Chapter Eleven Kelly
Chapter Eleven
Kelly
I don't sleep.
I lie in my grandmother's bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the kiss over and over until my lips feel bruised from the memory of it.
The way he leaned in slowly, like he was giving me every chance to change my mind.
The way his hand felt on my jaw, rough and warm.
The sound he made when I pulled him closer—something between a groan and a sigh that I'm going to be thinking about for the rest of my life.
What am I doing?
Three hours ago I found out the man living in my backyard is a professional hockey player who beat up a photographer badly enough to make national news.
And instead of kicking him out or calling a lawyer or doing anything a reasonable person would do, I kissed him at midnight on Valentine's Day like we're in some kind of movie.
But when I close my eyes, I don't see the headlines. I see his face when he told me about his grandmother. The way his voice cracked when he said he wasn't there when she died. The way he looked at me when he admitted why he really stayed—not for the promise, not for the property, but for me.
I like taking care of you. That's what he said. And I believed him, because I've seen it. Every fixed faucet, every cleared gutter, every morning he showed up with some excuse to be near me. He's been taking care of me since the day I got here. I just didn't know how to name it until now.
My grandmother would either be horrified or delighted. Probably both.
I finally give up on sleep around five and go downstairs to make coffee.
The house is quiet, my friends still asleep in the guest rooms, and I stand at the kitchen window watching the sky lighten over the trees.
The cottage is dark. Travis is probably sleeping, or lying awake like me, wondering what happens next.
Go out with me tonight. That's what he said right before I left. His voice a little rough, his eyes still half-lidded from the kiss. Valentine's Day. Let me take you somewhere.
I said yes. Of course I said yes. What else was I going to say after kissing him like that?
But now, in the gray light of morning, the reality of it is starting to sink in.
I'm going on a date with Travis Howe. A man who, until last night, I thought was just a handyman my grandmother took in.
A man who plays professional hockey, who has money I can't even comprehend, who lives in a world completely different from mine.
A man who looked at me last night like I was the only thing in the room that mattered.
"You're up early."
I turn around. Nicole is standing in the kitchen doorway, hair wrapped in a silk scarf, wearing the oversized t-shirt she always sleeps in.
"Couldn't sleep," I say.
"Mm-hmm." She shuffles to the coffee maker and pours herself a cup, then leans against the counter and studies me with that look she gets when she knows something's up. "So. You were gone for a while last night."
"We talked."
"Just talked?"
I feel my face get hot. Nicole's eyes go wide.
"Oh my god." She sets down her mug. "Kelly Dawson. Did you kiss him?"
"Keep your voice down."
"Did you kiss him?"
"Maybe."
She claps her hand over her mouth, but I can see her grinning behind it. "I knew it. I knew there was something going on with you two. Tell me everything. Right now. Start from the beginning."
So I tell her. Not everything—not the details about his grandmother, which feel too private to share—but the broad strokes.
He explained what happened. There was more to the story than the headlines.
He's been punishing himself for months. And then we kissed, and he asked me out for tonight, and I said yes.
Nicole listens without interrupting, which is unusual for her. When I'm done, she's quiet for a long moment.
"So let me get this straight," she says. "The hot mysterious cottage man is actually a rich professional athlete who's been hiding from a scandal, and you're going on a Valentine's Day date with him tonight."
"That's... yes. That's accurate."
"Kelly." She grabs my hands. "This is the most interesting thing that's ever happened to you."
"That's not—"
"It is. Your life has been very boring up until now. I say this with love."
"Thanks."
"You're welcome." She squeezes my hands. "Okay, but seriously. How do you feel? About all of it? The lying, the secret identity, all of it?"
I think about it. How do I feel?
"I don't know," I admit. "Part of me is still mad that he didn't tell me sooner.
But another part of me understands why he didn't. He's been so...
broken, Nicole. You didn't see him last night.
The way he talked about his grandmother, about missing her death.
He's been carrying this weight for months, and no one's given him any grace for it. "
"And you want to give him grace."
"I want to give him a chance." I look out the window toward the cottage.
"He's not the guy in the headlines. He's the guy who fixed my sink and helped with my book and brought me firewood because he noticed I was running low.
That's who he is. The other stuff—the fight, the scandal—that's just a moment.
A really bad moment. But it's not all of him. "
Nicole is quiet for a second. Then she says, "You really like him."
It's not a question.
"Yeah," I say. "I really do."
"Then I'm happy for you." She pulls me into a hug. "But if he hurts you, I'm going to kill him. Professional athlete or not."
"Noted."
The next two hours are intense.
Brit and Mona wake up around eight, and Nicole immediately tells them everything despite my protests.
Suddenly all three of them are invested in my date in a way that feels both overwhelming and kind of wonderful.
Mona starts going through my closet, pulling out options.
Brit googles Travis and reads his stats out loud like they mean something to me.
Nicole sits on my bed offering commentary on everything.
"This is cute," Mona says, holding up a green sweater dress I forgot I owned.
"Too casual," Nicole says. "This is a Valentine's Day date. With a professional athlete. She needs to look hot."
"She always looks hot."
"Hotter than usual."
"What about this?" Brit holds up a pair of jeans and a silky black top I bought for a work event and never wore. "Sexy but not trying too hard."
"That could work." Nicole tilts her head. "Try it on."
I try it on. And the next thing. And the thing after that. By the time we settle on an outfit—the jeans and black top, with boots and a leather jacket—it's almost noon and I'm exhausted.
"What time is he picking you up?" Mona asks.
"He said seven."
"That gives us plenty of time to do your hair and makeup."
"I can do my own hair and makeup."
"Kelly." Nicole gives me a look. "Let us have this. We drove four hours to celebrate Galentine's Day and instead we're sending you off on a date with a hockey player. The least you can do is let us make you look amazing."
She has a point. "Fine. But nothing too dramatic."
"Define dramatic."
"No false lashes. No contour that makes me look like a different person. I want to still look like me."
"You're no fun." But she's smiling. "Okay. Natural glam it is."
They leave around three, after more hugs and more advice and more warnings to text them the minute I get home. Brit makes me promise to get a photo of Travis so she can show her hockey-fan coworker. Mona hugs me and whispers that she's proud of me for taking a chance. Nicole holds me the longest.
"You deserve this," she says into my hair. "You know that, right? You deserve someone who looks at you like you're the only person in the room."
"You don't even know him."
"I know you. And I know you wouldn't be doing this if he wasn't worth it."
I stand on the porch and wave until their cars disappear down the driveway, and then I'm alone.
Well. Not completely alone.
I look toward the cottage. Still quiet. I haven't seen Travis all day, which is probably intentional. He's giving me space. Or he's nervous. Or both.
The house feels too big without my friends in it.
I wander from room to room, straightening things that don't need straightening, picking up glasses and putting them in the dishwasher.
The string lights Travis hung are still up in the living room, casting everything in a warm glow.
The coat rack he built stands by the door, solid and sturdy.
He's everywhere in this house. In all the things he fixed, all the spaces he touched. I didn't notice it before, but now I can't stop seeing it.
I try to write, but I can't focus. Every few minutes I check the time, watching it crawl toward seven. The words on my laptop screen blur together, and I keep losing track of where I am in the scene. Eventually I give up and close the document.
I take a shower instead. Let the hot water run over me until my skin turns pink.
I think about Travis in the cottage, maybe doing the same thing, maybe just as nervous as I am.
We kissed last night. We really kissed. And tonight we're going on a date, like normal people, like this is something that could actually work.
Is it something that could actually work?
I don't know. I don't know anything except that when I'm with him, I feel like a better version of myself. More grounded. More present. Like everything that was chaotic and uncertain has finally started to settle into place.
I dry my hair and put on the outfit my friends picked out.
The black top is softer than I remembered, falling just right against my shoulders.
The jeans fit perfectly. I add the boots and the leather jacket and stare at myself in the mirror, wondering if I look like someone who belongs on a date with Travis Howe.
I don't know who that person is supposed to be. I only know who I am—Kelly Dawson, former marketing drone, aspiring thriller writer, woman who inherited a house and found a man hiding in the backyard. That's going to have to be enough.
At six-thirty, my phone buzzes.
Travis: Still on for tonight?
I smile at the screen. He's nervous. I can tell from the question, from the fact that he's asking at all. Like he thinks I might have changed my mind.
Still on, I type back. Where are we going?
It's a surprise.
I don't like surprises.
You'll like this one.
I want to push, but I don't. If he wants to surprise me, I can let him have that. After everything he told me last night, after how vulnerable he was, the least I can do is trust him with a dinner reservation.
Fine, I say. But if it's somewhere weird, I'm blaming you.
Fair enough. See you in thirty.
I put down my phone and take a breath. Thirty minutes until I go on a date with a man I kissed last night, a man who plays professional hockey, a man who's been hiding in my grandmother's cottage for six months because the world decided he was a monster.
I don't think he's a monster. I think he's someone who made a terrible decision in a terrible moment and has been paying for it ever since.
I think he's kind and quiet and notices things most people miss.
I think he looks at me like I'm worth something, and I'm not sure anyone's ever looked at me like that before.
I check my reflection one more time. The black top, the jeans, the boots. My hair falling in loose curls around my shoulders. Lipstick that Nicole insisted on, a deep berry color that feels bolder than my usual.
I look good. I look like someone ready for something new.
At seven o'clock exactly, there's a knock on the door.
I take one more breath, and I go to let him in.