Chapter 11
STELLA
I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about seeing Jayden today. All week when I was working, he’d pop into my thoughts. I had empty time on the flights to and from Toronto and I kept thinking about him. I’d ask myself if I’m crazy then push that aside to focus on business.
It’s reminding me a little of when I met Cole. And I don’t like it.
I have to end things with him.
When I walked Betty, I’d think of him in the park. Also, who’s looking after Frank? I take Betty to my mom’s place when I travel. Does he take Frank to his sister’s every time he goes away?
He kept texting me. And it was sweet. I kept reminding myself I should just tell him I can’t see him again.
But I didn’t do it. I told myself it was better to tell him in person.
But that’s bullshit. We went out once. I could have ended things with a text.
Why am I so weak about this? I don’t usually have any problems telling a guy things aren’t working for us.
Apparently, we’re going for a bike ride today. He asked if I have a bike, which I do, and said he’d meet me at George Wainborn Park, only a few blocks from both of us.
“I guess you can’t come this time,” I say to Betty, gazing at her sad face.
Her face is always sad but, today, it seems extra mournful with the wrinkles on her forehead and her downturned mouth.
I love my dog and actually feel guilty for leaving her on a Saturday when I’d usually be taking her for a long walk down by the water.
“I’m sorry, my sweet girl. I’m a selfish mom. We’ll go later, I promise.”
I’ve dressed in leggings, a long-sleeved shirt, and runners, with a small cross-body bag holding necessities. Phone. Money. Credit cards. Lip gloss. I fasten my helmet and walk my bike out the door, down the steps, and onto the sidewalk.
It’s a glorious autumn day: blue sky, leaves changing to red and gold and still bright flowers bursting out of pots and baskets. I cruise along the bike lane toward the park. Jayden is waiting right at the entrance between the two pillars. I recognize him even in his bike helmet and sunglasses.
I slow to a stop next to him. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He takes off his glasses and his dimples appear as he smiles, his eyes warm and crinkled at the corners. “You look great.”
Oh dear gods in all the heavens. His smile lights up my insides and obliterates my resolve to end things. “Thanks. I feel very athletic.”
He laughs. “Good, ’cause we’re gonna have a workout.”
“Oh no. I don’t know if I can handle it.” I’m kidding. I work out enough to contend with a bike ride. “I’m mostly worried about my butt.” I pat my behind. “I haven’t ridden a bike for a while.”
“I’m deeply concerned about your butt, too,” he says solemnly. “It’s too pretty to be mistreated.”
I press my lips inward. “Um. Thank you?”
“If you need a massage later, we can discuss. I’m told I have good hands.” He holds up both appendages.
“I’ve heard that about you.”
Oh my God. I’m flirting with him.
His eyes light up with delighted amusement. “Excellent. Okay, let’s go.”
Should we talk now? Or later? “Where are we going?”
“Stanley Park. We’ll see how far we go. Totally dependent on your butt.”
Later it is.
And we’re off, down toward the water first then following the bike path along False Creek, past boats docked and ones sailing, beneath bridges, past the dog park at Sunset Beach.
We can’t talk much like this, but Jayden waves and calls to me we’ll stop at the beach.
It’s Saturday, so there are lots of people on the sand and walking the path.
We hop off our bikes and wheel them over to a big log on the sand, then sit there.
Sand stretches on either side of us and down to the water. Some kids are kicking a soccer ball around. A man is throwing a stick for his dog to retrieve from the water. Closer to us, a slender man with dark hair in a bun is shirtless, sitting in a squat position in the sand, hands in Anjali Mudrā.
“Do you like living here?” I ask him, pulling off my helmet.
“I love it.” He looks around. “It’s a big city but there’s such a laidback vibe. I love the water and the mountains. I feel lucky to be here.” Then he makes a face.
“What?” I ask.
“Other than the fact that our team sucks.”
“Oh. Yeah. But the whole team doesn’t suck.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’ve got a few good players, but if we can’t play together and win games, we suck. Ah, I shouldn’t talk like that. I’m trying to be more positive this year.”
“You won last night in Chicago.”
He glances at me as if surprised I knew that. “Yeah.”
“It looked like you were playing well.”
“You watched?”
“Just some of the game, in the airport lounge.”
“Ah. We did okay last night,” he agrees. “Frosty was hot.”
The nicknames for all the players amuse me.
The goalie is Oliver Frost. “He made a lot of great saves. You did great, too. Breaking up that rush in the third period when they were coming hard to tie it up. You stole the puck. And that shot you blocked, oh my God, I was worried you were really hurt.”
“That was a stinger.” He makes a face. “I had to walk it off for a few minutes, but I’m okay.”
“Thank God.” I bite my lip, not liking the thought of him being even bruised.
“Were you really worried about me?” he teases.
I purse my lips. “Maybe a little.”
The sun gleams off his brown hair and makes his eyes glow like the autumn leaves.
“I’ll take it,” he says drolly.
A fluttery sensation swoops in my belly and heat rises between us.
“What did you want to talk about?” he asks quietly.
Just say it. I swallow.
“Well.” I clear my throat. “I really like you.”
What? That’s not what I’m supposed to say.
He nods, eyes fastened on my face. “Me, too. But…?”
Maybe we don’t have to end things. I mean, that’s extreme. We can have a fling. A flingship. Situationship. A winterlude. “I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”
“That sounds very businesslike.” His tone is light, but his eyes stay serious.
Yes. Treat this like a business deal. “I just want us to be aligned—”
“I know what it means, Stella.”
“Right.” I twist my fingers together. “I really like you.”
He nods.
“I said that already.”
He nods again.
“I’m not looking for a serious relationship.” It comes out in a rush.
“Okay.” He gives me a searching look. “Am I moving too fast for you?”
“No. It’s not that. Not at all. I just want to be clear about that. I’m busy. I have a lot going on in my life.”
“I’m aware,” he says dryly.
I give a quick nod. “Right. But I do have fun with you.” I add a smile to the nod.
“I have fun with you, too. So what are you saying?”
“I’m sorry.” I drop my head briefly. I’ve had this conversation with men more than a few times and it’s always easy. Sometimes, they just end things. Sometimes, they get offended and end things. Sometimes, they’re fine with it. “I’m not expressing myself very well.”
“Let me help. When a woman says she isn’t looking for a relationship, it could mean she really doesn’t have the time or emotional capacity.”
I duck my chin in acknowledgment.
“But usually it means she’s not interested in a relationship with you. Or in this case… me.”
“No! It was the first. The time and emotional capacity thing.”
The corners of his mouth quirk. “Okay.” He still regards me thoughtfully.
“So if you’re okay with keeping things casual and having fun… we can… do that.”
Why am I so rattled by this conversation? Why did I change the plan?
“I can do that,” he says slowly.
“Okay! Good!” A smile breaks free. “Good.”
“Yeah. Good.”
I look down at the pale sand and push some around with the toe of my runner as a complex set of emotions twists inside me. Relief. Guilt. Frustration with myself. Relief.
Pieces of shells are everywhere and I study one perfect, intact clam shell, then lift my gaze to the bay. Water meets sky in a hazy horizon of wispy clouds, mountains rising on one side, numerous freighters anchored in the bay waiting to be loaded at the port.
“So,” I say. “What do you like to do on your days off? Do you do a lot of bike rides like this?”
“Not a lot,” he admits. “But I enjoy it. I feel like I hardly ever have a whole day off to do whatever I want.”
I tilt my head. “What keeps you busy?”
“Working out, obviously. Sometimes treatment, massage. I also do some volunteer work.”
I nod. I know most hockey players are involved in some kind of community volunteering. “Where do you volunteer?”
“It’s a group called Best Men. It’s a national organization and they have programs in a bunch of cities.”
“I haven’t heard of it. What’s their mission?”
“Basically to get men and boys involved in trying to end gender-based violence.”
I blink. “Oh.” I did not expect that.
“I do some speaking at some of their workshops, especially ones where boys’ sports teams come to learn. It seems to carry weight when they hear it from a hockey player.”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure. That’s really great.”
“It’s fun, too,” he says with an unassuming shrug.
“What kinds of things do you talk about?” I’m deeply curious about this.
“Well, yesterday, we talked about bystander intervention. We talk about consent. How to have healthy relationships with people. Women. Well, no, not always just women. Dating partners.” He glances at me. “Sometimes, there are queer people in the group.”
“Right.” I’m a little blown away by this. “I really admire that.”
“Thanks.”
He doesn’t seem overly eager to talk more about it. I’m not sure why. He should be proud of it.
“How about you?” he asks. “How do you keep busy outside of work?”
“Oh, lots of things.” I turn my face into the sun. “I run and workout a few times a week. Pilates. Sometimes, I go to yoga classes with my girlfriends. We go to this yoga class on the beach when the weather’s good.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah. I hang out with my friends. Of course I have Betty.” I pause. “Last year, I took a course on growing orchids.”
“Orchids? A whole class?”
“Yes. It was fun. I love flowers and growing things. That was what sold me on the condo I bought—it has a little front yard so I’ll be able to grow more things in pots and have an outdoor seating area.”