Page 10 of The Icing on the Cake
“Henry, NO!” I yell, limping after my dog.
“Stay here,” Lucian says, taking off after my dog with impressive speed. He lets out a sharp whistle that somehow slows Henry mid-chase, then he does the most brilliant thing: he runs in the opposite direction. Henry, thinking this is the best game ever, abandons the cat and chases Lucian instead. When my dog finally catches up, Lucian kneels down and produces a stick of beef jerky from his pocket like some sort of dog whisperer.
It takes only thirty seconds to rescue Henry, but my heart is still hammering against my ribs when he brings the dog back to me.
“Apparently Henry’s weakness is jerky,” he says, handing me the leash.
“And apparently you just carry emergency dog treats around for fun?”
“Well, I was about to have a late-night snack when I caught someone peeking in my windows.” His smile appears, and I feel a flutter inside my chest.
“The window thing was purely accidental, due to my poorly timed neighborhood-advertising campaign.”
“I’ll accept that defense, especially since I had one of your cupcakes today and it was incredible. You’re really talented, Neesha.”
My mouth opens, but I don’t know what to say. It used to bug me when Nate called my baking a “cute hobby,” like I was having fun instead of building a business. But Lucian says it like he means it, like he sees something in me that I forget is there.
“Thanks,” I say, feeling my face heat slightly. “Baking is the one thing I know I’m good at.”
He studies my face for a moment like he almost wants to say something else, before kneeling to pet Henry. “I met Mrs. Nelson, my new neighbor. She was pleasant enough, but I got the sense she notices everything. Hopefully, she knows I didn’t come here to make waves—just to fix up this place and keep to myself for a while.”
I look away, suddenly feeling that awkward flip in my stomach. The one thing he specificallydoesn’twant is a neighbor who bothers him, and here I am—literally his next-door neighbor who’s stumbled upon him shirtless in his own home. The last thing I want is for him to think I’m the clingy-neighbor type who can’t give him the space he clearly values.
“Where do you live?” he asks. “I could walk you home. Iknow Henry’s probably a great guard dog, but apparently his loyalty can be bought with salted meat products.”
I laugh, while my mind scrambles for a response. “This is Maple Falls, Lucian. The most dangerous thing here is Mrs. Nelson when she hasn’t had her morning coffee.” I hand him back his bag of ice. “Thank you for this and for rescuing my dog.”
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, perusing me quickly to see if I’m still limping.
“Yep. Totally fine,” I say, even though my backside still feels tender. “Thanks for your help.”
I leave with what I hope is a casual wave and head down the street, walking past my upstairs apartment in Mrs. Nelson’s house so he has no idea I’m right next door.
When I look back, he’s already gone.
Yeah, no danger here. Except for what this man could do to my heart.
CHAPTER 4
LUCIAN
Iwalk into the rink for my first practice with the Ice Breakers, gear slung over my shoulders, looking calm even though my nerves are sparking like live wires. Every player in the place stops what they’re doing to watch me, sizing up the new guy, deciding if I’m worth their time. This is make-or-break time—my chance to prove I belong with this team.
Coach Dale Hauser waves me over. “Everyone, listen up,” he calls out to the team. “This is Lucian Lowe, our new defenseman. He’s joining us from the Carolina Crushers, so make him feel welcome.”
Coach claps me on the shoulder. “Lowe, meet your new teammates.”
“Welcome to the team,” a broad-shouldered player says as he comes over. “Cade Lennox, right wing. Best slapshot on the team.”
“That’s debatable,” another guy says, holding out a hand. “Asher Tremblay. I’ll be playing defense with you.”
From behind Cade and Asher, another player waves. “Jamie Hayes—team captain. Clément Rivière, our goalie, hasn’t shown up yet. But Carson is behind you.”
I turn to find a guy sprawled across a bench, lifting twofingers in a lazy salute. “Carson,” he drawls with a Southern accent. “I handle dating rejections and any other personal disaster you can think of.”
Jamie points to another guy standing off to the side, gear half on and fidgeting with his gloves.
“And that’s Weston Smith,” Jamie says. “Rookie defenseman. He’s got the skills, but not the confidence yet. Maybe you can take him under your wing?”
