Page 7 of When Alec Met Evie
Her eyes widen like she’s just remembered something very important. “Oh! I skipped right over that part, didn’t I? Look at me, walking up here like we’re already friends when I’m nothing but a stranger to you.”
“No, I’m so happy to meet you. Just a little confused.”
Ruth smiles. “We have friends in common. My nephew, Malik, he’s the manager of the Appies hockey team. He told me one of his players had a friend moving in who might be looking for a little bit of help with the baby.”
My heart speeds the slightest bit at the thought. “Alec?”
She nods. “That’s the one. I met him when he was here fixing your steps the other day. I tell you what. He’s just as handsome in person as he is on television.”
Alec.
As soon as my best friend Megan learned I was moving to North Carolina, she all but coerced me into letting her older brother, who’s the captain of the pro hockey team based in Harvest Hollow, help me move in. I clearly need it—it’s not like Juno can help me move a couch—but it’s still trippy to think about seeing Alec again.
We’ve texted twice since Megan gave me his number, just enough to confirm what time I would arrive. But we haven’t talked at all, and I haven’t seen him in years. Not since I was eighteen and he watched Megan and me walk across our high school graduation stage.
Back then, I thought the sun rose and set on Alec Sheridan. He was nine years older than me—too old for my crush to ever be anything but a silly fantasy.
But here lately, even before I decided to move, he’s been on my mind all over again.
I’ve always followed his career, watched as his hockey star rose higher and higher and his online presence grew larger and larger. But then, when Juno was three weeks old, cranky and colicky, I was up in the middle of the night, pacing through my parents’ living room trying to soothe her, mindlessly scrolling Instagram reels to keep myself awake. A video of Alec popped up, an interview in which he talked about his favorite parts of the game.
It was only four minutes long, but something about the tone of his deep voice must have soothed Juno because she settled as soon as it started and stayed quiet until it ended. When I scrolled onto the next video, she started fussing again, so we went back to Alec.
It worked like magic.
Three and a half months later, I’ve listened to that four-minute video no less than a hundred times.
Me and a million other fans, apparently. It’s one of his most popular videos.
Alec’s Instagram account isn’t the biggest of the Appies, but he still has over five hundred thousand followers. That’s a lot of people.
But I knew himbefore.
I know how much he loves his sister. How good and kind and protective he is.
I was there when he got the phone call about his hockey scholarship to Cornell, and I went to countless college games with Megan, the two of us wearing matching jerseys, Alec’s name and number printed on the back. I heard about him signing with the Appies the same day it happened, when Megan called to tell me the good news, and I was there when he graduated from college.
In my mind, Alec was larger than life. Perfect in all the ways a man should be perfect.
It’s nothing short of surreal to think of him coming over here early, checking on my house and fixing my steps.
Apparently, imagining Alec wielding a hammer is more than enough to reignite my long-dormant feelings, because a twinge of something familiar pushes against my ribcage, making my chest flush with heat and my skin tingle with awareness.
Except…no.Those are not feelings I need. I can feel gratitude, maybe even hints of admiration. But now is not the time for a crush, and not just because he’s my best friend’s older brother. Barely a year out from my divorce, I’m not even sure I’m capable of the emotions a relationship would require.
Not that I would actually expect the internet’s favorite hockey captain to ever be interested in me. I’m just saying ifhe was, I don’t think it would matter. Sometimes I feel like my divorce acted like a factory reset, and I’m having to learn how to love and trust all over again.
The only exception to the very depressing condition of my heart is Juno. Loving her is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Most of the time, I have no idea how to mother her or teach her or raise her into a capable human. But loving her—that’s like breathing.
In the carrier at my feet, Juno starts to fuss, and I pick it up, swinging it back and forth. She’s going to need to eat soon and probably needs her diaper changed.
“Alec is my best friend Megan’s older brother,” I say to Ruth. “That’s why he’s helping out. I’ve known him since I was a kid.”
“Is that right?” Ruth says. “Well, it’s wonderful he’s here and willing to help. Now, I know we’ve just met and you’re under no obligation to be my friend, but I retired last year, after teaching for thirty-seven years. My kids are off living their lives and haven’t given me any grandchildren yet, and my husband passed six months ago, leaving me all alone in a house that’s too empty, too big for just me.”
My heart squeezes at the mention of her husband’s passing, but Ruth blazes on, her expression shuttering just enough for me to sense she’d rather not dwell on it.
“I’ve got a knack for babies,” she continues, “so if you need a helping hand, I hope you’ll call me.” She holds up the pie plate and looks at the bottom. “I taped my phone number to the bottom of the pie plate. Chicken pot pie. Figured you’d need food more than you’d need dessert, what with a baby to care for.”
