Page 110 of In My Hockey Era
I have no idea where we’re going, but Bennett’s hand is warm and steady against the small of my back as he steers me down the block, so I let him.
A few minutes later, we stop in front of a cozy little shop tucked between two taller buildings, its windows glowing soft and inviting against the night.
I blink up at the gold-lettered sign hanging above the door.Addison’s Books.
A bookstore.
I glance at him, brows raised.“You brought me to a bookstore?”
His lips twitch.“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“No, it’s just… unexpected.”
He huffs a laugh, reaching past me to push the door open.“Come on, Quinn.Live a little.”
The moment we step inside, I swear I breathe in happiness.The scent of paper and ink and something warm and familiar fills the air.The place is quiet, peaceful, with wooden shelves stretching floor to ceiling and warm amber lighting that makes everything feel soft and cozy.
I let out a slow exhale, rolling my shoulders back.“Okay.You did good, Wilder.”
Bennett smirks.“I know.”
I shoot him a look, but the truth is, I’m kind of swooning.A candlelit dinner followed by a bookstore?It’s almost too good.Too thoughtful.
I step further inside, trailing my fingers along the spines of books as I wander between the shelves.Ben follows, hands in his pockets, watching me like I’m the one he’s here to see.
“You actually read, right?”I tease, glancing over my shoulder.“Or is this all just a carefully curated PR stunt?”
He scoffs.“Excuse you, I read.”
I laugh.The truth is, I’m just teasing him.
“What kind of books do you like?”he asks after a moment.
I tilt my head, considering.“A little bit of everything.Mystery, nonfiction…”
He smirks.“Hockey romance?”
I roll my eyes.“You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“Not a chance, Quinn.”
I sigh dramatically, turning down another aisle.My fingers graze over a hardcover, and I pause, pulling it from the shelf.It’s a beautiful edition ofPride and Prejudice—dark green leather with gold-embossed lettering, the kind of book you buy just to have, just to hold in your hands.
I trace the cover absently.“This was my mom’s favorite,” I say without thinking.
Bennett doesn’t say anything right away.When I glance up, he’s watching me—not teasing now, just listening.
I clear my throat, setting the book back.“We used to read together at night sometimes, before bed.She’d do all the voices.”
His voice is quiet.“She had good taste.”
Something in my chest squeezes.I nod, swallowing hard.
Bennett watches me for another beat, then reaches up and grabs the book again.“You should get it.”
I shake my head.“It’s expensive.”
“So?”He shrugs, holding it out.“Consider it a gift.”
