Chapter 10 #2
"Heard you were running low," Gage says, then notices me. His eyebrow lifts. "Ryder. Didn't know you were here."
"We were just—" Piper starts.
"Hanging out," I finish, because what else can I say?
"Right." Gage's mouth twitches like he knows exactly what we were doing. "Well, I'll just leave this wood here and—"
"Come in," Piper says, stepping back. "Please. I should get this stacked before it gets dark anyway."
Gage brings in the wood while I grab the pile and start stacking it near the stove the way I showed her before. Gage helps, and we work in silence that feels loaded. The whole time I'm hyperaware of how close Piper and I were before he knocked, of the conversation that got interrupted.
Once the wood's properly stacked, Gage straightens, brushing bark off his hands. "So. You two. Dating now?"
"Yeah," I say, the same time Piper says, "It's new."
"Mm-hmm." Gage's expression is knowing, and I'm reminded that the whole town watched him and Tessa dance around each other for months. "Word of advice? Stop making it complicated."
"It's not complicated," Piper says.
"Really? Because I walked in on enough tension to power the whole town." He looks between us. "Look, I'm not going to pretend I know what's going on here. But I know Ryder, and I've seen how he looks at you. So whatever this is—figure it out before someone gets hurt."
"We're fine," I say.
"Sure you are." Gage heads for the door, then pauses. "Ryder, can I talk to you for a second?"
I follow him outside, leaving Piper to reorganize her firewood or whatever she does to process stress.
Gage walks a few feet away, hands shoved in his pockets. "You want to tell me what's really going on?"
"It's complicated."
"Most good things are." He's quiet for a moment. "When Tessa first moved here, I told myself I was just being neighborly. Helping her out. No strings, no feelings, just being a decent human being."
"And?"
"And I was lying to myself." He meets my eyes. "I was gone for her from day one. But I kept fighting it, telling myself it was just neighborly help, making excuses. Nearly lost her because I was too stubborn to admit what I was feeling. You know what I learned?"
"What?"
"Fighting it just makes it worse. If you like her—really like her—stop pretending you don't."
"It's not that simple. She's only here temporarily. I've got scouts watching my every move. Everything's complicated right now."
"Life's always complicated. There's always a reason to wait, to play it safe." He meets my eyes. "But I waited too long with Tessa. Kept telling myself it wasn't the right time, that I had other priorities. Nearly lost her because I was too stubborn to admit what I was feeling."
"What if she doesn't feel the same way?"
"Then you deal with it. But from where I was standing, she looked at you the same way you're looking at her right now." He claps my shoulder. "Simple doesn't mean easy. But it's better than lying to yourself."
He leaves, and I stand on Piper's porch, staring at the mountains and trying to pretend my whole world hasn't just turned upside down.
Simple doesn't mean easy.
I head back inside. Piper's sitting on her couch, phone in hand, staring at nothing.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Yeah. Just—thinking." She looks up, uncertain. "We should probably talk about what happened. Before Gage showed up."
I sit down next to her, close but not touching. "What about it?"
"You said none of this feels fake to you."
"I did."
"Did you mean it?"
The question sits between us—terrifying and full of potential. I could lie. Take it back. Blame it on the moment or the proximity or anything other than the truth.
But I'm tired of lying.
"Yeah, Piper. I meant it."
She's quiet for a long moment, and I can't read her expression. Then she says, voice barely above a whisper, "This was supposed to be simple. Help your image, help my brand. Clear rules, no complications."
"I know."
"But nothing about you feels simple." She turns to face me fully. "When we're together, I forget this is supposed to be fake. I forget there are rules. I just—I want—"
"What do you want?"
She leans in, and my heart stops. This is it. She's going to kiss me, rules be damned, and I'm going to let her because I've wanted this since the moment she screamed at Morris in designer boots.
Her lips are an inch from mine when she stops.
"I can't," she whispers. "I want to, but I can't."
The rejection stings, but I understand. "Because of the rules."
"Because I'm scared." She pulls back, putting distance between us. "I've already had my heart broken publicly once this year. I can't—if this is just temporary, if you're going to realize you don't actually want the girl who can't start fires and calls it a hockey ball—"
"Puck."
"—then I need the rules. I need the boundaries. Because if I let myself feel this, if I cross that line, and then you leave for the NHL or realize you want someone who actually belongs here—"
"Piper—"
"I know it's not fair. I know I'm the one who suggested this arrangement. But I can't blur these lines, Ryder. I can't pretend and make it real at the same time. It'll destroy me."
The honesty in her voice makes my chest ache. She's right. She's been burned before, publicly and painfully. And I'm asking her to trust me when we haven't even figured out if there's an us beyond the arrangement.
"Okay," I say quietly.
"Okay?"
"We keep the rules. Keep the boundaries." Even though every fiber of my being wants to argue, wants to pull her close and promise her I'm not going anywhere. "But Piper?"
"Yeah?"
"When this is over—after the games, after the scouts, when we know where we stand—we're having this conversation again."
"What conversation?"
"The one about what's real and what's fake. Because right now, sitting here, I'm having a hard time telling the difference."
She studies me for a long moment, and I wish I could read her thoughts. Finally, she nods. "After the games. We'll figure it out then."
"Deal."
We shake on it, and the formality would be funny if my chest wasn't tight with everything I'm not saying. She walks me to the door, and we stand there awkwardly, like two people who just admitted they want each other but can't do anything about it.
"Friday's game," she says. "I'll be there. Front row. Your jersey."
"I'll look for you."
"Ryder?"
I pause, hand on the doorknob.
"For what it's worth—none of this feels fake to me either."
The admission almost breaks my resolve. I want to turn around, want to close the distance and show her exactly how not-fake this is. But she trusted me with her fear, with her honesty, and the least I can do is respect her boundaries.
"Good to know," I manage.
I make it to my cabin before allowing myself to feel the full weight of what just happened. I'm falling for Piper Meadows. The influencer with designer boots and a fear of moose. The girl who makes lists and overthinks everything. The woman who's rebuilding her life one uncertain step at a time.
And she's falling for me too.
But we're both too scared to do anything about it.
I pull out my phone and text Gage:
Me: That "simple doesn't mean easy" thing? You forgot to mention it also means impossible.
Gage: Impossible just means it's worth fighting for. Trust the process.
Through my window, I can see Piper moving around her cabin, probably making another list.
Three games left. Three chances to prove I belong in the NHL.
And maybe finding out if Piper Meadows wants a future that includes me.
I'm not sure which terrifies me more.