Page 55 of As You Ice It

When I release him, he tilts up the pan of brownies for my inspection. “I’m all done.”

At least one thing tonight will be excellent. My recipe is foolproof and famous—Oakley Island famous, that is—and Liam has cut them into perfectly even squares. I couldn’t have done this well with a ruler.

“Now can I go eat and watch YouTube?”

He says this with all the exhaustion of a boy who’s been forced into child labor down in a mine when the only two tasks asked of him were to cut these brownies and to make sure there wasn’t pee on his toilet seat. And since I don’t trust a ten-year-old boy to have my standards of cleanliness, I even went in after him with cleaning spray.

“Just put the brownies on here and then you can go.”

Liam frowns down at the plate I shoved his way. “Did you buy new dishes?”

“No. Fine. Yes. Just a few.”

“Do …” Liam trails off. He’s staring at me like I’m an alien. “Do adults get nervous about making friends, too?”

I don’t laugh at his question, but only because he’s being completely sincere. Apparently one more rite of passage Liam’s going through is realizing that adults are people too.

“Yes,” I say simply. “Adults tend to feel a whole lot of the same feelings and have the same worries as kids. Only now we get to havemoreworries and bigger ones added to the mix. On the plus side, we’ve got better coping mechanisms than kids do, and we’ve got experience, so we know that we’ll probably make it through just fine.”

I lost him, probably somewhere in the first sentence. But I tried.

With a sigh, I tap the plate. “Brownies here. Then you can go watch YouTube and eat.”

Despite his meticulous cutting, Liam carelessly dumps the pan on the plate, snagging a brownie and his to-go container of ribs before darting down the hall. Though I don’t usually allow Liam to have the iPad or food in his room—especially the kind of food that requires wet wipes after eating—the ladies will be here any minute and I need some time alone.

It was hard enough walking through the front door and facing Liam, trying not to look like I just made out with Camden in a hallway outside a restaurant bathroom. Not that the location of the kiss matters. I would have struggled with my facial expression if I kissed Camden on a mountaintop or next to a flowing stream or even at the Summit up on the catwalk.

The important part isn’t where. It’s what. Andwho.

And what next?

The last question is the one that made my voice modulate weirdly when I said hello walking back inside the house. Liam didn’t seem to notice, thankfully, but I need to make sure I’ve got it together before Parker and company arrive.

I was already freaking out about having them over. Because, as I told Liam, itisn’teasy making friends as an adult. Especially when you’re an adult who comes with a ready-made sidekick who happens to be your kid.

At the time Liam was born, all my high school friends were either in college or working while doing the kinds of things nineteen-year-olds do. Partying. Going out. Not worrying about how to care for an infant or how many jobs it takes to afford rent.

This led to a very long, very friendless drought before Eloise crashed into my brother’s life and, by extension, mine. Her sisters followed her to Oakley not long after, so it was like I got a ready-made friend group of sorts. Happy birthday to me!

But the women coming over tonight are hockey WAGs, even if Parker doesn’t like that term. Wives and girlfriends and fiancés and one sister of the players. Leaving me on the outside as an ex, though as Parker projected, maybe not for long.

I catch myself smiling again, but it’s hard not to when I remember the kiss. Or Camden’s words. Last summer, we talked very little about our future plans, so his directness today was surprising. But I like it. Feels very adult in a way none of my relationships have been.

I never would have wanted them to be. Though I may never admit this to him, my brother is right about me picking losers.

Until now.

A watch somewhere in the house beeps, telling me I’m almost out of time. I should pop back into my bedroom and freshen up. Or at least consider taking my hair out of its loose braid. Maybe add a coat of mascara. But Parker promised me this would be casual, and I want to take her at her word.

But is casual for a WAG something a little nicer than jeans with holes at the knees?

The doorbell rings, and I rush around, lighting a candle and moving every plate of food at least half an inch on the dining room table. Though I have a tendency toward chaos and disorder, my house is still neat right now. Partly because I did a great purge before leaving Oakley and brought very little. And partly because I haven’t done much to make the house feel lived in. Yet.

I ignore the bare walls and rugless hardwoods as I scurry to the front door and throw it open before I can second, third, or fourth guess this evening.

I've hardly opened the door when a small group led by Parker barrel inside with hugs and greetings and plates of food. And gifts. I forgot that Parker suggested a housewarming kind of affair. I definitely would have vetoed it if she mentioned it again.

“Let me do introductions!” Parker says, raising her voice and clapping her hands.

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