Chapter 26
twenty-six
SEBASTIAN
Indie and I are just as paint-covered as the large canvases we’re carrying out to my SUV. It’s quite the sight, if the looks we’re getting are anything to go on. People smile and whisper to each other, throwing us curious and amused glances that Indie is trying hard to avoid.
“Told you it would be a masterpiece,” I say as she hands her canvas to me to put in the back of my vehicle. It’s a riot of color that somehow looks purposeful, whereas mine looks like it was created by a colorblind toddler. Mine is definitely getting shoved into the back of a closet.
Or I’ll give it to Griffin and make him promise to hang it somewhere prominent. He’s too nice to say no, and it’ll give me a good laugh whenever I go to his place. Though I’d have to clear that with Mira and get her on board. She’s cool, though, so I bet she would be.
“It’s definitely not a masterpiece.” Indie’s nose scrunches up as she surveys her chaotic work. “I’ll never fit this in my car on the drive back to LA.”
My stomach drops at that. I don’t want her thinking about going back to her life.
There’s nothing in LA she can’t have here, and there’s so much here she wouldn’t have in LA.
Maybe our date isn’t going as well as I thought if she’s thinking about leaving.
Plastering a smile on my face, I carefully get the canvas settled in the back of the SUV. “Guess you’ll have to stay, then.”
Hazel eyes lift to meet mine, and I can’t quite read the emotion behind them. “Bash…”
“Indie.” With the painting in the back of the SUV, I reach for her. Gripping her hips, I pull Indie toward me until our bodies are flush. The little inhalation she rewards me with goes straight to my dick. “Just be here with me now.”
It’s all I can ask. I know it’s too soon to ask her to stay. If I did, it would scare her right out of town and back to LA. But I’m going to do whatever it takes to give her reasons to extend her stay. By a month, a year…a lifetime.
Her eyes soften as she reaches up to press her palms to my chest. She smooths them across my pecs, over my shoulders, and down my arms before running them back. “I am.”
“I’m not ready to call it a day.” The weather is warm, the sun is still out, and this is the perfect kind of day to show Indigo what life could be like here in the Twin Cities. “There’s a bunch of cute shops and cafes around here. Walk with me?”
“Like this?” She motions to our paint-splattered clothes before reaching up and tugging on a strand of my hair that’s coated in a bright yellow.
I shrug. “Why not?”
It’s not surprising that she hesitates. She does a sweep of the area, her radar scanning for anyone with a camera or a phone pointed our way, and I feel a flash of guilt.
Maybe I should have flown out to LA once I had money from signing my first hockey contract.
I should have done more to track her down and figure out what happened.
She was trapped in a life that made her miserable, always the butt of cruel comments and articles, always wary of how she existed in a world that was too small for a woman like her.
I could have taken her away from all of that. She could have been here, spending the last six years with me, not needing to look over her shoulder every time she left the house.
But I didn’t, and I can’t change the past.
“Come on, beautiful. Have fun with me.”
When Indie realizes the only looks we’re getting are quick and curious ones before people go back to their own lives, she nods. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do it.”
A warm sense of rightness settles over me as I link our fingers and lead her down the street.
We meander through candle shops and small independent galleries.
A local roasterie calls us in with the siren call of freshly brewed coffee, and Indie orders something sweet and sugary while I stick to plain coffee with a splash of cream.
Once we’re done with the postseason, I’ll bring her back here and ask her to choose something overly sweet for me.
“It’s so cute here,” she muses as we walk down the sidewalk with what feels like everyone else in Minneapolis.
The weather is too nice to ignore. People smile and say hello in a show of Midwest-nice that took quite a while for me to get used to after spending the first half of my life on the East Coast. Not that Mainers aren’t nice, but Minneapolis is a completely different ecosystem.
I have no doubt Indie’s feeling a bit of that same culture shock.
“It is, right?”
She nods. “I really like it. The vibe is so much more chill. Down to earth.” Her words trail off as her eyes fall on a whimsical pink sign for a bookstore called It’s a Love Story. “Oh. Can we go in there?”
“Of course we can.” Pretty sure this is where Griffin took Mira for an all-the-books-you-can-carry date. I think it’s also where the ladies come to pick out their book-club reads.
The shop is cute. The walls are an explosion of pink, with wall-to-wall shelves packed with books of all different colors. Some are bright and cheerful, while others are darker with mafia in the title. I can see why Mira and the ladies love it here, even if the aesthetic isn’t my thing.
But it’s clearly Indie’s.
Her eyes are wide as she stops inside the door and takes it all in.
Tables piled high with books fill the open space in the center of the room.
There’s a large, loopy-script neon sign behind the counter that reads It’s a Love Story in hot pink.
It’s packed. Women of all ages browse the shelves, talking, giggling, showing books to their friends.
I can’t wait for Indie to have her books in a place like this. Because she will. I believe in her.
“Wow. It’s so cute.”
“Hey, welcome to It’s a Love Story,” a young amber-skinned woman calls from behind the counter. “Let me know if you need help finding anything.”
“Thanks,” Indie says, wandering to a table in the center of the store. Her eyes are on a display of colorful books with illustrated covers. Griffin keeps us all up-to-date on the romance books he and Mira read, and those cute-looking books often contain stories that would make you blush.
Picking one up, I read the synopsis on the back.
It’s about a woman who’s down on her luck and returns to her hometown in shame, only to be swept off her feet by the one who got away.
“This one sounds good,” I say, flipping it over to see if the author is one I’ve heard of.
“Violet Quinn. I think the ladies have read one of her books in book club. Or maybe Griffin has talked about her? I swear her name is familiar, though. Have you heard of her?”
Indie picks up a copy of the book and stares intently at the back. Her foot taps the carpeted floor, and her cheeks flush pink. She must have read it, and it must be spicy. Not that she should be embarrassed by any of that.
She clears her throat. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve heard of her.”
“She’s my favorite,” the woman from behind the counter says, walking up to us.
“Her stories are my favorite escape. I seriously can’t wait for her next one.
We’ve been in contact with her publisher because we’d love to host her for an event, but we haven’t had any luck.
No one knows who she really is, and I don’t think she’s ever done any public appearances. ”
“Very mysterious,” I say, grinning at the employee’s enthusiasm.
She nods. “She is. I bet she’s so cool. We all hope she’ll do an identity reveal someday.”
Indie picks up another one of the mysterious author’s books and studies the back cover. “This one’s my favorite.”
The employee holds a hand over her heart. “Ohmygod, me too. The hero is totally swoon-worthy in that one. I love a strong, silent type.”
Indie’s gaze jumps to meet mine for a moment before returning to the book. “Yeah, me too.”
“Well, let me know if you need any recommendations or anything.” The associate gives us a wave before hurrying back to the counter to ring a customer up.
“Strong, silent type, huh?” I take the book from Indie’s hand and step closer to her. Primal satisfaction fills me when her breath hitches. “Is that what you like?”
“When they’re strong and silent on the outside, but soft and gooey on the inside,” she says. “Softness in men is underrated.”
My fingers itch to touch her, so I give in and let them skim the paint-speckled apples of her cheeks. “Is it?”
She nods. “Mm-hmm.”
“Good to know.” If softness is what she wants, softness is what she’ll get. Slowly, giving her time to pull away, I lean down and press a tender kiss to Indie’s lips. I don’t deepen the kiss, because we’re standing in the middle of a crowded bookstore, but I wish I could.
“Do you want me to get you that book?” I ask against her lips.
“Huh?” She blinks a few times.
“The book,” I say, chuckling. “Do you want me to buy it for you?”
“Oh. No. No, that’s okay. I, uh, I’ve already read it.” Indie’s cheeks flame brightly. She sets the book back down on the table, her attention lingering on it for another moment before she looks up at me and smiles. “Let’s keep looking around.”
We wander through the store, and I chuckle when we stop in front of a wall of sports romances. “It’s still weird to me that people love hockey romances. They know hockey players smell and most of us have missing teeth, right?”
Indie chuckles. “They don’t have missing teeth in books. And they smell like man and good things. It’s a fantasy.”
“Obviously.” I pick up a colorful book with a guy in his uniform and skates with an arm around a woman. “She’d be gagging from the stench in real life.”
“Gross.” Indie covers her mouth and giggles.
I shrug. “It’s true.”
“Ohmygod.”
Indie and I both turn when an excited feminine voice squeals from a few feet away.
Turning, I find two young women staring at me with wide eyes.
The one who squealed has her hands clasped under her chin, her glossy black hair bouncing as she goes up on the balls of her feet.
Glancing at Indie, I find her trying to stifle her laughter.
“You’re on the Rogues, aren’t you? The goalie?” the dark-haired girl asks. She grabs her friend’s arm, and the other woman looks embarrassed but doesn’t shush her friend.
Clearing my throat, I put on my I’ve been recognized smile and nod. “I am. Nice to meet you.”
“Sebastian Navarro, right? God, you’re so hot.”
Indie chokes, then sputters out a laugh.
“Gretchen,” the girl’s friend hisses. “Oh my god, stop.”
“Shit. I didn’t mean to say that,” the first woman—Gretchen—says as her face flames scarlet. “I’m sorry, I’m just such a huge fan.”
“Thanks,” I say, grabbing Indie’s hand and linking our fingers when she starts to back away. “Nice to meet you.”
The two women track the movement of my hand, looking at Indie for the first time. The dark-haired woman blushes again. “I’m so sorry. I’m interrupting your date. I just… Is there any way we could take a quick photo? My friends will flip.”
I chuckle, glancing at Indie to gauge her reaction.
She looks mildly uncomfortable, but it doesn’t seem like the women have recognized her, so she shrugs, her lips twitching.
Looking back at the two women, I nod. “Yeah, we can do that. My girl can take the photo if you want.” I turn to Indie. “You good with that, sweetheart?”
Fuck, the pretty flush of her cheeks is everything, and I tell my body to chill because the last thing I need is to pop a boner in front of fans.
“Yeah, of course.”
“Ohmygod, thank you so much,” the first woman says.
She unlocks her phone and hands it to Indie before she and her friend stand on either side of me.
They wrap their arms around my back, but I’m careful not to actually touch them.
I lift my arms but keep my hands a few inches away from their backs as Indie snaps a few photos, then hands the phone back to the fan.
She has one of the books we were looking at tucked under her arm.
“We were just looking at those books. You have good taste.” I smile at the women as I retake Indie’s hand.
“You were? Ugh, we love her. Violet is amazing. Well, thank you again. Good luck at the next game!”
“Thanks,” I say, waving as the two women stumble away, whispering and giggling to each other. Indie watches them, amusement making her eyes glitter, as I pull her against my side. “Sorry, Rosebud. That doesn’t happen often.”
I don’t want her to think I get recognized wherever I go.
It’s actually one perk of playing hockey.
We aren’t nearly as famous or recognizable as players of some of the other big sports.
Especially me, since I’m usually wearing a massive helmet that covers my hair and most of my face.
I know how Indie gets about being recognized.
But she doesn’t seem put out. She watches the women as they wander, and there’s a thoughtfulness to her expression, but I don’t get the feeling that she’s uncomfortable.
Maybe this really could work. She fits so seamlessly into my life, I just need to convince her I can fit seamlessly into hers.