Page 19 of Off the Ice

Ava smiled faintly. “She sounds like she was a smart woman.”

“She was,” I said, the memory softening my voice. “She always said Kinchley’s had magic garlic knots. Swore they could fix anything, bad days, tough losses, even broken hearts.”

“Did it work?” Ava asked, tilting her head.

“Every time,” I said simply. “She’d order extra for me to take home, just in case.”

The order came up a few minutes later, and I carried the bag to the car, the comforting smell of lasagna and garlic filling the space as we drove to Grandad’s.

***

Grandad’s house was a small ranch-style place with a neatly trimmed lawn and a porch swing that creaked in the breeze. He was already waiting at the door when we arrived, his weathered face breaking into a grin. He wore one of his usual oversized sweaters, this one a deep navy blue with a few frayed edges, paired with loose-fitting khakis that looked like they’d seen better days and a pair of worn house slippers.

“Logan, you’re late.”

I rolled my eyes, holding up the bag of takeout. “I’m five minutes early. Don’t start.”

“Better not let that lasagna get cold,” he quipped before his gaze shifted to Ava. “And who’s this?”

“Ava Carlisle,” I said, gesturing between them. “Grandad, this is Ava. Ava, meet my grandad. Try not to let him talk your ear off.”

Ava smiled, extending a hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too, young lady,” Grandad said, shaking her hand. “Now, let’s get inside before Logan eats all the garlic knots.”

I huffed out a laugh but didn’t argue, stepping past them and into the house. The familiar scent of marinara and fresh bread filled the air, warm and rich, and my stomach tightened in response. I kicked off my shoes near the entryway and made a beeline for the kitchen, already reaching for the paper bag of takeout sitting on the counter.

“Not even gonna pretend you have manners?” Grandad called after me, amusement lacing his voice.

“I’m starving,” I shot back, pulling out the containers. The garlic knots were still warm, the buttery scent practically begging me to dig in. I popped the lid on the pasta, grabbing a couple of plates from the cabinet before setting everything out on the island.

Ava stepped in behind me, lingering for a second before tucking her hands into the pockets of her coat. “You could’ve at least waited until we sat down,” she teased, her eyes flicking toward the food.

“Yeah? And risk Grandad getting to them first?” I smirked, tossing a wink in his direction. “I like to live, thanks.”

Grandad scoffed, shaking his head as he made his way toward the fridge. “You two better grab drinks before I sit down. I’m too old to be getting back up just because you forgot something.”

Ava laughed softly, and I glanced at her, watching the way her expression softened as she took in the space—my home, my family, the small moments that made up my life outside of hockey.

And for the first time, it really hit me.

She was here.

With me.

And damn if that didn’t make something shift in my chest.

The table in the dining room was the same one I’d grown up sitting at—solid oak with a few nicks and scratches that my grandma used to call “character.” The smell of Kinchley’s lasagna filled the room as we dug in, the garlic knots disappearing faster than I expected thanks to Ava’s surprising appetite. Between bites, Grandad launched into his favorite stories, including one about the first time I got on the ice.

“He was five, playing mites,” Grandad said, his grin wide. “Skates too big, helmet too small. Looked like he’d fall over any second.”

“I scored twice,” I interjected, grinning.

“After falling eight times,” Grandad shot back, winking at Ava. “But when he came off the ice, he told me he was going to be a pro. And wouldn’t you know it, the little squirt was right.”

“Big dreams for a five-year-old,” Ava said, her tone teasing as she glanced at me.

“What can I say?” I said, leaning back in my chair. “I had good garlic knot motivation.”

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