Page 9 of Where It Begins

The love part gave me Violet, the hate part revolves around the guy who knocked me up. Violet’s father is a former professional hockey player. He was a one-night stand and a poor decision. One I didn’t want to involve in our lives after I did the necessary internet research, so I raised Violet on my own. All she knows about him is that he was a fling.

“But…” He fidgets with the napkin, then taps the edge of his paper cup.

I shrug, unwilling to share my most impulsive choices with a guy I’ve just met, who I may or may not want to see again. “No buts. It must be hard managing that kind of schedule on your own. Are you divorced?” It’s always good to know if there’s an angry ex involved.

He shakes his head and his gaze shifts to his hands. “Uh, no. Miller’s mother passed away when he was three.”

My heart clenches. A single dad, with a teen son who plays a high-level sport and he lost his wife. That’s a lot of responsibility. And probably baggage. But everyone has baggage. I cover his hand with mine, squeezing gently. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too. She had a rare form of brain cancer. They couldn’t operate on the tumor and it just... took over. It was fast moving, so she didn’t suffer long.” He clears his throat.

“How long were you together?” I withdraw my hand to avoid awkward, prolonged contact.

“Six years. The first five were great, but the last one was hard.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Anyway.” He exhales slowly, his smile sad. “It’s been the two of us for a lot of years and he’s been pushing the online dating thing, but those apps scare the hell out of me.”

“The catfish potential is pretty high these days.”

“Yes, this!” He chuckles. “All it takes is one unpleasant experience to taint you for the rest of eternity.”

“Mm, so true.” I lean back in my chair. “Last year, one of my girlfriends thought it would be fun to set up a profile after we’d been into the margaritas. It was not the best choice.”

“Oh, that sounds like it has a story attached to it.”

“There were a lot of duck face selfies and regrets involved. I had a lot of interest, though not from guys I would ever want to introduce to my daughter.” I wave a hand around in the air. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“Why not? It’s entertaining.”

“I’m supposed to put my best foot forward, aren’t I? Telling you about my drunk dating app experiences doesn’t speak to my good decision making.”

“Eh, we all make bad decisions, especially when there are a lot of margaritas involved.”

“That’s the truth.” I clink my paper cup against his then lift it to my lips. “So, what is it exactly that you do for a living?”

“I’m a hockey scout.”

I nearly spit spray my coffee in his pretty face. Instead, I suck it back in and cough uncontrollably. The kind of hacking that makes tears spring to my eyes and breathing difficult.

“Are you okay?” Sidney’s eyes are wide.

I hold up a hand. “Just.” Cough. “Went.” Hack. “Down.” Wheeze. “The wrong.” Cough. “Tube.”

He rounds the table and pats me on the back. I raise my hands over my head and the coughing finally stops.

Sidney’s hand is still on my back. The warmth seeps into my skin, and I inconveniently consider how it would feel if that hand of his touched me in other exciting places.

But he’s a freaking hockey scout. And I’ve spent the past decade and a half avoiding guys who have anything to do with hockey. Is it entirely rational? Not really. But while my daughter’s sperm donor has long since left the league, his brief role in our lives resulted in real trepidation around men affiliated with the sport.

“I need to get back to the office,” I blurt.

Sidney frowns. “Oh. Okay. I can walk you out.”

“You don’t need to do that.” I’m already out of my chair, my purse slung over my shoulder, coffee in hand.

“I really don’t mind.” Sidney follows me to the door and holds it open, then falls into step beside me. “Did I do something wrong?”

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