Nope.
I tighten my grip on the handle and throw my weight into it. The door jerks back open a few inches, enough that he steps back, his brows ticking up a fraction. Look at that. I moved a professional hockey player. Sort of.
“Don't worry about the weather. The forecast’s clear for the next three days,” I say evenly. “We have plenty of time to talk things through and find a resolution that works for everyone.”
“Resolution.” He gives a humorless little laugh. “Right.”
“Unless you prefer ‘legally binding agreement you already signed.’ That one’s less catchy, but very accurate.”
Felix makes a small choking sound that might be a smothered laugh. Liam’s mouth tightens, just a hair.
“We’re in the middle of practice,” Silas says. “Come back later.”
"I flew over a thousand miles and drove up your mountain without GPS," I reply, voice still pleasant. "The least you can do is let me inside before I turn into an icicle. I promise I'll wait quietly while you finish."
I angle my body slightly, letting my gaze slide past his shoulder, deliberately taking in the rink.
"I won't get in the way of your… whatever drill that is."
“Three-on-none passing,” Felix supplies automatically.
Silas shoots him a look.
Felix lifts his hands in surrender, dimple back.
He steps forward then, past Silas’s shoulder, skates clicking on the rubber mat. The surrounding air feels lighter somehow.
“I’m Felix,” he says, offering his hand, breaking the territorial standoff vibe of the moment.
His palm is warm, his grip firm, and his hazel eyes hold mine a beat too long.
“Naomi,” I answer, feeling a sudden wave of warmth going through me.
“I know.” He tips his chin toward the interior. “Chalet’s through there. See these double doors?” He gestures with his stick toward the far side of the rink. “Second door gets you to the glass breezeway and the house. First one’s the locker room. You don’t wantthatone.”
The way he says it tells me he'd be more than happy to show me inside that room…
“Noted,” I say dryly.
“Help yourself to coffee if there’s any left,” he adds, stepping backward a few inches, already turning back to the ice. “We’ll be done in… twenty?”
Silas doesn’t confirm that, but he also doesn’t try to close the door again.
The door swings wider, letting more of the cold in. I step over the threshold, boots thudding on the rubber mat, and Liam shuts the door gently behind me.
For a moment I just stand there in the little entry space, handbag hanging from my hand, heart beating a little too fast.
Then, I start toward the double door, looking around me as I walk. Hooks line one wall, jackets, and practice jerseys hanging in a row. A couple of helmets sit on a low wooden bench, a pair of spare skates tucked underneath. The air smells like cold metal, faint disinfectant, and the ghost of sweat.
When I reach the doors, I pause and glance back through the plexiglass barrier at the ice, a few feet further.
They’re moving again.
But it’s different now.
The passes still connect and the shots still hit their marks, yet some invisible thread is missing. Whatever rhythm they had before I knocked has frozen over.
Interesting. Seems like I made an impression.
