Page 22 of The Pucks We Freeze
Owen leaned forward, always quieter but somehow sharper. “Seriously, though. What’s really going on with you two?”
“There is no ‘you two,’” I muttered, dragging my hoodie over my head. “She’s here for the week. That’s it.”
Rowdy gave a low whistle. “Damn. You’ve got it bad for someone who’s just passing through.”
“It’s not like that,” I fired back.
Except we all knew it was. At least, it was getting close.
Owen tilted his head. “Be careful, man. Some people don’t feel temporary, even when they are.”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. There wasn’t a version of the truth I was ready to say out loud yet.
Even under the pounding water when I stepped into the shower, my thoughts ricocheted. One second, I was back on the ice, watching Gavin fake another wince mid-drill. Every move he made felt off, like he was stalling or hiding something. We all knew it, too.
The next second, I was back in the Wolves Den, our arena, searching the crowd for Willow’s face. Hoping like hell she’d show while dreading what it would feel like if she didn’t.
When I pulled into the gravel drive an hour later, the sky had shifted into the golden pink haze that Tennessee did so well. The air smelled like wet pine, damp bark, and something clean that hit deep in your chest before you could stop it.
Inside the main house, the scent of roast chicken filled the air, warm and rich, wrapping around me like a familiar blanket. Willow hovered by the recliner, fluffing a pillow behind her dad’s back as he sank into it with a grateful sigh. My mom stirred something on the stove, humming low under her breath the way she always did when the house felt full.
“Look who finally made it,” she said with a smile as I stepped inside. “Right on time.”
Willow glanced up, brushing her hands on her jeans. Our eyes caught for half a second longer than they should’ve, and something flickered behind hers, like a secret neither of us could say out loud.
Dinner was simple but delicious. The kind of meal that tasted like childhood and comfort, grounding me in this weird new reality we found ourselves in. Willow sat across from me, scooping mashed potatoes onto her plate and laughing at a story my mom shared about me falling asleep on a plate of spaghetti as a kid. Her hair was up in a loose, messy bun, a few strands curling along her cheeks. Effortless and pretty. Too damn pretty.
Every time Willow laughed, it hit me like a punch in the chest. When her knee brushed mine under the table, it felt intentional. And the way she looked at me, I kept catching myself staring back at her.
It shouldn’t have felt this good, but it did.
Willow’s dad leaned back in his seat, taking a long sip of tea. “Gotta admit, this is nice. Having everyone together.”
“Yeah,” I said, meeting his gaze. “It’s not what I expected… but it feels right.”
Willow glanced at me then, like she wasn’t expecting me to say it out loud. Her foot slid against mine beneath the table, this time slower, more deliberate. My pulse ticked higher.
Her dad studied the two of us. “Looks like you two are getting along well.”
Willow’s smile was sweet but sharp around the edges. “We’re figuring it out.”
I let out a quiet laugh. “I think I earned some points for not leaving her stranded during the storm.”
Her dad chuckled. “Kade, didn’t you say you two knew each other back in school?”
“We did,” I said, my voice steady even though my chest was thudding. “I’ve been crushing on her since sophomore year, but she barely knew I existed.”
Willow nearly spit out her drink, eyes wide as she coughed. I kept my eyes on her, watching the color bloom in her cheeks.
Her dad’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding.”
“Not even a little.” I grinned. “I would’ve come with a warning label back then, but your blood pressure is safe with me now, sir.”
Laughter rippled around the table, the tension thinning. Even Willow joined in, though she shot me a mock glare over the rim of her glass. Then, under the table, her foot slid slowly up my calf, sending a jolt through me that made focusing on anything else nearly impossible.
I cleared my throat and forced myself to look away, but the heat simmering under my skin didn’t go anywhere.
Later, when the plates were cleared and dessert was making its rounds, I caught her watching me. I leaned in slightly, our parents lost in some story about my disastrous attempt at fixing a broken fence.
