Page 22 of Hot for the Hockey Player
Fred reached through the fence to scratch between the horns of a very happy looking goat.“Will do.Looking forward to seeing you on Saturday, Maverick.Thank you.”
“You take care, Fred.”Then I climbed into my truck, set my phone to the next artisan on my list, and headed off to go see a man about some pottery.A man by the name of Hugh Tapper.
My plan—while not necessarily a good one—was to fill up my dance card with activities, to keep me from pining after Gabrielle.However, I also wanted to book a couple of things for two people, in the event she might want to join me, considering the woman claimed to have no time for fun and zero hobbies.Worst-case scenario, maybe Logan would want to join me for a bro-date.
Either way, I needed to occupy my mind and my hands, and making cheese and getting mud under my fingernails on a pottery wheel seemed like a good place to start.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gabrielle
Icouldn’twearpants.
And that was all I ever wore.Even in the summer, I wore light, flowy, linen slacks.I didn’t do dresses—because that just reminded me too much of the past—and I had this mad hate-on for my knobby knees and thick ankles.So I didn’t own a pair of shorts.
But the burns on the tops of my thighs refused to allow me to wear anything that even remotely grazed them.So I was forced to borrow a few pairs of linen shorts from Raina and wander around the house looking like a chubby ankled burn-victim.
Because yeah, my thighs blistered.Badly.
“We’ll just keep applying the burn ointment and they should be better in a couple of days,” Danica said, sitting across from me on the sectional in my living room while I reclined on the longer portion.Our daughters were busy giggling in the kitchen and filling the house with the mouthwatering scent of chocolate chip cookies.Damon didn’t say a word to me when he came into the house, but just sulked off to his bedroom like a moody teenager.
“I’m so embarrassed,” I said, grabbing a cream-colored throw pillow and covering my face.“Ineverspill anything.And I snorted a laugh and spilled scalding hot tea all over my lap.What is wrong with me?”
Silence.
And it lasted long enough that I peeled the pillow away from my face to glance at Danica.“What?”
My cousin checked on the girls in the kitchen over her shoulder before leaning forward toward me and bringing her voice down.“I mean … if you’re going to get flustered and klutzy, that’s the man to cause it.He isverynice to look at.Albeit a little young, but …” She shrugged.“He’s oldenough.”
I stared at her in horror.“Shut your mouth.”
She sat back in her seat and smirked, crossing her leg over the other.“I’m just saying …”
“Well, you can justnotsay another word.I met him when he was fifteen,” I said that last bit on a hiss.“It might be legal, but it’s still …”
“It’s still?”she probed.
I squirmed on the couch, then covered my face with the pillow again like some tween unable to regulate her emotions.Maverick had barely been on the island for a day and already my entire personality—which I had carefully crafted over the years—was unravelling faster than a cheap sweater snagged on a nail.
“You can’t say that it’swrong, because you know deep down that it’s not.”
I pulled the pillow away enough to glare at her.“Enough.”
Danica smirked.“I’m just saying …”
“Yeah, and you can stop.”
“Who wants cookies?”Laurel announced, coming over to us with a plate.Sam was in the kitchen rolling the balls for the next batch.“Careful, they’re hot.”
“Ooh, I’ll have one,” Danica said, reaching for one.
“I’m good, honey,” I said.
Laurel pouted.“You never eat any sweets, Mom.It’s so annoying.”
“Go ask your brother if he wants one.”
My daughter rolled her eyes, but acquiesced and went down the hall.A gentle knock on her brother’s door preceded her soft voice.“Damon, we made cookies.Do you want some?”
