Page 17 of Rafferty

“Well then,” she says, drawing back and picking up her tablet with a soft chuckle, “I suppose I should get ready to meet your ‘boyfriend’ and his merry band of helpers. Just be careful, Tempe. Hearts can start out pretending, but they don’t always end that way.”

I smile, a flutter of something inexplicable stirring in my chest. “I’ll be careful.”

I help Mom first to the bathroom and then to her room where she insists on changing into a different outfit. It makes me wonder if I should touch up my own makeup, but I decide against it. That would be nothing more than freshening up my mascara and possibly putting on some lip gloss, as working at the grocery store doesn’t require much more than that.

By the time I have Mom situated in the living room in the reclining chair, I hear vehicles pulling up outside. “Looks like they’re here,” I say, glancing out the living room window.

Our modest house is in a lower-income neighborhood where space is efficiently maximized. The exterior is clad in faded redbrick, and for as long as I remember has shown signs of age from the relentless Pittsburgh weather, with patches where the mortar has crumbled away. The front yard is virtually nonexistent with a small patch of dead winter grass before a broken concrete sidewalk, although there’s a little more in the back. A few resilient shrubs sit at the base of the porch and it looks like every other home, neatly wedged in beside one another on our block.

The driveway is but a narrow strip of cracked asphalt, just long enough for Mom’s car to be parked in a detached garage that has seen better days, its paint peeling and eaves drooping slightly. My car is right behind hers with its tail end almost blocking the sidewalk.

I see Rafferty’s Escalade at the curb with a huge white pickup behind it. Doors open and holy hotness… apparently Rafferty isn’t the only gorgeous Titan visiting my house today.

Five men are all dressed in athletic wear—track pants, tennis shoes, heavy winter jackets with the Titans logo. If I had to guess, they just came from practice.

I glance back at my mom and she grins. “Time to meet your Prince Charming.”

I roll my eyes at her and at the sound of multiple heavy footsteps on the wooden porch, I smooth down my shirt nervously and take a breath. Through the lacy curtain covering the glass in the door, a line of large, athletic forms loom—Rafferty at the front with his hand poised to knock on the storm door. My heart races. Inviting one hockey player into my home was daunting enough, but now it’s five. The reality feels overwhelming as I pull open the door.

Rafferty greets me with a boyish grin, the cold air swirling around him and his friends. Behind him, I recognize the four faces from team posters and TV games (as well as some quick stalking of the team roster since meeting Rafferty), looking slightly awkward under my scrutinizing gaze.

“Hey,” I murmur, stepping aside. “Come on in.”

One by one, they duck through the doorway, each of them as big and broad as the next, filling up the small entryway of our little home. Rafferty turns to his friends who all nod with keen interest. “Guys, this is Tempe Martin, the friend I told you about.”

One by one, he introduces them—North, who I met at the photo shoot, towers with a gentle, shy smile, King with keen eyes and a firm handshake, Foster with his easygoing grin, and Atlas whose eyes already sparkle. They each greet me with warmth, making jokes and offering polite compliments that ease the tension from my shoulders.

“Nice to finally meet the famous Tempe,” Foster says, his tone low and friendly.

Atlas nods in agreement. “Rafferty hasn’t stopped talking about how you saved him at the store.”

Embarrassed but amused, I laugh, shaking my head. “Oh, I’m sure there’s a bit of exaggeration there.”

With introductions out of the way, I turn toward my mom, who’s been watching the exchange with a mix of excitement and apprehension. “And this is my mom, Natalie Martin.”

“Mrs. Martin,” Foster says, stepping forward first. He gently takes her hand, mindful of her condition. “Looks like you’ve had a tough road.”

“Please… it’s Natalie, and thank you for coming to help,” she says.

King, North and Atlas all make the same greetings and though they call her Natalie, there are also some “ma’am’s” uttered and it’s adorable.

Rafferty is the last to step up and take my mom’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Natalie. Tempe speaks so highly of you.”

“That’s good to hear. Otherwise, I’ve got a few embarrassing childhood stories of hers up my sleeve.” My mom’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “I really only heard about you less than an hour ago. Some scheme you got my daughter caught up in.”

“Mom,” I exclaim in admonishment. “Be nice.”

Rafferty laughs. “No, it’s all good. She’s being a protective mom and I dig that.” He turns his focus back to her. “I promise, I’ll take good care of your daughter.”

Atlas, the apparent handyman of the group, changes gears quickly. “Tempe mentioned you needed some help with mobility rails and maybe some furniture moving?”

“Yes.” Mom nods and I’m grateful for the shift. “She bought shower rails we need installed.”

“The stuff is in the garage. I’ll show you where.”

Atlas looks to King and Foster, motioning with a jerk of his head. “How about you help me with the rails and Rafferty and North can move furniture?”

“And the Christmas tree?” my mom asks, her voice soft and hesitant.

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