Page 21 of Arden

It is funny, though, to know she was hesitant, like me, about hanging out.

Shows how much we knew, eh?

After the s’mores, the rest of the night is mellow. We sit in front of the fire and just get to know each other a little better.

I ask her what it was like growing up in a small town, and, glancing around, she shares, “It was similar to here. Butler is very rural. Think lots of farmland and trees.” She laughs. “I can see why Addison fell in love with this area.”

I nod. “That makes sense.”

“So what about you?” She twists in her chair so that she’s facing me. “What was Toronto like?”

Leaning back, I reply, “It’s a typical big city, but my family lived out in the suburbs. I guess you could say I had an ordinary upbringing.”

“Same with me,” she says. And then she asks, “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I do. I have a younger sister named Elena. We call her Ellie, though.”

“Ah, got it. How old is she?”

“Twenty-two.”

“That’s almost my age. I’m twenty-three.”

I laugh. “Hell, you’re both still kids.”

“Hey!” She hits my arm. “I’m not a kid.”

I scoff, “Trust me, I mean it as a compliment. Wait till you hit thirty. It’s all downhill from here.”

Laughing, she asks, “What do you mean? Do you have achy bones and crap like that now?”

I admit, “Actually, yes, but only a little. I’m mainly just kidding. Though there are days when those hits playing hockey hit harder, no pun intended.” She laughs, and I add, “The injuries seem to linger longer now too. Eh…” I shrug. “What can you do? It’s all part of the game.”

“The game of hockey or of life?” she asks.

“Both,” I reply.

Shaking her head, she says, “Okay, old man, whatever you say.”

“Heyyy…” I pretend to be offended, but really I’m fine with her good-natured kidding around.

It’s what we do.

Willow leans forward, holding her hands out in front of the fire, and I ask, “Are you getting cold?”

She nods. “A little.”

“Okay, hold on a minute.” I get up from my chair and say, “I’ll run in and grab you a blanket.”

Looking up at me with the prettiest, softest expression, she says, “Thanks, Arden. That’d be great.”

Quickly, so I don’t linger and stand here and do something stupid, like stare into her eyes for too long, I rush into the house to retrieve a soft flannel blanket. Just one, as I feel fine.

When I return and hand it to her, she wraps it around her shoulders, then tucks her legs up under her.

She leans back, and I sit down next to her again. We talk until the fire dies down. And that’s when we decide to wrap up for the night.

Since I don’t want her walking down our lonely country lane all alone, I tell her I’ll go with her.

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