Page 83 of My Lucky Charm

“Why would she say that?” He looks genuinely hurt.

I pick my words carefully. “She said . . . her grandmother called her that. She didn’t think you knew she’d heard it . . . but she did.”

He sighs and shakes his head.

I don’t say anything, and this time, Gray fills the space.

“Celeste’s mother. She didn’t love the idea of her daughter getting pregnant by some hockey player. I mean, we were still in high school.” He looks away. “And my dad, he—” He shakes his head again. “Let’s just say the timing wasn’t great.”

I’ve done the math. For a normal teenager, having a baby would rock the boat. For one about to be drafted to play pro hockey? That’s a whole different level.

Still, this is a child we’re talking about here. And it’s obvious Gray doesn’t regret her.

All at once I see how complicated his life really is.

“I know it’s not my business,” I say, apologetically, “but I thought you should know.”

He looks at me and nods, but doesn’t say anything else.

I go still, leaning slightly against the counter, seeing a bit of the ice chipping away. “Celeste seems really nice.”

“She’s great,” he says. “And under the circumstances, she's done amazing with Scarlett. We were young. Made a stupid mistake, but we got a great kid out of the deal.” He looks away.

I go quiet.

“Uh, look, Eloise—”

I hold up my hand. “Stop right there. If you’re going to talk about what happened last night, you don’t have to.” I have no idea if that’s what he was going to say but I set my dial to “ramble” and launch in anyway.

“We don’t have to make a thing of it,” I say. “So? It happened. It was a thing for a minute. And it was . . . great, but it’s behind us. Done-zo. We can still be friends. Lots of friends have shared a moment, and it doesn’t have to mess everything up. Right?”

I’m on a roll, but unfortunately, I feel like I’m rolling down a hill and off a cliff.

“But we’re not friends, Eloise,” he says. “We can’t be. You work for me. And I’m in season, and I don’t—I like to keep everything as uncomplicated as possible. It can’t happen again.”

“Oh, yeah! Totally! Pssh, I know,” I say, flustered, caught, feigning nonchalance. I have no idea what to do with my hands so I place them on my hips at weird angles.

I’m thinking, You kissed me! But what I say instead is, “I was totally coming here to tell you that same thing. This job is really important to me.”

“Great, so we’re on the same page,” he says.

“On the same line of the same paragraph.”

“Good.” A definitive nod.

“Good.”

“Only . . .” I make a face.

“Now what?”

I scrunch up my face a bit more. A question is worming its way out of my mouth despite my best attempts to wrangle it. “You pretended not to remember New Year’s Eve,” I blurt. “Why?”

His eyes dip to my lips, then back again. “I . . . I don’t know. I just did.”

That’s surprisingly accurate.

“Like I said, I like to keep things uncomplicated.”

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