Page 52 of Finn

I keep a truck parked in the detached garage, but it’s not like it could drive itself to pick us up at the airport.

That thought makes me chuckle as I roll onto my back in my bed. I’m clearly sleep-deprived. Too bad my mind is keeping me awake.

My body isn’t letting me sleep either. Just knowing Sammie is down the hall from me in a different bedroom makes me want to go to her.

Of course, I won’t.

But damn, it’s weird to have her sleeping so close.

I gave her the other bedroom that has an adjoining bathroom. This way she’ll have plenty of privacy. I want her to feel totally comfortable here.

Maybe then, even if she’s dead set on remaining just friends, we could make this a regular thing.

I mean, I hope next year we make the playoffs and go deep. Getting to the Stanley Cup Final would be a dream come true. But there will still be an offseason. Sammie and I could come up here again then.

Let’s just see how this trip goes, Big Planner.

Yeah, I guess I am getting way ahead of myself.

Too bad it’s hard to stay rational when all I want to do is tell Sammie I’ve fallen for her.

And then I’d add that, if she feels in any way the same—and some days I think she does—let’s give this thing a go.

We could be so fucking good together.

Yeah, yeah, we couldis the last thought I have before pure exhaustion wins out and sleep overtakes me.

I wake up on my side and wonder why I’m staring at a cedarwood wall and not the usual cream-colored one.

I’m miffed, until it hits me that I’m not in my house in Atlanta.

I’m at my cabin in fucking Alaska.

Yes!

Yawning and stretching with a big-ass smile on my face, I sit up and rake back my hair.

But wait, do I smell…bacon?

Is Sammie up before me?

Is she cooking breakfast?

It sure smells like it.

A quick check of my phone on the bedside table lets me know it’s nine thirty.

Wow, I slept in later than I’d planned.

It’s time to get moving.

Jumping out of bed, I throw on a gray long-sleeved tee. I already have on black lounge pants, so I’m good there.

After a quick stop in the bathroom, I head downstairs, the smell of frying bacon growing stronger and making my stomach growl.

When I step into the kitchen, Sammie is facing the stove. She looks cute in her pale pink pajama bottoms and matching oversized sweatshirt, one shoulder hanging down, exposing her bare skin.

I quickly move my gaze up. Oh, hey, her hair is pinned up in a messy bun. Damn, I like that too.

---