Page 42 of Hooking Up with the Hockey Player

He smiles at me. “Which festival is your favorite?”

“Oh, hmm. That one’s a little tricky.” I tug on his hand, indicating we need to turn. Our pace is easy and relaxed, and now that we’re talking, I feel like this wasn’t such a terrible idea after all. “I think the ChristmasFest,” I say after a moment, glancing over at him. He’s watching me like everything I have to say is interesting. “It’s just so magical, you know? All the lights and decorations and the town hall is filled with vendors, and Santa and Mrs. Claus lead a parade to kick it off the day after Thanksgiving.”

Troy’s grinning. “Do you go to the parade every year?”

Laughing, I shake my head. “No. It’s usually cold and crowded, but I went the first year I lived here. Even if I don’t want to go every year, I’m glad I went that time.”

“Maybe we can go together this year.”

That surprises me, because … he’s just here on vacation. But he lives in Seattle, so it’s not like it’s super far. I guess we could keep in touch, and maybe he’d decide to come visit the day after Thanksgiving … “Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Maybe.”

If he notices my awkward surprise, he doesn’t show it, instead asking me more questions about Arcadian Falls and what I like about living here. I tell him stories about working for Dr. Banks and when they were filming the Julius Caesar adaptation here last year and how everyone went crazy over it, including our former dental hygienist helping with costumes and ending up in a relationship with Hayden Maddox.

We walk up and down the streets that make up the primary downtown area, and I point out my favorite spots—the cute local bookstore, Brit’s shop, the town’s oddities museum, and a couple restaurants where I like to grab lunch sometimes when I don’t feel like packing a lunch. Or when I just want to get out of my apartment. That usually happens in the winter, when things are slow and lazy here, after the hustle and bustle of ChristmasFest is over. I get so used to being around people so much of the time that after a few weeks of only seeing patients and coworkers, I need a little more life and energy. By mid-February, everyone around here is dragging from the winter doldrums, with the fun of ChristmasFest a distant memory and summer too far away to give anyone much spark.

I don’t know why I haven’t let Brit convince me to come along on a girls’ night before now. Because that would be the perfect antidote to that feeling. Maybe she never caught me at just the right time?

But really, I know it’s because I always figured they were pity invites. When Tori was still here, it seemed like I’d be the odd one out. And after saying no a few times, they stopped asking much, and it was easy to dismiss the offhand invitations they’d toss my way as more for politeness’ sake than any real desire for my company.

Now, though, I’m wondering if I had it all wrong the whole time. Brit seems to genuinely enjoy hanging out with me. And I like her too.

And then there’s Troy, who apparently can’t get enough of my company.

I glance up at him, taking in his strong jaw and the sharp blade of his nose. He glances down at me and smiles, his face full of warmth and affection that’s surprising given that we’ve only known each other a couple of days. But the most surprising part is that I feel the same amount of warmth and affection toward him.

I don’t typically feel this comfortable with someone this quickly, but I think I’ll just enjoy this feeling while it lasts. I know too well that good things often end in terrible ways. But despite Troy’s comment about coming back for ChristmasFest in November, I have no illusions that this relationship will last any longer than his time here on vacation.

And since I know exactly when and how it’ll end, I can simply enjoy what we have without dreading some unknown future.

After checking out all the art on display next to the town gazebo, we stop for root beer floats at the local pub that brews its own root beer, our conversation flowing the whole time. He shares more stories of life growing up playing hockey, and I edit some of my own college antics with my friends, skirting around mention of Jared. The root beer is spicy and not as sweet as the kind that’s generally available, but it pairs deliciously with the smooth vanilla ice cream, making it the perfect afternoon snack.

Once again hand in hand, we walk back to my house. He follows me up the stairs to my door, releasing my hand so I can unlock it. “Do you want to come in?” I ask casually as I open the door, impressed with how steady and relaxed I sound even though my nerves have ratcheted up at the prospect of having him in my home.

He smiles. “I’d love to. But feel free to kick me out if you get tired of having me around.”

I grin back. “Okay. And don’t be shy about leaving if you need to go.”

Leaning down, he kisses my cheek. “I don’t have anywhere I need to be. And there’s nowhere else I want to be. I’m yours for as long as you let me stay.”

My breath catches, and I turn my head slightly, intending to look at him, but he captures my lips with his for the first time today, and I sigh into his mouth.

When he ends the kiss, I let out a sound of protest. He chuckles softly. “Let’s go inside,” he whispers.

“Oh. Right. Of course.” Turning, I push the door open, enjoying the feel of Troy’s large hand spanning my lower back as we go inside.

He closes the door behind him and stands in my dining area, looking around and taking in my apartment like he did before. His lips quirk up in a hint of a smile. “I like how your place reflects you so much. This is exactly what I would’ve pictured if I’d thought about it before coming here,” he observes.

I frown. “What do you mean?”

Gesturing expansively at the small space, as though that should sum up everything, he shrugs. “It’s neat and tidy but also comfortable. Put together. Though I have to admit I did imagine you’d have a little more artwork. Why didn’t you get one of the pieces you liked at the festival?”

I shrug too, looking around my apartment. “I don’t know. I always feel …” I lift my hands and let them flop back to my sides, trying to put into words the weird paralysis I have with decorating. It’s the same with clothes shopping. I don’t really enjoy either activity, and it’s difficult to pinpoint why.

No, actually it’s not. Not if I’m honest. I have trouble picking out things I like because my choices have so often been criticized and held up as not good enough.

I can’t say that, though. Not out loud. Not right now.

“I just don’t want to spend money on something unless I know I love it,” I say instead after a moment.

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