Chapter 9 #3
It’s official. I’m on a Miguel-cott. It’s like a boycott. No, a mancott. The thought of his touch sends warmth rushing across my skin, making my belly flutter before reaching my chest.
Maybe I should find an accountability partner, but that would mean confessing that I still have feelings for Miguel, and boy, do they burn hot.
Try as I might, my body refuses to forget or ignore that Miguel is very much a man with his athletic build, dark features, and thick hair.
Oh, his hair. My exhale shakes. It’s the stuff of a stylist’s dream. It’s thick and silky. Women pay a lot of money to have hair that approximates his.
Women also probably pay a lot of money to see that flow from the front-row arena seats when he removes his helmet and it flows from side to side.
I should sneak into his house in the middle of the night and cut it. Or convince Purr-t Reynolds to form an alliance and do my dirty work.
No, I should stop thinking about Miguel.
Now.
And now.
And now and now and now.
If only I had the same level of discipline in filing away thoughts of him as I’ve had about building my career.
Forget meatballs, I need a slice of pumpkin pie. I find my phone and look up a recipe, then make a list of ingredients to get tomorrow.
I fall very short of pumpkin pie perfection on my first attempt. It looks more like something you’d find filling a sewer cover on Broadway on New Year’s Day morning.
I put a redo on hold because I spend the next few days formalizing my business with the town and state.
It’s a lot of paperwork and adulting, but it demands my attention and provides a focus that isn’t six feet three inches, built of brawn and Italian marble, with a dimple in his chin and a smirk on his lips that just won’t quit.
“Miguel-cott,” I mutter under my breath.
My mother is still dressed in her mourning clothes, but she has been leaving the house every morning for a cappuccino at the Busy Bee Bakery.
But today, she left a note saying she was with Carlotta, looking at tile options.
I roll my eyes. They both have very strong views on Carrara marble versus a terrazzo tile pattern.
Maybe this will be the ceramic that will break the camel’s back, they’ll remember that they’re rivals, and forget about my salon.
When I get there a few minutes later, a tall woman with long hair stands on the sidewalk and peers through the window. A large man lumbers toward us from the other end of the sidewalk.
“Don’t tell me you’re collecting intel for Mrs. Gormely,” he says to her.
“No, but I’ve been praying for a beauty salon in this town and Margo said her friend from New York is opening one.” She bounces a little and claps her hands.
I wave and walk over. “Good morning. I’m Juniper. The proud owner of what will be Cobbiton’s salon.”
“Prayers answered. Nice to meet you. I’m Gracie, the proud owner of Once Upon a Romance.” She points to the bookstore across the street.
The man, who is rather beastly to her demure beauty with fairytale princess hair, extends his hand. “I’m Vohn Brandt, assistant coach for the Knights. The guys did some demo for you the other day?”
“That’s right. I appreciate it. Seems like a good team you’ve got.”
Expression serious, he raises his eyebrows. “A good team. No, we’re the best—” he continues with a statistical substantiation of that fact, reminding me of my father’s passion for the sport.
... and how he was the one who encouraged Miguel to play. My brother was more academic than athletic and while he was a hockey fan, Miguel went all in. That’s the thing about him, he never does anything halfway.
Apparently, that includes making himself at home in my head because here I am again, thinking about him.
“Miguel-cott,” I murmur.
Vohn continues, “Our new center is promising. We’re going to start this season strong.”
Gracie says, “Mr. Darcy, I’m sure Juniper doesn’t want a monologue about the merits of the Knights. Remember, we said we’d only share our crazy after we get to know someone.” She winks at me. “How he feels about his sport is how I feel about books.”
I’m about to comment that I thought he said his last name was Brandt, when I get the Mr. Darcy reference. I internally roll my eyes. Sheesh. People and their silly belief in romance.
Outwardly, I smile because I already like them—people who’re unapologetically themselves.
And there I am, right back thinking about Miguel.
He’s not a chameleon, changing for other people. He laughs robustly, lives large, and loves big. Especially his family.
Until he gets traded to another team, I guess there’s no avoiding him. But I’m still boycotting the man.
Gracie lowers her voice and says, “I saw Nancy Linderberg over here the other day, but I’d like to officially welcome you to Hockey Town, aka Cobbiton, with its deep appreciation for all things corn, including the corniest jokes ever, and of course, the Knights.”
“Thanks. Nancy wasn’t exactly the warmest, welcoming committee.”
“If there’s anything you need as you get up and running, I’m right over there all day, every day.” Gracie points at the shop.
“With breaks for hockey games,” Vohn says.
She kisses his jaw. “Of course. Can we get Juniper some tickets?” Turning to me, she asks, “Do you like hockey?”
I shift from foot to foot because that’s like asking an orange what color it is.
She splays her hands. “If you’ve never been to a game, not to worry. It’s relatively easy to follow and there’s a lot of enthusiasm. Plus, the intermission show is super fun. Practically a dance party.”
“Juniper,” a voice calls from down the street.
I wave at Margo, who rushes our way. “Oh, good, you’re getting to know everyone.”
Gracie says, “I offered Juniper some tickets to the game Friday night.”
“To the Knights versus Kings game? That might not be a good idea.” Margo winces.
Gracie says, “It can get rowdy, but she can sit in the suite with us. We’ll explain how it all works. I was new to hockey once, too, but we live and breathe it here in Cobbiton.”
“And corn,” Vohn adds.
Margo shakes her head. “Juniper is the original hockey super-fan-girl. She practically taught me everything I know.”
Gracie lights up, nearly as brightly as Vohn, which is a surprise because she seems like the sunshine in the relationship, whereas he’s the grump. “That’s perfect.”
Margo continues, “Not exactly.”
The couple stares at me as if understanding. “Oh, you’re from New York. That means you’re an Empire State Kings fan.”
I nod slowly, bashfully.
Gracie smiles. “We’ll work on that.”
“That we will,” Margo says, winking. “Consider yourself in the club.”
I recall a conversation about the lonely hearts club that Margo and I had at the Honey & Lavender Bakery back when we still lived in Manhattan.
We were both single, and I’d all but sworn off dating while Margo was open to finding a sweet guy. Instead, she found a stoic mountain of a man who, at first glance, seemed to have about as much personality as a rock. But he turned out to be her good luck charm and now they’re happily married.
With Erica about to do the same, I guess the lonely hearts club is now an organization with a member of one.
Me.
A sleek black car skids to a stop next to the curb and the guy I’ve been trying not to think about gets out.
He’s wearing jeans and a Knights hoodie. His hair is annoyingly shiny and his stubble is attractively dark. His gaze lands on me, skims the group, and returns to me for a beat.
It’s a cool early October day, but my cheeks heat the way they would when we were in high school and I was fighting a crush.
“Brandt,” Miguel says, nodding the way guys do.
“Cruz,” the assistant coach, returns.
“Junie,” he says to me.
“Miguel,” I repeat, insistent on not referring to him as Mikey.
Margo lets out a little chirp.
I roll my eyes, regretting getting her into my fantasy hockey league. As mentioned, she’s happily married, but he’s her top pick to win this season and I can tell she’s dying to tell him as much.
Instead, she says, “Hi, I’m Margo, one of Juniper’s best friends.
Would you be our special guest at the season opener fantasy hockey league party?
All the hockey wives and girlfriends participate, including Leah, Ella, and Jess.
Also, I’m an event planner, so it’s a lot of fun.
No occasion is too big or too small to celebrate. ”
Miguel says, “Margo, I’ve heard so much about you.”
“You have?”
He has not because we don’t discuss things like my friendships because we’re in an enemy ship. That bratty little voice inside pinches my ear, the back of my arm, and kicks me in the shin, telling me to cut it out. But I’m on a Miguel-cott.
But he’s so hot.
He makes me boil with rage.
But his voice is so deep and rumbly.
And I never want to hear him whisper words in Italian in my ear again as he kisses his way up my neck to my lips and—
“Junie, daydreaming?” he asks, nudging my shoe with his.
Blinking slowly because we’re not alone here on the sidewalk, making out, I try to return to my senses.
His lips quirk as if he reads my mind or at least recognizes my glazed-over expression.
“You haven’t been answering your phone, Junie.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“We have to go eat some cake.”
“Junie?” Margo asks.
My lips bunch up. “No, Juniper. He’s only allowed to call me that because he’s a jerk.”
“It’s not my fault you can’t stop thinking about me.” He slings his arm around my shoulder, lassoing me toward the car.
“I was not—”
“Even if you keep telling yourself that, you don’t believe it. You can try to boycott me, but there’s no forgetting about me.”
My jaw lowers. “How do you—?”
He chuckles. “You’re just too adorable for your own good.”
Trying not to fall under the spell of his love potion aftershave, I glance up at his magnetic smile. “You’ve called me a lot of things, but never adorable.”
“So adorable that I want to spend my afternoon eating cake with you. Margo, it would be an honor to be a guest at the league meeting.”
“We’ll get you those tickets for the game on Friday,” Gracie says.
Miguel’s eyebrows bounce and his eyes drop to me, dark and heavy. “Is that so? If you’re coming to my game, you’d better be wearing my jersey.”
I scowl at him. If I could reverse wear a player’s jersey, I would. I’d like to denounce him. Dethrone him. Good thing I have lots of Empire State Kings fan apparel.
But he opens the passenger side door for me and I get in because if nothing else, I’m a sucker for player number ninety-four—he picked it because it’s the year his parents met and he believes in true love.
And as much as I fight it, fight him, it turns out, so do I.