Page 27 of Thoroughly Pucked

“Nope. Just my children,” she says, then pours the hot water over the tea.

I drum my fingers on the counter, energy coursing through me, but a dose of tension too. “Anyway, so we’re taking off. Just wanted you to know in case you can’t reach me for, I dunno, a few hours.”

“Devon, you say that like I’m not used to you being unreachable during eighty-two hockey games a year.”

“You know what I mean.”

Her gentle smile says she does. We like to keep in touch. Always have. I still have a group chat with my mom, dad, and big sister, who lives in London with her husband. But Lucy sends us pictures of her meals every day. Earlier today, she had falafels for lunch in Chelsea before shopping for a new tofu press.

“Yes, send me your GPS location,” Mom jokes. Then her mood shifts and she sighs thoughtfully, drumming her fingers on the counter. “So…Aubrey?”

“Mom,” I chide.

She stares at me over the top of her rose-gold frames. “Well, she is single now.”

Like I’m not already thinking of Aubrey in that dangerous way. “Stop, Mom. Just stop.” I don’t need her fanning the flames. I can do that just fine on my own.

Mom lifts a steaming mug. “She’s feisty, outgoing, funny. Sounds like someone I know. Someone I raised.”

“She was literally about to walk down the aisle yesterday.”

“And now she’s literally about to take a trip with you and Ledger,” she points out.

“Don’t go there.” I can’t, just can’t, linger in that space, for all the reasons Ledger and I laid out last night, starting and ending with the fact that she nearly got married yesterday. The timing is more than wrong.

But that doesn’t explain why these feelings are still dogging me.

“I like her,” Mom says. “Don’t you?”

I say nothing while words tumble in my mind, my muscles tense as sentences start and stop on my tongue. I roll my shoulders, trying to let go of…whatever this is. I think back to the times I’ve chatted with Aubrey over the years. To the hockey games where I’ve seen her and the family events we’ve attended—like Garrett’s Christmas party a few years ago, right before I met Eva. I swear there was a moment at that party, while Aubrey drank champagne and we cast guests we didn’t know as characters from Christmas movies—she’s the sassy town baker; he’s the hard-nosed lawyer with a secret heart of gold—when I thought about what-ifs.

Then I remembered it’s a bad idea to crush on afriend’s sister. Garrett’s not the “don’t touch my sister” kind of guy, and I’m not the kind of guy a dude needs to keep away from his family.

But I do like things to work out. I like life to go smoothly. I want parents who get along, a career that fulfills me, a body that performs at the highest level. What if I messed around with Garrett’s sister and it didn’t work out? Would she think I was a prick? I don’t like rocking the boat. It might rock back. It probablywouldrock back.

Still, I should have objected to the wedding the night before the ceremony.

Better to speak up now even if these feelings go nowhere. “You know what?”

Mom freezes, mug halfway to her lips, eyes alert. “What is it?”

“I think you’re right. I do have a thing for Aubrey, and that thing grew a little stronger after spending the whole day with her yesterday.”

She struggles to hold back her smile but fails. Instead, she tries to hide it behind her mug, taking a sip of tea then setting it down. “And?” she asks.

I shrug. “Doesn’t really matter if I have a thing for her. Now’s just not the right time.”

Holy shit. I don’t struggle over the words, and I don’t feel as tangled up as I did at the bar. Clearly, I needed to get that admission off my chest. Now I can just move forward with the trip, leaving these feelings behind.

“Things don’t always happen at the right time,” Mom says with a wisdom I’ll never possess. “And yetthey can still work out.”

“Romance has a way of not working out in my life lately,” I say. “Do I need to remind you about last Christmas?”

I legit thought I’d propose to Eva on Christmas. Instead, she surprised the hell out of me by breaking it off after we went ring shopping. Said I was too focused on my other love—hockey.

Well, hockey doesn’t break my heart, so it’s good that I’m not going to do a damn thing about this attraction.

Mom takes a drink of her tea, giving me a thoughtful look. “But that’s always how it goes, sweetheart. It doesn’t work out until it works out,” she says.

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