Rhett:Coffee this week. Just us. No kids, no team. And maybe I'll get the chance.
Hog:Yeah. I'd like that.
Rhett:Good. Because I can't stop thinking about you. The whole package. Just so we're clear.
I read the message three times. Then I reread it.
Jake appeared in the doorway. "You okay?"
"He said—" I held up the phone. "He said he can't stop thinking about me."
Jake read over my shoulder, then grinned. "Well, shit. Flannel guy's got it bad."
"What do I say?"
"The truth, you idiot."
I looked at the phone again. Outside, Thunder Bay was cold and dark and brutal. Inside, my family was loud and messy and perfect.
And somewhere between the locker room and the kids' table, between the enforcer and the knitter, Rhett had looked at all of me and decided he wanted more.
I typed:
Hog:Can't stop thinking about you either. I want this.
Rhett:Good.
I pocketed my phone and grabbed a dish towel.
This time, the fear in my chest was different. It wasn't the fear of being too much or not enough. It was the fear of getting what I wanted.
Maybe that was a fear worth facing.
Chapter six
Rhett
The Zamboni left the ice mirror-smooth. I set down the nineteenth cone and checked my watch. Five forty-seven.
Hog was supposed to show at five thirty.
I'd texted yesterday after work.
Rhett:Youth practice tomorrow if you want to come.
I'd originally included "no pressure," but then I deleted it because it sounded like pressure.
He'd responded with three exclamation points and a GIF of a bear on hockey skates.
My phone buzzed.
Sloane:Stop spiraling. I can feel it from here.
Rhett:I'm not spiraling.
Sloane:You're at the rink 30 minutes early rearranging cones. That's spiraling.
Rhett:How do you even know that?
