Chapter 15 #2
Papa and I walk over and I tell him about the Happy Hockey Days festival.
The banner and decorations are gone, but the temporary rink is still frozen.
Delaney mentioned filing for a permit with the town board to host a new Valentine’s Day event called the Sweetheart Skate.
Looking at the empty ice, I can picture couples holding hands and gliding around under twinkling lights.
The image makes my chest ache with longing for Lane.
Twenty minutes later, we’re both laced up. Papa’s movements are still strong and as second nature to him as walking.
We fall into our old warmup routine from when I was learning how to play hockey. Despite being called the “Danish Hammer,” he was always gentle and encouraging with me, in his way.
As Mrs. Rice said, maybe I need to not think for a moment.
Easier said than done.
What am I so afraid of?
Lane Senior’s comments echo in my mind, but I’ve always managed on my own, thank you very much, and would never be after his son’s money.
That I’ll disappoint my own father by breaking the promise that’s shaped my entire dating life? I know about the damage my parents did to their relationship. I’m not going to repeat it.
Or am I afraid of something simpler? That this could actually work out between us. That I could have the family I’ve always wanted, the love I’ve always dreamed of?
“You’re thinking too much,” my father observes as I do tentative crossovers. “I can see it in your form.”
“I have a lot to think about.”
“Like what?”
“Like ...” I take a breath. “What if Lane leaves when things get hard?”
“Have things been easy?” Papa counters.
“No.”
“And is he still here?”
I nod slowly.
“Then perhaps that’s your answer.” He skates backward effortlessly. “What else?”
“What if I’m just a small-town baker who doesn’t belong in his world?”
Papa stops and looks at me seriously. “Nina, you are your grandmother’s legacy. You run a business, you’re raising two children, you married a stranger and made it real. You belong wherever you choose to be.”
The knots unravel.
“What if I disappoint you?” I whisper.
“By being happy? By choosing love?” He shakes his head. “Impossible. I disappointed myself by trying to protect you from something that wasn’t yours to fear.”
I nod, grateful to hear this, to have something like closure.
My word for the year was “rise.” Rise to challenges, rise above my fears, rise to become the person I’m meant to be. Someone Papa and Bibi would be proud of.
But I’ve been so busy protecting myself that I forgot the most important part. Sometimes rising means letting go of the ground entirely.
Rounding to one end of the rink, I take a deep breath and dig in, skating smoothly toward the center.
I was never a figure skater, but I certainly learned a few moves.
I’m nervous, but I’m going to do it scared.
Hockey players don’t generally leap, but I wasn’t a cookie-cutter athlete either, even though I do love baking.
Pumping my legs, I lift off, twirl, and land with a gasp. My teammates always joked that the smooth and light-on-my-feet moves were my secret superpower. Turns out, I still got it.
When I land without even a wobble, I think about how Mya and Kai need stability.
They need adults who choose each other and choose them, day after day, and who’re there to help them land when they need grounding and launch when they need to soar.
They don’t need us tiptoeing around our feelings or retreating into separate corners to protect our hearts.
They need us to be courageous.
“That’s my girl!” Papa calls out, pride in his voice.
I’m working up to try again when I hear the sound of clapping from somewhere beyond the rink. I look up to find Lane standing at the boards, watching me with an expression that makes my pulse jump.
He’s not wearing skates, just his regular boots and a Knights sweatshirt under his open jacket, but the way he’s looking at me makes me feel like I’m flying even with my blades firmly on the ice.
“How long have you been standing there?” I ask, skating over to him.
But he’s looking past me, at my father. And then—impossibly—Lane nods at him like they’re old friends.
I look between them, confused. “Wait. Do you two know each other?”
“We’ve spoken,” Lane says carefully, his eyes not leaving my father’s face.
Papa skates over. “Got a phone call not too long ago.”
“You called my father?” I look at Lane.
“A few days ago. I wanted him to know my intentions,” Lane admits. “I figured if I was going to be married to his daughter—not just accidentally—I should probably introduce myself properly.”
“And clear the air, ask permission. I appreciated it.” Papa winks.
I stare at both of them. “So you’ve been having secret conversations about me?”
“About our family and making sure we do this right,” Lane corrects.
Papa extends his hand to Lane. “You’re a good man, Lane Sheridan Junior.”
Lane shakes it firmly. “I’ll spend every day proving it, sir.”
“Viggo,” my father corrects. “We’re family now.”
Standing there, watching my father and my husband shake hands on a temporary ice rink in the middle of Cobbiton, I realize Bibi was right all along.
Sometimes the best things in life come from the most unexpected places.
He bites the inside corner of his lip. “Oh, and Nina, I was standing here long enough to realize I’ve been an idiot. Standing still. Stagnant in my life. You were the one to lift me out of it.”
My eyebrows lift.
He reaches toward me. “Nina, watching you ... you’re incredible. You’re brave and beautiful, and you make whatever you do sweeter than you realize. It’s not a matter of you fitting into my world or me into yours. We’ll make our own.”
My father gives me another hug and then says, “I’ll leave you two to talk … and skate. But I expect a direkt?rsnegl later.”
I chuckle. “Definitely, Papa.” Of course, my my father would want the Danish version of a cinnamon roll because under his gruff exterior, much like Lane, is a soft and sweet center.
My father says he’ll see us later and waves goodbye.
When we’re alone, Lane takes my hands and kisses me on the forehead.
My breath catches, then releases like a stone skipping over water, but it doesn’t sink. It rises like hope with the help of the butterflies in my belly.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said, about the promise you made to your father. And you’re right. He said never to date a hockey player.”
The butterflies crash land. It’s over just when I got the courage to try for real.
His mouth curves in a subtle smile—the same one that first caught my attention across the crowded ballroom on New Year’s Eve. “But there was a loophole of sorts because marriage is a completely different game, and we already jumped into the deep end. It can only go up from here.”
Rise.
I press my hand to my chest. “That’s not what I expected you to say.”
He joins me on the rink and reels me closer, placing my arms over his shoulders. Relief flows through me.
“Nina, we could look at this as being messy and complicated and without guarantees, but I want you. I want us. I think together we can turn messes into tidy spaces, complicated into simple, and talk to Lucian Little about guarantees.”
I tip my head back and laugh. “Are you sure?”
“I am sure.” He nods with confidence and the light in his eyes is just for me.
Letting out a shaky breath, I ask, “Even if your career doesn’t go the way you planned? Even if the media keeps speculating about my motivations? Even if we have no idea what we’re doing half the time?”
“Especially then. I’m sure that I love you. I’m sure that those kids love us both. I’m sure that whatever we’re building together is worth everything we’ve got.”
Cheeks warm, a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I cannot believe what I’m hearing, but deep down, I’ve known all along and feel the same way.
“If I could give you back your hockey career, I would. If I could bring down the stars so you could experience life as an astronaut, I’d do it in a heartbeat.
But I can give you me, slightly damaged with an old injury and a tendency to turn any available surface into a home for my keys, phone, and wallet, but you get the better part.
The honesty, safety, and adoration. I’ll give you all the good inside me. ”
Happy tears burst free and I’m laughing at the same time as we press our lips together. When we kiss, it’s a seal of promise and forever and the kind of love that I never thought possible for myself.
It’s generous.
Tender.
Trusting.
Whole.
Lane cups my face in both hands, as if memorizing the feel of my skin beneath his palms, while at the same time leaving his fingerprints all over me.
I’m his. He’s mine.
His breath hitches when I brush my thumbs along his jaw.
This kiss is different from the others—less tentative, more sure. Like we’ve both finally stopped questioning what this is between us and started embracing it instead.
With his mouth on mine, warmth builds and expands all the way through me like holding hands on a winter walk. My arms wind around his neck as I rise on my toes to meet him, eager and giving.
There’s something profound in the way he kisses me back, like he’s pouring all his spoken and unspoken feelings into this single moment. I can feel his smile against my lips and I hope he can feel the joy radiating from me in waves.
Lane’s hands slide into my hair, and he draws me closer until there’s no space left between us.
The kiss deepens naturally, unhurried but intense, full of all the things we haven’t said yet, but both seem to intuitively understand.
I think about how we started—two strangers accidentally bound together by a hypnotist’s prompting—and maybe some hockey team shenanigans. How impossible it seemed that anything real could come from what I surely believed was a mistake.
But this is real.
The way I fit perfectly in his arms.
The way my heart races when he looks at me like I’m his whole world.