Chapter 15
FLETCH
The sound of skates cutting across the ice, the guys grunting with concerted effort, and the steady hum of the cooling units fill the rink at the Ice Palace as Coach Badaszek blows his whistle.
I glide to a stop at the boards, watching as some of my teammates continue through drills.
My jaw injury is a mere memory at this point—and Bree is right, it didn’t stop me from singing—but I still haven’t caught so much as a cookie-crumb clue that Coach is going to clear me for contact.
Then doubt descends. Will I be ready? What if I’m not and I disappoint the team?
But there is a twinkle in his eye when he asks, “How was the cabin?”
“Thanks again, sir. That was a close call.”
“Better safe than sorry. No unnecessary risks out there on the roads or at the Fish Bowl.”
Or the ice, as it turns out. I want to ask him the NHL player equivalent of “Are we there yet?” but hold back, knowing better than to tease a tiger.
Liam, our captain, skates over, spraying ice as he stops beside me. “How’s the renovation coming along?”
So many questions, yet the most important one, at least in this context, remains unanswered.
When will I play again?
Coach lifts an eyebrow with interest.
“Mikey’s father’s contracting company is great. They’re doing an amazing job.”
“Glad to hear the love shack will soon be ready for the newlyweds,” Liam jokes.
I hate to admit it, but I miss the days when he was all broody grump and hardly said a word to anyone.
“The roof repairs are done, the electrical updates finished, and the plumbing is nearly there.”
“Which just leaves the fun part—the finish work,” Robo says, sliding into the conversation.
Hayden skates up with a smirk. “And the mail-order bride situation? How’s that working out?”
“Shh.” I stiffen with sudden nerves, but thankfully, Vohn has Badaszek’s attention now, probably discussing the next big game against the Wisconsin Warriors.
“He’s blushing!” Pierre announces to the team.
“She’s not just a mail-order bride. Bree is staying with me until our arrangement ends.” My stomach dips at the notion as if Santa publicly announced that I’m on the naughty list.
Coach Badaszek blows his whistle again. “Enough chit chat! Back to work!”
As they skate away, I hear Jack shout, “Tell us more about that cozy cabin during the storm!”
I pretend not to hear him, but the memory surfaces anyway.
Bree curled up beside me as we sunk together on the couch with the fire keeping us toasty, her soft laugh, the way she’d looked at me in the firelight.
Then the sleepy snuggling. I’ve been dreaming about it ever since.
Something fundamentally changed between us that night. Something I can’t stop thinking about.
“Ready to see the progress?” I ask Bree as we pull up to her family’s old Victorian.
She nods, excitement and anxiety mingling on her face. The house looks different already—the scaffolding is gone, revealing fresh paint on the exterior and trim. The new windows gleam in the afternoon sun.
She gasps. Unfortunately, the interior will happen later, but watching her reaction fills me up inside. I tried to convince the A-2 crew that I could help—hey, I’m handy—but they insisted I leave it to the pros.
Bree runs her hand along the freshly painted handrail that leads up to the wrap-around porch and gazes at the exterior of her childhood home. We step inside, and though it’s still a construction site, it’s nothing like the lonely, abandoned shell it was a mere few weeks ago.
“Mikey’s dad said the biggest lift was the roof and the exterior, but there were some sizable electrical and plumbing repairs, too. The kitchen, floors, paint, and bathrooms are on the list. I wish I could have it finished for you by Christmas, but I’m afraid it won’t fit under the tree.”
I wait for her response, but her eyes remain wide—whether because she’s taking it all in or for another reason, I’m not sure.
She wanders into the front room, her boots echoing on the wooden floors. Light streams through the oversized windows, casting geometrical patterns across the empty space.
I point to the big front windows. “A Christmas tree would look perfect there. Tall ceiling. You could fit a massive one.”
Her smile falters slightly. “For another family, I guess. When I sell it.”
I feel an unexpected pang in my chest. “You’re still planning to sell?”
“I have to pay you back somehow,” she says, not meeting my eyes.
“You don’t have to. That’s not why I did this.”
“Then why did you, Fletch?”
It’s my turn to look away. “I did it for you … and for me.”
“You mean for us?”
“Maybe not at first.”
She’s still, quiet.
“The truth is, you were onto something the other day. Being on injury leave has been hard for me. If I fill up every spare moment and make myself useful, I won’t have time to think about what happens after my career.
It’s not that the broken jaw would keep me out of hockey, but eventually, retirement will come.
This time off reminded me of that reality.
It’s been hard, uh, to deal with, I guess.
” My voice echoes back to me through the cavernous house.
“Fletch,” Bree says softly. “I had no idea. That’s difficult.”
“It is what it is.” I shrug, casting it off as I have almost every challenge in life. “I tend to stay in the present, which might be part of why it never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be a forty-year-old in the NHL.”
“Well, there was that one time you thought about the future,” she says.
My forehead furrows as I think back to what she references.
Eyes steady on me, each of Bree’s steps closer punctuates her words—my words repeated back to me. “‘I’ll marry you someday.’”
We smile simultaneously and then comes light laughter as she slides her arms around me, presses her cheek to my chest, and says, “Thank you for this.”
Not realizing I’d been holding my breath, I let out a long and much-needed exhale.
I embrace her and it’s more definite and meaningful than the other times we’ve touched.
We stand there for a long time and I envision a future of forty-year-old me, of us, and I’m no longer scared.
We continue the tour and I say, “Just think, you could have your own home office here. Plus a home library. It’s perfect.”
“I can’t afford to live here, Fletch.”
“Is there a mortgage?”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s paid off, but the taxes, utilities, maintenance. Plus, I have debt and student loans …” Her voice trails off and she drops to the bottom step of the grand staircase, shoulders slumping. “Not unless my book does really well and I start making my deadlines.”
“You’re going to crush it.”
Bree, shaking her head, droops like a flower in the frost.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, sitting beside her.
“I’ve been so wrapped up in fictional characters’ lives that I guess I haven’t thought about my own future either. Where am I going to go after this?” Sadness fills her eyes when she peeks at me.
My stomach clenches and I wonder what the hug we just shared meant to her. “You mean after our thirty days are up?”
“We’re more than halfway through and I can’t live with Nina forever.”
I want to tell her she could stay with me, permanently. The thought startles me with its intensity, like taking a stray puck to the chest.
After all, we’re married.
I need a distraction. I think she does, too. “What’s your favorite part of the house?”
She’s quiet for a long moment, but when she looks at me again, her eyes are brighter. “I’ll show you.”
She leads me out the back door and down a snow-covered path that winds through bare trees. Our boots crunch as they break the sparkly surface. The property extends farther than I realized until we reach a clearing where a small pond sits frozen and pristine.
“This area would flood every winter and when it froze, if you crossed to that corner, there were little icy lanes that you could follow like enchanted paths. I’d make up stories about where they’d lead.”
“Of course you did.” My smile is as sweet as a sugar cookie.
Boldness seems to surge through her. “I want to show you. Right now. Go get your skates from the truck—I’ll grab my old ones from inside.”
My eyebrows lift in surprise. “Right now?”
“Before I lose my nerve.” Taking my hand, she leads us back the way we came. “I’ve been writing about brave heroines my whole career. Maybe it’s time I acted like one.”
Our eyes meet, filled with equal amounts of excitement like kids who’ve just hatched a plan on an otherwise dreary winter day.
I never doubted that Bree knew how to have fun, but I questioned whether we’d have it together. I think I have my answer.
Smiling, I say, “I’ll get them. I’d love to skate with you.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re gliding across the ice.
“So you know how to skate,” I ask when I catch up to her midway across the pond.
Moving with fluid grace, she says, “I used to spend hours out here.”
“So you were a free-range kid.”
She laughs at my choice of words.
I don’t take it she was neglected, per se. More like overlooked. But I see her—all the beauty in her eyes. The intelligence in her mind. The laughter on her lips. I want to tease it out in abundance, with abandon. To learn more, go deeper.
Side by side, we take off, moving fluidly and smoothly. Suddenly, we both hit a rough spot, like there was a stick frozen in the ice that was pushing up. Arms flailing, we nearly take a spill, but reach for each other and get our footing.
Standing face to face, chests heaving, Bree tips her gaze toward me. Warmth radiates between us and the crackling could be dangerous, could turn a solid into a liquid, given our current location.
“Thanks for the save. You’re not too shabby at this either.” She bites her lip as if afraid she said too much, let out too much slack in the line and worries about what I could do with it.
I could close the distance. Sink my mouth into hers.
No. I need to recalibrate. I should.
My voice is low and raspy when I answer. “What can I say? I’m good at what I do.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “At everything?”
“Maybe I should let you be the judge of that.” My lips quirk. If I moved a few inches, I could press them to hers. But without the mistletoe hanging overhead, would she return the kiss?
Instead, I start to skate backward, circling her and saying, “Come catch me.”
“Show off!”
“Says the woman who did a perfect spin mere moments ago.”
Bree laughs, the sound carrying across the frozen pond. Pink-cheeked from the cold, she looks more beautiful, freer than I’ve ever seen her as she races after me. I dodge her easily, but then turn around and playfully chase her.
“Gotcha,” I say, gripping her wrist and reeling her in. When we come to a stop, I loosen my hold and say, “Let’s try something.”
“Do I trust you?”
“I’m your husband. Plus, what have I ever done to make you question whether you can trust me?”
I hold my hands out for her to take.
She lifts her shoulder as if to say that I make a good point and then places her mittened hands in mine. I pull her gently, skating backward as she glides forward. We move together, finding a rhythm, breath clouding in the cold air between us.
We skate like that for a while until we reach the other side of the pond.
“When I was a kid, I’d imagine those icy trails led to Narnia. Then, as a teenager, I used to long for someone to skate out here with.” Her eyes brighten. I’m not sure if it’s because she has an idea for a scene in her book or if she’s living out that little daydream.
“Like this?” I pull her closer, our bodies touching as we glide in slow circles.
“Yeah. Like this,” she whispers.
I’m not sure who moves first, but suddenly we’re standing still in the middle of the pond, her face tilted up to mine.
Time slows down in this secret snow globe place.
Her long lashes flutter and her lips part.
My pulse pounds as I lean down, brushing my mouth against hers. The kiss is soft and tentative, answering my question about the mistletoe.
My skin blazes at her touch as she slides her palms up the nape of my neck.
She rises onto her skates’ toe picks, deepening the kiss. Her hands shift to my shoulders, and I wrap my arms around her waist, tugging her against me.
The world around us fades away, leaving just the two of us in our own perfect moment on the pond.
Her lips are soft and warm against mine, a stark contrast to the winter chill that surrounds us. I can taste the hint of melted chocolate, sweet and comforting.
Through our bulky winter coats, her heartbeat quickens to match my own. My pulse outpaces my thoughts as our hands intertwine, loosening when I gently grip her jaw as the kiss deepens once more.
Her palms press my back, keeping me in place. Like she doesn’t want this moment to end.
Me neither.
And it doesn’t, for what feels like a long time.
When we part, her cheeks flush pink, whether from the cold or the kiss, I’m not sure, but she’s never looked more beautiful.
“Wow,” I whisper against her lips, my voice husky.
She smiles shyly, her eyes meeting mine with a new warmth that makes my chest flare. I brush a strand of hair that fell out of her hat from her face, marveling at how such a simple gesture now feels so intimate.
We sway slightly on our skates, finding our balance together as we hold each other close, neither of us quite ready to let this moment end. The ice beneath us creaks softly, a gentle reminder of where we are, but it feels like we’re floating as our mouths meet again.
When we finally pull apart, snowflakes have begun to drift down around us. One lands on her eyelashes, and I press my lips there, wanting her to know that our kissing doesn’t need to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to be.
“I wasn’t expecting this,” she says softly.
“Neither was I,” I admit.
We skate a while longer, hand in hand, saying nothing but communicating everything by not letting go.
Twilight casts long shadows across the pond, and I realize something that terrifies and exhilarates me. I’m falling for Bree. Forget the arrangement, the bet, and the thirty days.
Just Bree.
And I have no idea what to do about it, especially if she doesn’t quite feel the same way. After all, she entered into the mail-order bride arrangement for research purposes. Though our kiss felt very much like the real thing.