Page 60 of The Cutting Edge
Logan shrugs, utterly unbothered. “She wanted to paint my nails to match my hockey gear…” He deadpans, “You know, like Gretsky.”
He cracks himself up, and his laughter is so infectious I can’t help but join in.
“You’re very good with her,” I say as Poppy heads to the front of the store to select her own polish color. My heart swells at this tiny glimpse into their dynamic. Logan is the type of father every little girl deserves—attentive, playful, and willing to make a total fool of himself to make her happy.
His eyes meet mine, soft and earnest. “I want to be good to you too, Coco.”
My breath hitches at his quiet admission. I open my mouth, unsure of how to respond, but Poppy saves me from replying.
She points to Logan's toes. “See? I told you it would look cool.”
Logan chuckles, ruffling Poppy’s hair. “You’re right, Poppycock. I’m one high-fashion hockey player.” He winks at me again. “So, what do you think? Am I runway ready?”
“Definitely,” I say, barely containing my laughter. “I hardly recognized you. It’s like… if Harry Styles joined the NHL. The Slashers obviously have the highest fashion captain in the NHL.”
“Told you so.” Poppy sticks her tongue out at Logan, who pretends to look affronted.
I shake my head at their antics, joy bubbling up inside me. Today has been kind of incredible.
After settling the bill, we head outside into the bright afternoon sun. Logan laces his fingers through mine as we walk to the car, Poppy chattering away about her upcoming birthday party.
I soak in the warmth of his hand in mine, the sunlight on my face, and Poppy’s laughter. In this moment, everything feels right in my world. The concussion, my uncertain future—all of that fades away, leaving only this perfect bubble of joy.
After getting Poppy settled in her booster seat, Logan opens the passenger door for me, waiting until I’m settled before rounding the front of the SUV to climb inside. He starts the engine but doesn’t shift into drive right away.
“Today really was amazing.” His eyes meet mine, soft and earnest. “Thank you for giving me—giving us—this chance.”
My throat tightens. “You’re welcome.” I lace my fingers through his against the center console. “Itwaspretty...”
“Magical,” he says, finishing my sentence.
A thrill races down my spine at the promise in his words.
He shifts gears, "What do you say, Miss Coco? Poppy and I don't want to kidnap you or anything, but we'd be thrilled if you'd like to hang out with us a while longer. Right, Poptop?”
“Right!” Poppy agrees enthusiastically from the back seat.
"I don't have any plans," I say, for the first time since I was maybe six or seven. I can't practice and I can't work – well, other than being Logan’s lucky charm. Which means I have nothing to do for the rest of the day.
I nod," That would be nice."
“Now, little miss, where to next?” Logan addresses Poppy, though his thumb continues tracing circles over my skin. “We’ve got the whole afternoon ahead of us. What would we like to do?”
Poppy considers for a moment, then her eyes light up. “Can we go to the beach? Please, Daddy? Please, Coco?”
"Nobody has a swimsuit today, Popstar. Besides, the water is a little chilly at this time of year."
"We don't have to swim. We have extra towels in the back. We can just walk around and put our feet in."
He glances at me, a question in his eyes. “If that’s okay with you?” I nod and Logan chuckles, shifting into drive and pulling out of the parking lot. “The beach it is.”
We arrive at Clearwater Beach, a long stretch of white sand and turquoise waves. Logan helps me out of the SUV, his hands lingering at my waist. I lean into his touch, breathing in the sun-warmed scent of his skin.
Poppy bounds ahead, already kicking off her flip-flops. “Can I stick my toes in the water, Daddy?”
“Please stay where I can see you,” Logan calls after her. He turns back to me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “What would you like to do?” His voice drops to a husky murmur. “I can think of a few things, but they're not exactly Poppy-friendly..."
Heat floods my cheeks at the thought.
