Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“That’s true.” I reached for his plate. “Did you save room for dessert?”
“I’m stuffed. Unless…do you have any of that key lime pie tonight?”
I stifled a laugh. Harv hadn’t changed much. This was the guy who used to sweet-talk Mrs. Henderson into letting us sample her pies after school.
“We do,” I confirmed.
Harv’s eyes lit up. “Sold. Want a cup of coffee, hon?”
“Hmm. I don’t think so. I’ll be fine with a bite of your pie.” She winked at her husband, tucking a stray strand of honey-blond hair behind her ear before turning to me with a mischievous grin. “And…an inside scoop from Mr. Moore here. I heard through the grapevine that the Ducks want Vinnie to play for them in the fall. Any truth in that?”
“Uh…he’s retired.”
“Yeah, yeah, but according to SportsCenter, he’s in high demand. Toronto wants him too,” Sherry replied conversationally. “The boys have been asking him, but apparently Vinnie is keeping mum. His girlfriend did a power-couple post on TikTok showing them all decked out at fabulous soirees, but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of her since Vinnie’s been here. Have you?”
“Um…no.”
She sighed. “Barclay’s too polite to ask about the girlfriend, but he says Vinnie doesn’t talk about her or where he’s going next, and oooooh! I’m so curious!”
“Me too,” Harv said as I stacked their plates, my brow furrowed in faux concentration. “C’mon, you must know something, Nol.”
I shook my head and flashed a smile I doubted met my eyes. “I know that if I don’t hurry to grab a slice of key lime, you might be out of luck.”
Harv shooed me off with a laugh and compliments for the chef. I did as instructed and made sure to pass along his dessert order to his waiter. I had no intention of going back for round two of the “What’s Vinnie up to?” guessing game. I was pretty sure he would have mentioned un-retiring and signing with a new team to me, but we purposefully didn’t discuss anything beyond summer.
We existed in the past and the present. The future had always eluded us, but there was no point in being sad about it.
No way. I was grateful for this second chance.
This thing between us was precious and private. It was reconnection on the deepest level with someone who still remembered the secret handshake my brother had made up when we’d called ourselves the three hockeyteers the summer we were nine and ten. The guy who’d teased me for the way I tied my skates, then painstakingly taught me a better method. He was the seven-year-old boy I’d sat quietly beside as he’d stared at the sky with tears in his eyes.
I’d known Vinnie in his darkest hours when we were kids, but that was only part of his story. Secrets in the dark, longing stares, and clandestine touches belonged to the here and now. I had no idea what we’d be in a year. Friends?
Christ, that sucked. I mean…no. It was good, but it still kind of sucked, right?
I pushed into the kitchen and let my smile slip. JC glanced up from the spotless butcher block island where he was perched on a barstool, enjoying a glass of wine and a small plate of cubed cheese.
“Le Vieux Pin Syrah. Have some, oui? Whoever pissed in your Pop-Tarts will have no luck here. The kitchen is closed.”
I gave a tired-sounding half laugh. “No one pissed on or in my Pop-Tarts, which I don’t eat, by the way. And I’m fine.”
“Hmph. If you’re not angry, you must be thinking too hard. You do that sometimes, you know,” he said, narrowing his keen gaze. “That’s unhealthy for everyone, but particularly for you. So…arrête ça, okay?”
I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means stop it. Live in the moment. Eat cheese, drink wine, eat chocolate…” He popped a chunk of cheese into his mouth, adding, “Screw the hockey hero.”
“Okay, we’re done here.” I saluted him and spun on my heels, fishing my keys from my pocket. “I was going to close with Martin, but I want to leave a little early and—”
“Go. Martin is the manager. He can handle closing without you looking over his shoulder.”
“True. All right, then…I’ll be in early.”
“I’ll be in late,” JC countered, lifting his glass. “I hope you do all the naughty things, mon cher.”
I started in surprise at the relic term of endearment that used to melt me from the inside out. Now, I knew it was meant to be offhandedly affectionate rather than adoring, but in my current off-kilter state, it jolted me.
“Overthinking fucked us up, huh? We didn’t call it that, but…that’s what it was. I analyzed spreadsheets and budgeted the time we spent working versus being a couple, and you went with the flow. And fuck, that pissed me off. But now…I wish I was more like you,” I said in a rush, jingling my keys nervously. “So if you have any hints or bits of advice on how to live in the moment, I’m open to suggestions.”