Chapter 1 #3
“I like waking up early.” I jiggle my jaw since my ears are still blocked from the flight.
Bree shakes her head. “Woman, four a.m. isn’t civilized, especially when you never take a day of rest.”
If only that were possible. If I don’t keep the ovens on, I’m afraid the electricity will be cut off. It’s quite the Catch Twenty-two.
“I resolved to organize our house, starting with the spice rack,” Jess adds, explaining her resolution from last year. “I bought matching containers and used exactly two. Now I have empty jars judging me from the kitchen cabinet.”
Laughter follows, and I offer some helpful organization suggestions.
They all turn to me expectantly, waiting for my resolution.
I fidget with the hem of the dress Bree practically forced me into, like a toddler—a sparkly gown in a shade of bluish-white she calls “ice.” She said the color brings out my eyes, but mostly just makes me feel like I’m playing dress-up.
“No resolutions.” I shrug because the debt looming over my head needs all my focus. Then, to my surprise and possibly theirs, since I only just thought of this now, I add, “Maybe just a word for the year.”
“What’s that?” Jess asks.
Heidi explains, “Instead of committing to a resolution, a word of the year acts like a compass, something to use to guide you through the days and months.”
“Ooh, fun. What word?” Margo asks.
Biting my lip, it’s as if it comes to me on the spot. “Rise. Like ... rising to challenges. Being better. You know?”
Like bread dough rising in the warmth.
Like my business rising above the lease renewal and debt strain.
Like maybe, possibly, rising above the safe little world I’ve built for myself. I should probably take some days off now and then. Get out more. That kind of thing. A sigh from deep inside sisses out of me.
“I love that. Simple but powerful.” Juniper nods approvingly.
“Okay, but the real question is who is our girl Nina going to be kissing at midnight?” Bree asks.
That’s when I realize with stark clarity this whole trip is revenge. She’d claim that I pushed her into a mail-order marriage with her nemesis, Fletch, who, I might add, turned out to be the exact right man for her. But she’s getting back at me!
However, I can‘t be overly mad at her right now. She’s in love and that was a long time coming.
“No doubt there will be some very attractive men at the party tonight,” Leah coos.
My stomach tightens. “You know my rule about hockey players.”
“Right, the promise to your dad.” Bree rolls her eyes. “Which you still won’t explain properly.”
“Some promises have to be kept,” I say, trying to keep my voice light.
The truth is more complicated than that.
Papa’s warnings about hockey players—chorus like a refrain in my mind—about the lifestyle and about men who think their sport makes them special.
About how Mom fell for all of that and couldn’t handle the reality.
But my friends don’t need to hear about old family drama.
“Wait. Who is your dad?” Delaney asks.
Before I can reveal his identity—a rarity in our world for people not to know about the legendary Viggo Bruun, especially since we all live in Hockey Town—Leah supplies, “There will be plenty of non-hockey players there too, including that hypnotist Bree’s been obsessing over.”
She protests. “I am not obsessing. I’m just ... intrigued.”
“I’m not,” I mutter.
Yes, I’m a skeptic, and by the varied expressions of the women in the room, at least Juniper and Heidi side with me.
Margo interrupts, standing up and smoothing her deep green dress. “Are we going to spend all night talking about men, or are we going to go be fabulous?”
Two hours later, we’re at the NHL’s New Year’s Eve Toast. For a party hosted by an athletic organization, it’s incredibly elegant and makes me think of the glamorous old Hollywood movies Bibi enjoyed.
The ballroom is decorated in gold and silver, with enough champagne fountains to float a small boat.
Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over the crowd, and everyone is dressed to impress.
The variety show stage is set up at one end, currently occupied by a troupe of fire arts performers.
Two men wield blazing sticks that trace mesmerizing spirals through the air, their flames casting patterns of light and shadow across the ballroom, with others dancing in the center.
I don’t know what the hypnotist will do and I’m not that keen to find out. Something about that form of entertainment makes me uneasy. All the same, it’s hard not to be swept up in the thrill of it all.
“This is incredible,” I breathe, taking in the scene.
“I knew you’d fall in love,” Bree says, linking her arm in mine and drawing me deeper into the crowd.
“Look, there’s the guy from the hockey game,” Emerson says. Like me, she arrived today and is one of the few among us without direct ties to the sport, other than being a general fan.
She points toward a cluster of couples near the bar. Last I checked, she was dating a guy named Jett, but the way she flutters her eyelashes suggests she’s single.
I recognize a few faces from the WAG gatherings the girls host with pizza and board game nights, bonfires, and watch parties, in addition to a couple of larger events after big wins that Margo organized.
And that’s when I see him.
He’s standing slightly apart from the crowd, holding a drink and watching the room with the kind of careful attention that suggests he’s more comfortable observing than participating.
Relatable.
Tall, powerfully built, with dark hair that looks like he’s run his fingers through it and intense green eyes that seem to notice everything.
Including me staring at him.
Our gazes meet across the crowded room, and I feel a flutter in my chest that has nothing to do with the bubbly champagne I haven’t even sipped.