8. Keira
CHAPTER 8
KEIRA
I slam the car door shut, balancing two overstuffed paper grocery bags in my arms. Jonelle, a woman who runs one of the fresh produce stalls at the farmers’ market gave me a pumpkin and a recipe for pie that doesn’t involve using canned pumpkin puree. So, tonight I plan on making a pumpkin pie from scratch for the family, making the pastry gluten-free for Clara. I’m not exactly a born baker, but I do love a good pumpkin pie in fall, and since I’m the only one in the house who could make one, it’s up to me to pull out my best Martha Stewart. And if using Jonelle’s pumpkin proves too hard, I’ve got some backup canned puree in the kitchen pantry—I just won’t tell Jonelle.
Snow begins to fall, and I look up at the darkening sky in surprise. Snow? In fall? That hardly ever happens. The kids are going to love it. I take a moment the let the small flakes land on my face, melting on impact, before I begin to climb the steps up to the house. I’m so busy thinking about snow and Dan—okay, mainly about Dan—when I put my weight on the broken step and almost fall flat on my face, crashing to the floor. Apples go rolling across the porch, and a mandarin orange is propelled toward the front door with a smack, landing in a moist mess on the welcome mat.
Dang it! I have got to fix that step.
If only there were enough time in the day.
I collect the errant groceries, telling myself to clean up the mandarin, and pushing through the door, I call out to Benny. He’s got his next lesson with Dan this afternoon, and last time we were late. It’s not a good look. Dan’s doing this as a favor for us, and we need to respect his time.
Plus, I’ll admit, being late suggests I’m not totally in control of my life, which I’m trying desperately to show him I am. Poised, in control, crushing it. That’s the goal. Not tripping on steps I should have fixed months ago, bruising apples and propelling mandarins.
As I make my way into the house, I glance down the hallway and to my surprise, Benny appears at the entrance to his and Hannah’s room, wearing his thick tracksuit pants, his warm jacket, and holding his hockey stick in his hands with his helmet on his head.
“Wow, Benny. You’re all set?” I ask him in wonderment. Anyone who has ever cared for a six-year-old boy will know just how miraculous this moment is.
“He’s been wearing his hockey clothes for the last hour, waiting for you,” Hannah informs me from behind her brother. “He’s in love with hockey. ”
“Am not,” Benny states.
“Are too,” Hannah counters. “You love hockey. You want to kiss it.”
“No, I don’t!” Benny insists.
“Yeah, you do. You want to kiss it. You want to love it. You want to?—”
“No!” Benny insists. “Aunt Kiki, tell her I don’t want to kiss hockey.”
“Hannah,” I warn, still balancing the groceries in my arms. “You’re being unkind about something that’s super important to your brother.”
“Yeah, Hannah,” Benny echoes.
I hear Clara calling me from the living room. “Coming!” I call out before I give a stern look to the kids. “Be nice to each other.”
“I am being nice,” Benny harrumphs. “And you want to kiss figure skating.”
“You’re right,” Hannah says smugly.
I roll my eyes. Kids .
“Did you know it’s started snowing out there?” I ask to distract them.
It works. Their eyes bulge and immediatly, they rush to the closest window to see.
I push the swing door to the living room open with my back. “I got the apples you wanted but tripped on that dang step again and—” I trail off as I take in Clara sitting up on the sofa, a beaming smile on her face, and I look from her to the person sitting on one of the chairs.
Dan .
My breath catches in my throat.
Immediately he’s on his feet, taking the bags of groceries from me, and throwing me one of his knee-weakening smiles. “Let me take those from you. You tripped on a step? Are you all right?”
“Dan,” I reply breathlessly. “Wh-what are you doing here? ”
“Now, Kiki, is that any way to greet our guest?” Clara asks, her eyes teasing.
Just what I need to make me look poised and in control of my wonderful, exciting life: my big sister telling me what to do in front of Dan.
“My sister’s right,” I concede. “It’s nice to see you… here … in our living room.”
So smooth.
His lips quirk. “It’s great to be here … in your living room.”
Is he teasing me? One look into his eyes confirms it.
“It brings back a lot of memories being here,” he continues.
“I bet it does. Great memories, I imagine,” says my sister, who suddenly seems not to be suffering from CFS at all and is instead super perky.
I shoot her a look that I hope tells her she’s stirring the pot and she needs to stop, now .
But instead, she continues, that metaphorical wooden spoon held firmly in her hands as she stirs away. “What do you remember exactly, Dan? I’m eager to know. Aren’t you eager to know, Kiki?”
Still stirring the pot, Clara.
“I remember dinners here,” he replies.
“But that’s not all, right? I bet you remember Kiki’s room, with all those One Direction posters on her walls?”
I think my sister just earned a gold medal in pot stirring.
I’m not biting. Instead, I ask, “How about I show you where to put those grocery bags, Dan?”
“That would be great,” he replies.
“Right this way.”
Clara is still grinning, and I throw her another look as I lead Dan from the living room to the kitchen. Being older, our house is not open plan like so many, and there’s a swing door that leads from the dining room that we use as a playroom for the kids, into the kitchen. I push through it, holding it open for him.
Dan puts the groceries where I tell him before he turns back to face me, leaning against the kitchen counter, his large, masculine bulk filling the room in a way none of us do. He looks about as relaxed as I feel tense. But then we always were polar opposites. The jock and the nerd.
“I’m sorry about Clara. She doesn’t get out much, so we’re her only entertainment,” I say.
Those way-too sexy lips of his quirk into another smile. “You don’t have Netflix?” he asks, and I know it’s his turn to tease me.
“You know what I mean. Anyway, at the risk of sounding rude once more, I thought we were meeting you at the arena for Benny’s lesson.”
“I figured I could drop by here with some things for you before we do that. I hope that’s okay?”
“Of course. But if it’s more hockey gear for Benny?—”
He raises his hands in surrender. “It’s for everyone. Fan merch for the Ice Breakers team. We got an allocated amount and I figured I’d give a bunch away to the people I know.”
“You know everyone in this town, Dan.”
“I know, but you’re top of my list.”
I try not to let a flush of happiness show in my face. “Well, Benny will be super excited to get some Ice Breakers merchandise.”
“I figured as much.”
“What are you two doing in there? Do I need to chaperone?” Clara calls out, and I make a mental note to have some seriously stern words with my trouble-causing older sister once Dan leaves. I don’t need to be teased about the man I’ve never gotten over, particularly not in my own home.
I chance a look at Dan. He’s watching me as though he is gauging my reaction, looking ridiculously hot in his form-fitting T-shirt that more than hints at his muscular arms and torso beneath.
“Do we need a chaperone?” he asks, his voice soft and quiet. It does things to my being. Things I can’t allow to happen, not if I’m going to keep myself safe from this man. But oh, how easy it would be to forget all that and instead step into his big arms and get lost in his embrace, dissolving into a kiss.
I toss my hair and raise my chin, pushing any such thoughts away.
Not helpful.
But really, that was definitely a little flirtatious. Wasn’t it? Which would mean that Dan is standing in my kitchen, flirting with me. And if he is flirting with me, what does that mean? Does it mean that he’s interested in me? That he still has feelings for me?
That he still loves me?
My breath pitches in my throat.
But I’ve got to push any and all such wild assumptions aside. Dan has moved on. He’s a famous NHL star. He has women throwing themselves at him every day of his life. What would he want, flirting with the girl he left behind?
The door to the kitchen swings open and in bursts Benny, his hockey stick in hand, his helmet still on his head. “Watch me, Dan!” he insists as he nudges an imaginary puck across the kitchen floor. “I’m shooting for a goal!” He swings his hockey stick up and hits the imaginary puck into an imaginary goal by the oven, his hockey stick banging up against the metal with a clang .
“Benny! Be careful,” I scold, inspecting the oven for damage. It may be ancient, but it still works, and we can’t afford a new one. “Maybe it’s best you take that stick out to the yard.”
“But the yard is covered in grass, not ice,” he complains.
“The kitchen floor isn’t ice either, buddy,” I reply. “We’ve talked about using your hockey stick in the house before.”
Benny lowers his head. “I know.”
“What’s the rule?” I ask.
“But I just wanted to show Dan and he hasn’t been here before.” He pauses before he adds, “And it’s snowing out there.” As though that would be the clincher in his argument.
“It’s my fault. I told him to be ready to go when I arrived, which evidently meant practice with his hockey stick inside.” He makes the long trip to crouch down to Benny’s height, quite a ways for a guy the size of Dan. “How about we save your skills for the ice, pal? Follow your aunt’s rules.”
“Okay,” Benny says immediately, and I look at Dan in wonder as he pulls open the back door and takes his stick out to the yard.
“Remind me to get you over here whenever Benny is pushing back, which is most days,” I say.
“I’m at your service,” Dan replies with a little bow, as though he’s a gentleman in Bridgerton .
Don’t think of Dan as a gentleman in Bridgerton. That will do absolutely nothing to dispel the way I feel about him. Nothing at all.
Too late, my mind leaps on the idea, picturing Dan on the show, all swagger and confidence, shooting me sizzling looks across a ballroom floor.
I blow out a breath.
“Shall we go back to see Clara?” I ask. I don’t wait for his reply, instead turning on my heel and pushing through the kitchen door. Being alone in the kitchen with him is dangerous territory, particularly with my newly minted Bridgerton -obsessed mind.
Netflix has a lot to answer for.
“Hi again, you two,” Clara says lightly as we re-enter the living room. “Dan, why don’t you show Kiki what you brought for us?”
Hannah is now sitting at the little table and chairs by the window, studiously coloring, as she loves to do. Dan opens a backpack resting against the wall by the door.
“We’ve got the first game coming up soon and I wanted to give you all these,” he says as he passes me a plastic-wrapped parcel. “It’s an Ice Breakers jersey. I brought one for everyone.”
“Isn’t that kind?” Clara says.
Hannah looks up from her coloring. “Do I get one too, Dan? ”
“You sure do. Catch.” He throws a jersey to Hannah, who catches it in both hands.
I pull the plastic off and hold the jersey up. It’s mostly white with light blue accents, at the collar and cuffs. The sleeves have bold red stripes running across them, and there’s a matching red stripe across the chest. The center features a logo with “Ice Breakers” written in bold letters, surrounded by a graphic of a shattered ice puck.
“Aren’t they great?” Clara asks. “I’ve already got mine on.” She pulls the blanket from her shoulders to reveal the same jersey as I’m holding in my hands. “I put it on while you were in the kitchen, unchaperoned .”
Nope, I’m still not going to bite. I’m too busy reading the number and name on the back of the jersey.
29. Roberts.
I look from the jersey up into Dan’s eyes. He’s smiling at me, his eyes soft, just the way I remember them back when we were dating in high school. He had a way of looking at me that made me feel safe, like I was the most important person in the world to him. He’s giving me that look right now, and it takes me back to the way we were when we were one another’s everything, the way I always thought we’d be together, even after we broke up.
What did I know?
“It’s your number,” I murmur, my throat dry.
“It’s your birthday. February ninth,” he confirms.
If ever I was looking for a clear sign that Dan feels the same way about me as I do about him, this is it. At least that’s what I’m telling myself for the minute. I’m sure I’ll talk myself out of it pretty soon as it would be too good to be true. My birth date as his number.
“But—” I’m totally lost for words. It’s such a sweet gesture. Bold, in fact. He’s telling everyone that he remembers me. That I was important to him. That perhaps I’m important to him still.
“I hope you’ll wear it,” he says .
“Of course she’ll wear it! Aunt Kiki loves you!” Hannah says, and my heart leaps into my mouth as I turn and gawk at her.
How?
When?
What?!
I glance at my sister. Clara’s eyes are the size of our dinner plates, just as I bet mine are, too.
“Wh-what did you say?” I stutter, barely hearing my words over the thudding of my heart.
I don’t look at Dan.
“You love him,” Hannah says simply.
I blink at her in shock. Is this one of those “out of the mouths of babes” situations here, or is my niece way more emotionally astute than I’ve ever given her credit?
“What do you mean, honey?” Clara asks.
Hannah looks between us. “Aunt Kiki loves Dan,” she repeats, shrugging, and if the ground could swallow me whole right about now, I’d be very grateful. “Everyone loves Dan the Man,” she clarifies.
I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath until air comes whooshing out of my lungs in utter relief. Hannah doesn’t know anything about how I feel about Dan, and she hasn’t just blurted my innermost secret to the one man who can never know how I really feel.
Unless … I look down at the number on the jersey in my hands. Unless he feels it too?
“You’re our hometown hero. That’s what Ms. Marshall said at school,” Hannah continues. “She said everyone will be wearing your number at the first game because we all love you.”
“You’ve got that right, honey,” Clara says, darting me a look.
Benny comes crashing into the room, his stick whacking against the door frame.
“Benny! You are going to devalue this house the way you’re going,” Clara complains, but she’s got a big smile on her face as Dan hands him a jersey, which he rips from its plastic with glee .
“Number 29!” he says.
Dan chuckles. “Do you think you could wear it to the first game?”
“I’m gonna wear it all the time,” Benny replies, discarding his winter jacket on the floor and throwing the jersey on.
I stand, rooted to the spot, my mind darting around the possibilities. Why would Dan do something as sweet as making his number my birthday if he didn’t feel something for me?
My pulse is galloping so fast and loud in my ears I’m surprised no one else can hear it. My mouth has gone dry, and as I look up at Dan, he smiles back at me with such sincerity and warmth, I feel as though I’m floating.
“Oh, would you look at you two kids. Don’t you look terrific in your jerseys?” Clara exclaims, looking happier than I’ve seen her in a long time.
“Yes, thank you. For all of this,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, and for the first time I allow myself to hope.