Page 80 of Cold Front
But he’d been at it for two hours, and even the most stubborn hockey captain deserved a break.
I tapped my phone screen, bringing up the flyer I’d pulled up earlier. “We should go.”
Niall barely looked up. “Go where?”
“The Fall Festival. It’s tonight.”
He shook his head before I even finished. “Pass.”
I sighed, rolling onto my stomach, propping my chin in my hand. “Why am I not surprised?”
He shrugged, still scribbling notes in the margins of his textbook. “Not my thing.”
Of course it wasn’t. Niall wasn’t exactly Mr. Festive. If it wasn’t hockey or something essential to his routine, it didn’t make the cut. But I wasn’t giving up that easily.
I got off the bed and crossed the room, perching on the edge of the desk beside him. “Come on. There’s cider, pumpkin carving, a hayride?—”
“A nightmare,” he muttered, still not looking at me.
I grinned, bumping his shoulder. “It’ll be fun.”
He finally looked up, eyes narrowing slightly, like he was weighing his options. “Will it, though?”
“Yes. And if you hate it, I’ll make it up to you.” My fingers trailed lightly over his wrist. “Think of it as a date.”
His gaze flickered to my hand, then back to my face. Something shifted in his expression—resignation, amusement, maybe a little fondness buried beneath the exasperation. He sighed like I’d just asked him to run suicides at practice.
“Fine. But if I get stuck on some hayride from hell, you owe me.”
I grinned. “Deal.”
Main Street was alive with golden lights and the hum of laughter. The town square had transformed into a patchwork of food stalls, game booths, and pumpkin displays, the scent of cinnamon and roasting nuts thick in the air. Students and locals mingled, their scarves and beanies adding splashes of color to the cool October night.
Niall stuffed his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, his shoulders slightly hunched. “This is… a lot.”
“Good ‘a lot’ or bad ‘a lot’?” I asked.
He didn’t answer, but his gaze lingered on a caramel apple stand for longer than necessary. Noted.
Before I could tease him about it, a familiar voice cut through the crowd.
“Well, well, didn’t think we’d see you here.”
We turned to find Hunter, Roman, and Micah heading toward us, all three holding cups of cider. Hunter’s brows lifted slightly, like he was surprised to see Niall in a place like this. Roman just grinned. And Micah tilted his head as he gave Niall a slow once-over.
“Thought festivals weren’t your thing, Cap,” Micah said, smirking.
“They’re not,” Niall muttered.
Roman chuckled. “And yet, here you are. Interesting.” His gaze flicked to me, then back to Niall, like he was putting together a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit yet.
Hunter didn’t say much, but his expression was unreadable—like he was still holding onto something from that night at the rink. I wondered if Niall was thinking about that too.
I snuck a glance at him. His expression was carefully blank, but the way his shoulders tensed, the way his hands stayed buried deep in his hoodie pocket, told me enough.
I nudged him lightly, pulling his focus back. “We were just about to check out the pumpkin carving booth,” I said, keeping my tone easy. “You guys coming?”
Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.
