21. Dawson
CHAPTER 21
DAWSON
“Sorry I’m late,” Emmy says when she arrives in her junk mobile.
“Your car again?” I look over the rusty vehicle and wish that I could just buy her a new car even though I know she’d refuse to accept it.
“No, thank goodness. I was talking with a photographer at the bookstore.”
“The guy who took our picture?” I growl.
“No. Her name’s Willa and she’s really sweet. We were talking about books and birds.”
“Noah’s girl?”
She looks at me with a knowing grin. “I wondered if something was happening between those two.” Then she glances at the arena. “Did you have to bribe anyone to use this place?”
“No one,” I say, taking her around the back of the arena. I stop outside the locker room window. “They don’t know that I’m borrowing it for our date.”
I reach up to the window I left unlocked and yank it open.
“Wait.” She looks from the window to me in shock. “We’re sneaking in to the ice arena?”
“Of course we are. I bet you’ve never had a date like this.”
“You mean a date where I’m breaking and entering?” She lifts her eyebrows. “A first for me.”
“Dinner and a movie are so last year. Breaking into an ice arena so I can give you a private lesson is priceless.”
“Conveniently, nobody will be around to see you lose,” she says with a grin.
“Who says I’m going to lose?” I wink at her. “Now put your foot on my leg, and I’ll help you up.”
“What if we get caught?”
“I work here. They won’t arrest us.”
“Can you see the headlines now? Professional goalie and girlfriend arrested for breaking into the local ice arena.”
“If it helps, I told Murray, the custodial manager at the arena,” I say. “He totally approved.”
“Did you tell Dan?” she asks, her eyes wide.
“Of course not. Dan would never approve of this.”
“At least we agree on something.” She stares at the window above us. “You go first.”
“If I go first, I can’t help you up.”
She bites her lip. “Okay,” she says, pausing for a beat before stepping onto my leg. “But if we get caught, I’m blaming you.”
I grab her waist as she pushes off my shoulder. “I will never live this down if someone sees us here.”
“But if we pull it off, you’ll never forget it either.”
She hikes a knee into the window and climbs through. I jump for the window, grip the ledge, and pull myself up. All those pull-ups at the gym have finally paid off.
“Show-off,” she mutters when I climb in.
What I didn’t tell her is where this window led—straight into the men’s locker room. The place smells of sweaty uniforms, muscle rub, and body spray.
She glances around. “The men’s locker room? So this is where you guys share your deep dark secrets and body wash.”
“We don’t share body wash,” I say, frowning. “Is that something women do?”
“Women share everything,” Emmy says. “Why do you think we go to the bathroom in pairs?”
I pick up two pairs of skates and a jersey from my locker.
“Time to get your skates and uniform on.” I hand her a pair of smaller men’s skates I found in a storage closet that looked brand new. When I toss the jersey at her, she fumbles it, then unfurls the shirt.
“Why do I have to wear this? It’s not like anyone will see me.”
I stop and look at her. “I want to see you in it.”
Ever since I returned, I’ve been dying to see her wear it.
“Are you sure? I can wear a practice jersey. You don’t have to give up yours.”
I shake my head. “Tonight, you won’t wear anyone else’s jersey but mine.”
She waits a beat, then tries it on. “What do you think?” she asks.
I make a circling motion with my finger, so I can see the back. She spins around.
“I like seeing you wear my name.” It looks as good on her as I imagined it would.
When she turns around, there’s a faint blush on her cheeks. “You’re flirting with me again.”
“I like flirting with you. Unlike most guys, everything I say is true.”
I hold her stare for a beat until she looks away. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” she murmurs, pulling on her skates.
“Why not?”
“Because I might start believing it.”
“That’s exactly why I say it.”
She tries to stand and wobbles a little in the skates.
“Is your ankle still hurting?” I ask.
She shakes her head.
“Then what?” I look her over, trying to figure out what’s wrong.
She bites her lip. “I was afraid to tell you this before. But I never learned to skate.”
“How is that possible?”
“Not for lack of trying,” she says as we head to the ice arena. “When our parents took us to the rink, Dan picked it up right away, and I was constantly falling. Even Ethan was better than me. The last time I skated, I fell and hit my head. After that, I took books to the rink while Dan practiced. I hated looking clumsy.”
I take her arm. “If you start to go down, I’ll catch you.”
“You might regret saying that by the end of the night,” she says with a smile. “I probably won’t be able to walk to my car after this.”
“Then I’ll carry you. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
When we reach the ice, she hesitates when she sees what I’ve set up on center ice.
“Why is there a blanket in the middle of the ice?”
“Before we start our lesson, we’re going to have a picnic. I didn’t want you to be cold or hungry on our date.”
“You set up a picnic for me?”
I grin. “I bet you’ve never had a picnic in the middle of the arena. And I know how much you love dessert.”
“But I can’t possibly skate there on my own,” she protests.
“Hold on to my hands, and I’ll pull you along.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “You want me to take both of us down?”
“Emmy, I’m used to big men coming at me full speed. Hockey is about trust—trusting your teammates to have your back, to help you out in a pinch. This is like a trust fall. If you slip, I’m here for you.”
She hesitates a moment, then reaches for my hands. I start slowly, pulling her toward center ice at what feels like a sloth’s pace. At first she’s tense and stiff, but the longer we skate, the more her body relaxes, even if I’m doing most of the work.
“Tell me more about this Gold Dog guy,” I say, when we finally reach the blanket. “How do you know he’s legit?”
She sits across from me and opens a peppermint patty.
“How do you know if anyone is? That’s why I need to meet him,” she says, biting into the chocolate.
“He could be in a relationship. Or part of the mafia.”
She tilts her head. “He has a golden retriever. How many mafia men have dogs?”
“It would be a good cover,” I suggest.
She laughs.
“Are you sure he doesn’t like you?” I need to know she’s not holding out for Gold Dog when I leave town. Not that she could since I’m Gold Dog.
“He’s a friend,” she says, finishing the candy. “I’m not interested in him in that way and he isn’t either.”
“Then why do you talk to him? What does he do for you that I can’t?” I’m not trying to act jealous by her interest in Gold Dog, but I need to know.
She lifts a shoulder and drops it. “I can be myself. There’s no pressure. Since he’s not from Maple Falls, I can tell him things I can’t tell other people. It’s easier that way.”
I look at her. “Do you feel pressure from me?”
“No,” she says hesitantly. “But there’s pressure from everyone else in Maple Falls. That’s not your fault.”
“If there’s anything I can do to make things easier, I will.”
“You’re pretending to be my bodyguard. That’s a pretty big ask. What if you’re right, and he’s part of the mafia?” She smirks.
I open a chocolate and take a bite. “Maybe I need one of those hidden earpieces so I can talk to you secretly. When he’s not looking, I’ll make weird faces at you to make you laugh.”
She laughs and throws her candy wrapper at me. “You will not .”
“Maybe I should pretend I’ve had one too many drinks and come on to you. Let’s see what he does. Just for fun.”
Her eyes widen. “Dawson, you could get punched!”
“I play hockey. I’m always getting punched.”
She laughs, and the sound of her laughter thrills me. I leave her on the blanket and skate over to where I have two hockey sticks waiting.
“Did your brother teach you to hit a puck?”
She shakes her head. “I never could match his coordination or skill. He always put me to shame.”
“We’re not playing to win tonight.” I drop the puck in front of her. “But hitting a puck is part of the game.”
I offer my hand to help her off the blanket, then we skate toward the net. She wobbles the whole way, clinging to my arm. When we reach the goal, I hand her a stick. She takes a reckless swing and almost loses her balance.
I hold on to her waist to stop her from falling. “Slow down. You almost wiped out.”
“I warned you,” she says, lifting an eyebrow. “My brother inherited all the hand-eye coordination in the family.”
I hand her another puck and then position my own. “If you keep telling yourself that, you’re gonna fall on your butt more times than not.”
I slap the puck with a clean strike, and it slides into the net perfectly. Even though I’m goalie, I still have form.
“Are you trying to make me look bad?” she asks.
I look over her jeans and white sweater and grin. “Honey, you couldn’t look bad if you tried.”
A faint blush colors her cheek. “You probably tell all the girls that.”
I drop another puck in front of her. “No, I don’t,” I say, firmly.
She glances at me skeptically. “Dan told me you’d come up with the worst pickup lines.”
She takes her shot and the puck skitters close to the net and stops.
I grip my stick and look at her. “Did you ever consider that might be better than the other option?”
“Which is?” She looks at me, curious.
“Hooking up with women I have no interest in. Bad pickup lines are my way of driving them away .”
She lifts her eyebrows. “Really? Dan said women were handing you their numbers like freebies at Costco.”
I laugh, then hit the puck again. “I can’t tell you how many napkins with numbers I’ve thrown away over the years. My pickup lines were terrible, and women still wanted to date me.”
She tilts her head, like she’s trying to wrap her brain around this. “Way to crush a woman’s heart, Dawson.”
Whenever a woman handed me a napkin, my thoughts strayed to Emmy. The long waves framing her face, and a smile that made me a weak man. It was an easy decision. Nobody could compare to her.
“I’m not crushing hearts, because I never invited their attention,” I tell her. “My pickup lines were cheesy at best. The guys on the Carolina Crushers loved to tease me about it, but I already knew I didn’t want those girls.”
“What about the girls your dad sets you up with?”
I shake my head. “I told him I won’t accept another hired date. And if he tried to set me up again, I’ll cut him out of my life for good.” I drop a puck in front of me.
Her eyes widen. “That’s so final. Why’d you finally do it?”
I hit the puck, but this time I miss my goal. “Besides the fact that he’s trying to control my life and manipulate my public image?” I stop and look at her. “And I told him about you.”
Her face flicks to mine. “Me? But what happens when your season is done and you leave?”
“Who says this is over at the end of the season?”
“Dawson,” she warns. “This would never work.”
“Then I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you.” I slide another puck toward her. “One puck at a time.”
She smirks, then holds her stick like she’s about to tee off at the golf range.
“Hold on,” I say, putting up my hands. “Let me show you how to do this.”
“How hard can it be?” she asks, then skates forward, wobbles, and pitches forward. I catch her arm before she hits the ice.
“Painfully hard if you’re not doing it right.” I put my stick aside, then slide my hands to her waist to steady her body. She fits perfectly in my grip. Then I move behind her back to help with her form. Sliding closer to her, I adjust her hands on the stick with mine. “If your body isn’t ready, your aim is going to be off. Put your hands here.” Her face turns toward me and her hair brushes my face. She smells so good, it makes my head spin. The same dizzying scent I remember from the wine cellar.
“Now, pull it back like this.” I lift the hockey stick, and keep my hands over hers. “Relax your shoulders.”
Again, her eyes meet mine, then dart back to the puck. “How can I relax when you’re so distracting?”
“I’m distracting?” I ask with a laugh. “Emmy, you have no idea how hard it is to be this close to you and stay professional. ”
Her cheeks turn pink. “Good thing I’m not on your team, then.”
“I’d be staring at you so much, I’d lose my job.”
With my arms still locked around her body, I nudge the puck to get it lined up for the shot. “Do you see the invisible line from the puck to the net?”
She nods. “I think so? But it’s kind of hard to concentrate.”
My heart rate picks up every time she moves. “Just focus on the goal... on one, two, three.”
She swings, and the puck snaps into the net. Perfect shot.
I fist-pump the air. “You did it!”
She spins toward me and throws her arms around my neck. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”
Holding her feels like the most natural thing in the world.
My arms have already memorized the feel of her body, how perfect it fits in my hands. My hands slide down her back as my eyes meet hers. We stay there, caught in this moment. I don’t want it to end. Something swirls beneath the surface of her ice-blue eyes.
“Could you trust me enough to teach you how to skate?”
“I don’t know, Dawson.” She bites her lip.
“Close your eyes.”
We leave our sticks in the middle of the rink, and she closes her eyes and grasps my hands.
I pull her along as a smile curves her lips. “This is my first time skating with my eyes closed. When can I open them?”
“Somebody’s impatient,” I say. “I want you to trust me.”
“I do trust you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have broken into the ice arena with you tonight.”
“True.” I grip her hands harder.
When we finally make it across the rink, I’m so distracted by her, I don’t see the wall behind me. We’re not going fast enough to get hurt, but the jolt causes her eyes to fly open.
“Somebody’s not paying attention,” she remarks.
“I was distracted watching you. You’re a lot softer than my opponents. Better looking too. You even have all your teeth.”
She laughs. “Glad you set your standards so high.”
“Do you trust me now?” I ask, wrapping my arms around her back. She feels good this close. Like she was meant to fit here.
Her face turns serious. “I do trust you, Dawson. It’s myself I don’t trust. Even this town seems different since you showed up. Like fall is showing off just for us.”
“Maybe it’s a sign.” I slide one hand to her face.
“Of what?”
I touch my forehead to hers. “That you belong with me.”
She shakes her head. “I love having you here, but it could never work.”
“What does your heart say?”
“My heart is telling me to kiss you, so it’s clearly misguided.” She lets out a guilty laugh.
“I’d definitely listen to your heart, then,” I murmur.
Without hesitating, she closes her eyes and lifts her lips toward mine. I know, in a moment, what my heart needs to do.
When my lips touch hers, it’s so much better than any fictional kiss could ever be.