Chapter 12
TWELVE
STELLAN
“He’ll be here.” Naomi’s voice held the bone-deep crankiness of a woman trying to quit coffee after noon. Lord help us all. “Stop stressing. It stresses me out, and that’s bad for my skin.”
“I’m not stressing.” I straightened the sleeves of a navy blazer, and she shot me a look that said patience was a virtue and she was fresh out.
“You’ve checked your phone fifty-three times since we got here. I counted.”
“That’s a lie.”
“Not in spirit.”
Yeah, fine. Maybe.
I took a breath, the faint chemical tang of floor cleaner and espresso grounds thick in the air.
Chairs were stacked on half the tables, the rest pushed aside so the middle of the room could turn into our once-a-month stage—halfway between a tiny boutique and a pep talk.
The neon sign in the window had changed to coffee first. then revolution.
It was creeping toward seven, with the first kids due any minute and the possible donor sometime after that. And Matt… Flight delayed, he’d texted three hours ago. Coming straight from the airport.
I checked my phone again. Nothing since then.
“See?” Naomi made a disgusted sound. “Stressing. Stop.”
I shoved the phone into my back pocket. “Just making sure he didn’t get lost.”
“I’m sure his Uber driver knows the way.” She rolled a clothing rack two inches to the left. “Also, for the record? If you’re still aiming for a fuck-buddy vibe, it isn’t working.”
My hands stilled on a small stack of folded sweaters, set aside for interviews where a suit would look out of place. “Don’t,” I said, a little too soft.
She went quiet, just watching me. One hip against the counter, a buttery yellow blouse tucked into dark pants, lipstick immaculate because unlike me, she moved through the world as if beauty required no actual effort. “Babe,” she said then.
I ducked my head. “I don’t want fuck buddies.”
The coffee shop was suddenly too quiet, indie music low under the hum of the fridge behind the counter. Outside, the street had gone dark and wet, headlights sliding over the window.
“Yeah,” Naomi said, voice gone careful. “I kind of got that.”
And then the door opened with a happy jingle of bells.
Matt.
Travel tired. A little rough around the edges, like he’d skipped a shave this morning. Dark jacket, dark pants, a duffel over one shoulder and his suitcase beside him, baseball cap in one hand. He caught my eye, and his whole expression brightened, went briefly open before he locked it down.
Oh. Felt like someone had struck a match directly behind my ribs. Twelve stupid days of texts and photos, and now he was back.
“Hey,” he said, just loud enough to cross the empty space between us.
“Hi,” I returned. Casual, yeah. Totally normal heartbeat. Zero desire to throw myself at a six-foot-something hockey captain in public. Definitely hadn’t missed him, nope.
He smiled, eyes crinkling up with it, then glanced around at the coffee shop. Behind him, the door was still open as if he’d forgotten how thresholds worked, chilly November air wafting in.
“Come in,” Naomi said. “Before I freeze to death.”
“Hello to you, too.” He huffed out a laugh, set the duffel by the wall, and wheeled his suitcase out of the way. Up close, he looked even more worn from the trip, shadows under his eyes, but somehow lighter for being here. Or maybe that was just my own wishful projection.
“How was the flight?” I asked, hands in my pockets as I watched him. He still had the road on him somehow, the kind of tired that came from games and living out of a suitcase, not just a long day.
“Late,” he said. “Weather delays pushed everything back.” His attention stayed on me for a beat, then he glanced around the shop again, at clothes and racks, the sign in the window. “But I made it.”
“Delightful,” Naomi stated, and he grinned at her.
“Miss me, did you?”
“It was a dark and lonely time,” she drawled, sounding utterly bored even as the corners of her mouth twitched. She liked him—and that mattered to me.
“Oh, it’s mutual,” he told her, then looked back at me.
I let my eyes skim the length of him. “Hey, aren’t NHL players supposed to travel in suit and tie? I thought there was some rule about that.”
“Not anymore. They dropped it a little while ago.” Matt grinned, eyes crinkling into small slits. “How do you even know that?”
I felt heat creep into my face. “Ronan keeps sending me pictures, just to be an annoying little shit.”
Naomi suppressed a laugh—badly.
Matt’s mouth tipped up. “Pictures of the team?”
“That’s absolutely none of your business,” I said, arms crossed.
“Right.” He looked far too pleased with himself. “So is that because you missed me, and your brother decided to help?”
Probably, yes. But I wasn’t about to admit as much and risk turning this into a failed play for something I knew I didn’t get to have—not with the way his life worked. Didn’t matter how much I was starting to want that.
“Not even a little,” I told Matt, all dignity. “Ronan just likes to think it’s funny.”
“It kind of is,” Naomi put in.
“Et tu, Brute,” I muttered, which only made Matt smile wider.
“So,” he said. “Anyway. What can I do?”
I glanced around the room. Everything was ready—clothes sorted, shoes lined up, the restroom turned into a temporary dressing area. We had our system, and I wasn’t about to let him loose in it. But I didn’t want him parked in a corner like decorative donor bait either.
“First kids should be here soon.” I pointed at the front. “Welcome them when they come in? Make them feel important, like this is their time. Make them feel that we’re here for them and no one’s going to turn them away. Not here, anyway.”
“Okay.” His focus clung to me like something tangible. “I can do that.”
“Thank you.” I shot him a smile I felt all the way down to the tips of my toes. “Also, I probably don’t have to tell you this, but some of them will recognize you. So be ready for that. And we’ve got a possible donor stopping by about half an hour in.”
“She’s a ‘maybe’ on supporting us,” Naomi put in. “Which, in rich-people language, basically means: Court me harder.”
“How can I help with that?” Matt asked. “If she’s on the fence, use me.”
Oh, hell. He just… Just—yeah. My chest went oddly wide.
Fortunately, Naomi hadn’t lost her ability to string words together. “Excellent, yes. Talk to her, make sure she knows who you are. Unlike some other people who blindly walk past posters and headlines—”
“Hey,” I managed to put in. “You fail to recognize someone once in a hotel lounge halfway across the country, and suddenly it’s a whole personality.”
“—who shall remain unnamed,” Naomi continued, directing the next words at Matt. “If you’re willing to do that, it’s instant credibility for us.”
Matt shot me a warm, amused look before nodding at her. “Yeah, absolutely. A picture, a chat, whatever. If it gets her to write a check for the kids, I’m not particular about it.”
Fuck. That hit somewhere dangerous.
I pushed through the swell of unease, focused on clothes and the massive espresso machine on the counter, on the floor beneath my feet that felt a little unsteady for a second.
Breathe through it.
I did.
“Thank you,” I said, moving to busy myself with smoothing clothes that didn’t need it. “We appreciate it a lot.”
“It’s what I’m here for,” he said just as the door bell jingled again.
All right, then. Personal crisis—later. Now—showtime.
Matt went to welcome the first two kids: Chantale, maybe seventeen, in a puffy jacket zipped all the way to her chin, and Danny just behind her, his shoulders curled inward, slouching to hide his full height.
I knew the look. That careful, practiced stance that said don’t look at me long enough to decide I’m trouble.
I’d worn it myself until sixteen, when I’d trained myself out of it.
“You made it,” Matt told them, his smile easy. “Come on in.”
The girl came in first, eyes doing a quick sweep of the room, from the clothes and stacked chairs to Naomi, me, and then back to Matt. She didn’t blink at him.
The boy did. “Wait,” he said. “Aren’t you—?”
“In principle? Yes.” Matt looked relaxed, like himself. “But right now, I’m just here to assist. You guys want anything? Water, soda?”
Danny blinked, then laughed, startled and completely delighted. “Holy shit.”
“That’s a strong opening line,” I told him, drawing forward with a grin. “Keep the attitude, but maybe lose the exact language. I’m Stellan, this is Naomi. You two are with us tonight.”
Naomi strolled toward the girl, caffeine crankiness replaced with a smile that landed true. “Hi, gorgeous. You look like you’ve got opinions. Fantastic. Let me show you the good stuff.”
Chantale let out a nervous giggle and followed.
I turned to Danny. “All right, so, what’s the occasion? Interview? Internship? Court appearance where you need the judge to love you?”
It pulled a little snort out of him. “Job fair,” he admitted, like it was somehow embarrassing.
“Fun,” I told him. “Nothing says dignity like stale cookies and six employers pretending they can read your future from a handshake.” I jerked my chin toward the guys’ section. “Come on, then.”
He came. Over his shoulder, I caught Matt by the counter, watching—warm and curious, face open in a way that made something in me go slightly still.
“Stellan?” the boy asked, and I snapped my attention back to him.
“Yep.” I grinned at him. “Okay, first things first. What size do you think you are? Mainly so I can show you how it’s just a number, not a rule.”
Danny grinned back, shoulders a little looser already. Good. I kept my gaze on him and told myself it was no big deal that I felt Matt’s focus keen and alive under my skin.
Only it was. He was here, in my world, straight from the airport because he hadn’t wanted to miss it. And that—fuck. I wanted it to mean something.
I just wasn’t sure it did.
We hadn’t made it very far into his place.
My coat lay on the floor by the elevator, his suitcase abandoned beside it. Shoes and jeans and sweaters and socks marked a trail to the couch.
Twelve days, though. Twelve fucking days.