Chapter 17 Zoey
Zoey
I’m standing in the middle of my bedroom, one gold hoop dangling from my ear, the other…
"Where the hell is it?!"
God only knows.
My hair is half-dry, spiraling into chaotic waves because I forgot to bring the diffuser into the bathroom with me. The scent of my expensive body wash is mixing with the faint, ever-present smell of butter and sugar drifting up from the bakery below.
I’ve torn the room apart. The damn earring is not in the jewelry box. Not on the nightstand. Not on the floor, which is currently a disaster zone of discarded towels, three different outfit options, and a single high heel I haven’t worn since Morgan’s kindergarten graduation.
“Where are you?” I mutter, dropping to my knees to peer under the bed.
A fuzzy dust bunny stares back, but no earring.
Ding-dong.
I freeze as the doorbell downstairs chimes.
My heart lurches into my throat. Colt? No, he said he’d text when he was leaving The Den. It’s too early.
Plus, we're meeting at his place, aren't we?
Scrambling up, I grab the nearest towel and wrap it around myself. It barely covers the essentials, but I head barefoot down the narrow staircase anyway, my wet hair dripping a cold trail down my spine.
Through the glass of the bakery door, I see two figures backlit by the soft glow of Main Street’s evening lights.
Phew. It's not Colt.
I unlock the door and pull it open just enough to peer out. Delaney is looking impossibly sleek in fitted black athleisure wear and a purple Snow Leopards youth league hoodie, her blonde hair in a perfect high ponytail.
And beside her, Tate Holloway is leaning against the doorframe with that lazy, flirty grin, wearing a matching hoodie.
“Zoey!” Delaney’s eyes rake over me. Her perfectly glossed lips curve into a smirk. “Well, don’t you look… freshly showered.”
Tate’s gaze flicks down, then immediately back up to my face with exaggerated politeness. “We, uh… didn’t interrupt anything, did we?”
My cheeks burn. “Just getting ready. What’s up?”
Delaney holds up her tablet. The screen glows on her sharp features. “I was on my way to the youth league game—Tate’s coaching tonight—and I had to stop. The numbers from the launch are starting to steady.”
“And?” My pulse kicks, but for a completely different reason now.
Delaney’s smile turns triumphant.
“They’re insane. The partnership content has more engagement than anything the Snow Leopards have posted all season. We’ve got thousands of votes. And guess what’s pulling ahead by a landslide?”
She turns the tablet toward me.
There, in elegant purple and gold graphics, is a live voting tally.
Cardamom-Butter Twists: 68%
My breath catches. “No way.”
“Way.” Delaney’s eyes sparkle. “Big Mike is thrilled. Like, scarily thrilled. He’s already talking about expansion. Like… national interest, Zoey. Franchise territories.”
The word franchise hangs in the air between us, shimmering and huge and terrifying.
A dream I packed away in a leather binder… suddenly breathing again.
Tate nudges Delaney’s shoulder. “Told you they were the best. I ate, like, six.”
“You ate eight,” Delaney corrects, not looking away from me. “The point is, this is happening. It's likely that your twist is going to be the official Snow Leopards treat. And Big Mike wants to know if you can scale the recipe for arena production by next month.”
Next month? The timeline should make me panic.
Instead, a weird, electric hope buzzes in my chest.
“I… yeah. I can do that.”
“Good.” Delaney’s gaze drops to my towel again, then back to my face. Her smirk deepens. “So. You got big plans tonight to celebrate?”
Tate chuckles, low and warm. “She’s wearing one earring, babe.”
Delaney’s eyes go sharp. “Oh my God. You’re going to his place. Colt’s.”
The grin that spreads across my face is completely involuntary.
I don’t deny it. I can’t.
Delaney lets out a low whistle. “Get it, baker girl.” She winks, then hooks her arm through Tate’s. “Come on, coach. We’ve got future NHL stars to inspire.”
Tate gives me a salute. “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“That leaves a lot of options,” Delaney quips, dragging him away.
I watch them disappear down the sidewalk toward the community rink, their laughter fading into the night. Then I lock the door, lean my forehead against the cool wood, and let out a shaky breath.
National. Expansion. Franchise.
The words spin in my head, bright and dizzying. For the first time in eight years, the future doesn’t look like just tomorrow’s bake list.
It looks like… a map.
My earring chooses that moment to glitter at me from the floor behind the counter, where it must have fallen when I was tying my apron this morning.
I scoop it up, fasten it, and take the stairs two at a time.
In my bedroom, the chaos feels different now. I shove the rejected clothes into the hamper, my mind racing. What do I wear for a night that starts with a dream maybe coming true and ends with… him?
Then I remember.
The bottom drawer of my dresser, buried under a stack of old t-shirts and single socks. I kneel and pull it open, digging past faded concert tees and pregnancy sweatpants with stretched-out waistbands.
My fingers brush against cool, slick satin and I pull it out.
"Well, hello there…"
It's the lingerie set I bought five years ago, in a fit of desperate, lonely optimism after Daniel left. It's beautiful black lace with delicate straps, and the tags are still attached.
I remember chickening out of a date when Morgan was going through a sleep regression, and I just couldn't bring myself to leave her and go out that night. I’d taken it home, stuffed it in this drawer, and never once had the courage, or the occasion, to put it on.
Tonight…
Tonight feels like the occasion.
I rip off the tags, then shove the set into my Leopards tote bag alongside my wallet, phone, and lip balm. I throw on the simplest thing I own… soft black leggings with my usual sweater that falls off one shoulder, and slip into my beaten-up ankle boots.
With one last look in the mirror, I head out, racing past Frost Café and down the sidewalk until I reach Colt's building.
I knock on his door three times before I hear the scuffle from inside.
The door swings open a moment later, and Colt’s standing there… shirtless.
"Well, hello."
I try not to let my gaze drop from his face, but it’s a losing battle.
The broad, sculpted plane of his chest is still damp in places, and the defined lines of his abs leading into the low-slung waistband of his sweatpants is… God, it’s sexy as hell.
“Hey,” he breathes, his eyes bright. “Sorry. Team meeting ran late. I just got in and had a quick shower.”
My stomach does a slow, dangerous flip.
“It’s fine.” I step inside, letting the warmth of his apartment wrap around me. “I was running late too. Got… distracted.”
His lips quirk, and unfortunately for me, he finds a shirt and tugs it over his head. “By?”
I drop my tote bag by the door. “A future, apparently.”
He looks at me. “What?”
“Delaney came by. The numbers are starting to settle, and it looks like there might be a clear winner from the vote. The twists are at sixty-eight percent.” I can’t keep the grin off my face. “Big Mike’s talking expansion plans already.”
Colt’s expression shifts into pride, then something softer. “Zoey. That’s…” He takes a breath. "That's amazing. Well done."
“I couldn't have done it without you.”
We share a smile, right near where Colt showed me those same twists, the ones he had perfected while I felt like my life was spiralling out of control.
And that's when it hits me…
This is what it’s going to be like, isn’t it? Him rushing from the rink, me from the bakery. Both of our schedules colliding while we scrap together the pieces for some stolen hours in the day just to be together.
Neither of us is saying it out loud, but standing here, watching that expression on his face, I know he's thinking it too.
“You hungry?” he asks, nodding toward the kitchen island.
"Yeah."
I follow him in, and he has some soft music playing from a speaker. On the counter, a Leopard Lounge takeout bag sits open, the scent of garlic, bacon, and something cheesy curling into the air.
“Lars sent over the loaded fries,” Colt says, pulling out a cardboard container. “And the crispy chicken sliders. Said it was ‘post-practice fuel.’”
“Really? I'm pretty sure Willa would have a fit if she saw what you are about to eat while you're still supposed to be recovering.”
“She absolutely would." Colt grins, grabbing two plates. “Sit.”
I slide onto a stool, watching him serve up the fries, piled high with melty cheese, bacon bits, green onions, and a drizzle of something that smells like truffle. My stomach growls loudly.
Colt laughs. “Long day?”
“The longest.” I pop a fry into my mouth, and holy hell. “Oh my God.”
“Right?” He takes a bite of a slider, dunking it into the cheesy goodness on the fries before biting down and moaning around it. “Lars is a culinary genius.”
We eat while he tells me about practice today, and how he's slowly being allowed to be integrated back into more physical work on the ice.
Then he asks, “How’s Morgan? She excited about the monster truck show tonight?”
“Of course. She’s with my brothers. Which means they’ll spoil her with junk food and let her stay up past midnight.” I shake my head, smiling. “She texted me a picture earlier. She looked… happy.”
“Good.”
Colt’s eyes linger on my face, and just from that look, I know what he really wants to ask.
The Declan-shaped question that's been hanging between us since last night at the Lounge. I felt the tension immediately when I came back from the bathroom and found them sitting there, both too quiet.
I watch him pick at the cheese on his plate, and decide to just go for it.
"Declan gave you the talk, didn't he?"
Colt looks up, studying me carefully before nodding through a sigh. "He gave me… a version of it."
My heart squeezes. I knew it.