett: Tomorrow night work for you?
Three dots appear.
Disappear.
Come back again.
I grin at my phone like an idiot.
Mistletoe_Reader: Tomorrow works. I only work until 2. Any time after that is good.
RedBarnRhett: Perfect. I’ll send details a little later. Looking forward to seeing you in the morning, too. ;)
Setting my phone down, I stare at the ceiling with my hands laced behind my head and let myself think about Bristol.
The way she stood there, arms crossed over her chest, making her ample chest even harder to ignore, was sexy as hell.
The thought of just how sexy settles low in my body, slow and insistent.
It’s been years since a woman has gotten under my skin this quickly. Since just thinking about someone makes my pulse thrum and my body sit up and pay attention.
From her seductive curves to her quirky and eclectic sense of style and those dorky yet sophisticated glasses, I think it’s safe to say that I’ve officially developed a sexy librarian fantasy.
It’s not just her physical appearance that does it for me, either.
Bristol has substance. Intelligence. Humor. A warmth that sneaks up on you when you least expect it.
My body reacts before my brain can shut it down. Beneath my boxers, my cock stirs to life in agreement.
Shit.
I palm myself over the fabric and groan.
I really shouldn’t slip my hand under the waistband and jerk off to thoughts of what Bristol might look like under that damn skirt and blouse she was wearing today.
Refusing to give into the urge, I close my eyes and exhale slowly, forcing myself to think of anything else.
Tomorrow.
Dinner.
With Bristol. No imagination required.
I can wait.
I pull into the library lot just as Bristol does.
She’s already stepping out of her car, scarf looped once around her neck, tote bag slung over one shoulder. Morning light catches in her hair, and for a second I just sit there, watching her fumble for her keys.
This is not how I want to start my day—already too aware of her.
Shutting off my truck, I open the door and hop out with the cup carrier and a brown bag from Dockside Cafe.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” she replies, smiling, and a little breathless like she hurried even though there was no reason to.
She unlocks the building’s front door, pushes it open, and steps aside to let me in first.
The earthy-yet-somehow-sweet scent of aging pages paired with the faint hint of pine cleaner greats us both. It’s nostalgic and cozy. Reminds me of the monthly field trips we used to take in elementary school for story time and to check out books to fill our reading logs.
“Peppermint hot chocolate,” I say, lifting the carrier slightly. “And your croissant. Extra flaky. They said that part like it mattered.”
Her face softens instantly. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” I say, grinning as I hand her the drink.
She takes a sip and sighs, eyes fluttering closed for half a second like the weight of the morning has already lifted off her shoulders.
Something tightens in my chest.
The urge to drop everything—to step into her space, cup her face, and see if peppermint tastes different on her lips—hits hard, completely uninvited.
Too soon, Jennings.
I set my supplies down near yesterday’s damage and shrug out of my jacket, rolling my shoulders as I go.
She lingers instead of heading behind the desk. “Do you mind if I catch up on some reading while you work?”
I glance over my shoulder at her. She’s already pulling a book from her bag, fingers sliding along the spine.
“No. Of course not,” I say. “I’d tell you to pretend I’m not even here, but the sander gets a little loud.”
“Guess it’s a good thing that the library isn’t officially open. Otherwise, I’d have to shush you,” she replies with a playful wink and then settles behind the desk while I get to work.
Once I’m finished sanding and painting the damaged wall, I step back and survey my work. The paint will take a little while to dry but so far, it looks good. I’ll probably have to come back later today or tomorrow for a second coat, though.
I turn around to tell Bristol that but the sight of her so engrossed in her book has me pausing and taking in the gorgeous sight before me.
She’s tucked behind the circulation desk, legs crossed at the ankle, completely absorbed in whatever she’s reading.
One elbow rests on the counter, her chin propped in her palm, glasses slightly slid down her nose.
She turns a page, lips parting just a little while she holds her breath.
I don’t mean to stare, but it’s hard not to.
There’s something about watching her like this—unguarded, relaxed—that gets under my skin. The absolute silence in the building, minus the soft rustle of paper. The way her brow creases, then smooths, as she hangs on every word.
I clear my throat and ask, “What’s happening in the book that has you so engrossed?”
She startles, looking up like she forgot I was even here. Her cheeks flush, then she smiles, a little sheepish, and closes the book halfway.
“I just got to thet fuck it moment.”
My brows pull together. “The what?”
She laughs and stands, rounding the desk toward me, her book left sitting open. “You know. The moment where the tension has been building forever, and the hero finally snaps.”
She stops a few feet away, glancing at the wall before looking back at me.
“The moment he just can’t hold back anymore,” she continues. “Says fuck it, pins the heroine to the wall, and kisses her senseless.”
A thrill, hot and electric snaps tight in my chest.
I take a step closer before I realize I’m moving. Close enough now that I can smell peppermint and cocoa. Close enough to see the faint dusting of freckles across her nose.
My voice comes out lower than I intend. “Like this?”
I don’t give her time to answer.
One hand pins her against the desk, the other cups her cheek. As I lean in, every nerve ending is screaming awareness. Her breath catches—soft, surprised—and then my mouth is on hers.
The kiss isn’t rushed.
It’s firm. And very deliberate, even if it was never part of my plan when I came here this morning.
I thought I would at least save our first kiss for after our date.
Her lips are warm, faintly sweet, peppermint blooming against my mouth just like I imagined. She exhales into me, fingers curling lightly into the front of my plaid shirt, and that small sound nearly wrecks me.
I pull back just enough to rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in.
“Okay,” I murmur. “I might’ve changed my mind.”
Her lips curve into a smile I can feel.
“About what?”
“Peppermint,” I say quietly. “I never was a big fan. Turns out I like the way it tastes on your lips.”
Her fingers tighten on the fabric of my shirt.
That small, instinctive reaction does something dangerous to my self-control.
I kiss her again—slower this time. Deeper. Less about proving a point or acting out a scene from a book and more about listening. She responds immediately, softening into me, lips parting with a quiet sound that settles low in my gut.
The world narrows.
My hands slide to her waist, fingers splaying over the curve of her hip, possessively. Like I’ve done this before. Like my body knows her even if my head is still catching up.
She tilts her head, gives me better access, and that’s all the permission I need.
My lips trail down the column of her neck, nipping along the way.
Her breath stutters. When I pull back to look at her for a moment, I notice how her cheeks have flushed. Her eyes dark behind her glasses as she looks at me.
“Bristol,” I say quietly, warning and want tangled together.
She swallows. “Rhett.”
That’s it.
That’s the sound that snaps the last thread. Now I understand exactly the moment Bristol was talking about.
I want more.
Too much more.
But the front doors are still locked. The clock is still ticking. And this—she—deserves better than stolen minutes in a quiet library before opening.
I force myself to pull away, breathing hard, my forehead resting against hers.
“If I don’t stop now,” I admit, my voice rough, “I’m not going to be able to.”
Bristol smiles back at me. It’s a dangerous grin. “Stop?”
I brush my thumb over her lower lip once then step back before I do something I can’t undo.
“I don’t want to rush this.”
She lets out a tiny frustrated groan. “What if I said I wanted to? To rush things? To feel things that I haven’t felt in a long time.”
My cock is rock hard behind my zipper. Begging me to give into her, right here.
“I want to make this perfect, okay? Tonight, after dinner, if you still feel the same way, I’ll take you back to my place and feast on you for dessert.” I promise.
Her eyes widen and she nods. “Tonight.”
I grab my jacket and my tools, trying anything to put space between us before I change my mind.
As I head for the door, I glance back to see her standing there, her hand lifted to her mouth like she’s checking that the kiss actually happened.
Yeah.
It did.
And I’m going to have blue balls the rest of the day from thinking about it.