Chapter 50 Louder in the Back
LOUDER IN THE BACK
MABEL
Theo’s waiting for me at one of the side doors to the arena, and I’m so grateful I don’t have to go through security.
“It’s good to know the boss,” I joke as I slide past my brother, nodding to the long lines outside the arena, queuing up for the game. I’m glad Aisha and Audrey were at the bakery today so they can close up in an hour.
“It’s good to be the boss,” he says, then reaches for the pink boxes I’m carrying. “Can I help?”
“You better,” I say, unloading a couple dozen samplers of lemon shortbread, seven-layer bars, sweet and salties, and all flavors of my cookies. “I even included some smash cakes.”
“Your signature dish,” he says, then guides me through the concourse, past the expansive wall covered in all kinds of foliage, then to the bougie section of food vendors peddling artisan pizza, honey-roasted pretzels, and gourmet popcorn, among other treats.
“Hey, you should carry Afternoon Delight treats here,” I say, feeling a little Why the hell not.
He gives me an approving nod. “We should.”
When we reach the suite level, he looks down at his phone in his free hand, then says, “Want to come with me?”
But before I can answer, the sound of someone running up behind me intensifies.
I spin around and jerk back in surprise.
It’s not that it’s strange to see Remy here, but I wasn’t expecting her to be racing toward me in jeans, knee-high black boots, and a soft cowl-neck sweater.
Her brown hair is loose tonight, waves curling over her shoulders.
“Mabel! Theo mentioned you were coming tonight, and I need you right now.”
“Okay,” I ask, curious. “Why?”
She gives me a look. “Is that any way to greet a friend? Especially someone who helped you bake a Saran wrap cake?”
“Saran wrap cake?” Theo asks. “Gross.”
“It’s not Saran wrap cake,” I say, then wave a hand. “Never mind.”
“I have an idea for a proposal. A romantic one,” she says. “Do you have a sec?”
“Sure,” I say, turning to Theo. “Do you mind?”
“All good,” he says. “I should handle the sponsors myself anyway.”
“Okay. My business cards are in the boxes,” I say, as he heads down the hallway toward the suites, and Remy grabs my elbow and ushers me back through the food concourse, nodding to her boyfriend, who works the taps at a local craft beer brewery here at the arena.
“So I have a potential client for my Romance By Design business,” she says.
“Oh! That’s great.”
Remy’s been hoping to use her podcast as a springboard to launch a business as a romance designer extraordinaire—from the meet-cute to the proposal, she’s your go-to girl for picture-perfect moments to remember.
We weave past vendors and security guards before the concourse opens to the arena bowl. “Wait. Are we watching the game?” I ask.
“Do you have to go back?” she asks, concerned. “I thought the bakery was closing soon.”
“It is. In thirty minutes, so this is fine. I just wasn’t expecting to watch a game tonight.”
“Well, you’re with me. Special treatment,” she says, and holy shit. Special treatment indeed. She ushers me down, down, down all the way to a row right behind the players’ bench.
My heart squeezes, and a pang of longing digs deep into my chest.
Corbin will be here tonight. It’ll be hard to see him. But I’m getting used to the challenge—like I had to get used to it at work earlier today. It’ll be fine. I swear it’ll be fine.
I steal a glance toward the tunnel. He’ll be coming through there in a few more minutes. My chest flutters, and I will my body to settle down.
But my brain has other ideas. It flashes back on last night with my friends—the things they said.
Did you tell him you fell for him too?
When a guy falls hard, he goes all out.
We can have it all—if we let ourselves.
Maybe they’re right. Maybe I should insist on sharing the last letter with him after all. And the last page I didn’t read after all. I didn’t feel right continuing to read it without him.
But for now, I join Remy and listen to her talk about her plans till the game starts. The lights dim. The music swells. And the fox mascot skates onto the ice as an announcer booms, “And now, your Golden State Foxes.”
Excitement pings through me as the crowd roars.
The players fly through the tunnel as the announcer calls their names.
“Miller Lockwood.”
The goalie skates onto the ice as the sea of fans erupts.
“Lake Axelrod.”
More cheers.
And then my heart goes crazy when the announcer warbles Corbin Knight.
Number Fifteen flies across the ice, heading to the players’ bench, but scanning…the stands.
Looking for…me?
He is looking for me. His gaze lands on my face, and his smile is bright and confident, a man who knows what he wants.
My pulse soars to the moon as he jumps over the boards to the bench.
He shuffles to the end of it, determination in his every move.
When he nears the end of it, he reaches under his shirt, grabbing something.
Corbin stretches his right arm toward one of the slim openings between the glass, sliding an envelope through and handing it to me.
I’m still staring at the envelope in my hands as the National Anthem finishes.
Some people in the crowd are checking me out—the woman who just got a letter from a hockey star. With my name in a neat script on the front.
But all I see is my name on this paper. Every single molecule in my body is comprised of hope. Intoxicating, beloved hope that floods my cells.
I hope it’s a love letter.
I hope it’s a new beginning.
Remy nudges me. “Open it,” she whispers.
Like that isn’t all I’ve been thinking of.
“I will,” I say, breathily, running my finger along the lilac envelope.
As the teams line up for the puck drop, with Corbin naturally on center ice, I slide a finger at last under the seal of the pretty envelope. I take out the sheet of paper.
Unfold it.
And as he battles for the puck, I read the first love letter delivered to me at a hockey game.
Well, my first love letter ever.
Dear Mabel,
I should have said this a while ago. I should have said this the other night. But I’m saying it now—please give me a second chance.
Because I love you.
I love you so much, it feels like my damn heart is beating for you every second of every day.
I love your hatred for nuts. I love your devotion to your friends. I love your obsession with colors, and pickleball outfits, and purple flowers, and baking excellence.
I love the way you stand up to me when I’m being ridiculous. I love the way you became friends with my daughter—like it was the easiest thing in the world. I love how you roped us into fostering dogs. That was brilliant and sneaky, and now I’m hooked.
I love how brave you are. Yes, you’re brave, Firecracker, and you don’t always realize it.
But it was gutsy to come back to town and try again.
To deal with the chess guys and the knitting ladies, not to mention Ronnie.
I love the way you were determined to win the hearts (and stomachs) of Cozy Valley.
I love how you listen. How you understand. How you connect with people where they are, and most of all, with me.
Even when I’m being a stubborn, annoying perfectionist who’s afraid of fucking up.
Especially then.
I love that you wear your heart on your sleeve and you can’t hide when something excites you, like finding a jar full of love letters your grandma left behind.
I love seeing you in the morning, and seeing you in the afternoon, and seeing you at night. I love that you’re the best part of any and every day, and my favorite part of the middle of the night.
The other day, I messed up big time. I was the biggest idiot I’ve ever been. A stubborn fool who thought he was doing the right thing.
I was wrong.
I was scared. Of losing you. Of feeling too much. Of not being everything you might want.
Because you, Mabel, are everything to me. Will you give us another chance?
Love,
Corbin
When I’m done, my heart is beating outside my body.
My eyes are welling with tears. My world has turned upside down.
Still, I do my best to reconnect to reality, to the game, to the man I love scoring a goal.
I stand so fast, cheering loud and hard as tears rain down my face, and reality recalibrates to this.
To a love confession so big, so bold, so complete.
And to a man who flies over to the bench, locking eyes with me, his full of questions.
Did you read it? Do you feel the same? Do you want to give me another chance?
“Yes!”
He tips his chin toward me. “Louder for the back.”
This man. “Yes, yes, yes!” I say, my heart bursting from my chest, this love spreading through the whole arena, this man mouthing “I love you” again and again.
Like he can’t stop saying it.
Well, I can’t stop feeling it.
And I can’t believe I have to sit through three periods and two intermissions till they win the game. The guys pump their gloves, and head off the ice, but Corbin motions to me, then to the gate toward the tunnel. Remy nudges me. “Go!”
I’m so there. I hustle across the row, saying, “Excuse me.”
When I reach the opening near the tunnel, he’s peeled off his gloves and sets his hands on the boards. I’m on the other side of the boards. His eyes are earnest, hopeful, and desperate all at once. “Take me back, Mabel Llewelyn. You’re all the colors in my life.”
My heart squeezes, then bounds over to him, safe in his hands. “I never left, and I can’t believe you made me wait the whole game.”
“I’m the king of edging.” He smirks, and my heart feels like it might explode. “So what’ll it be?”
He waits, as the whole crowd hoots and hollers.
“You’re a yes, Number Fifteen. You’re my yes. You’re my enough.”
He kisses me in front of everyone, thanks to a love letter.
What can I say? Some words just work.