I can't hold in my laughter as he dramatically sings the words I know so well just inches from my face. Drew smiles, breaking character completely, and I almost cut him off with my mouth, endorphins rushing through me like I'm actually on stage.
But I don't want to stop whatever's happening here.
As the hook begins, he moves back to center ice where the other two boys join him again. I look over my shoulder at Alex, who is staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed, her phone in front of her face as she watches through the screen.
I turn back around just in time for the chorus—and air guitar—to start. All three boys belt out the words, Petrov's low grumble the perfect anchor to whatever stage voice Brett seems to be using. The group of professional hockey players in front of me, swing their arms over their sticks—complete garage band style—and Drew melts me with his piercing eye contact and flirty grin.
He sings the lyrics like a question—asking whether or not I'd stand by him despite his imperfections. If I'd take the risk on us even though it might be safer just to walk away. His performance is pure comedy—full of off-key harmonies and grown men dancing on ice—but tears still sting my eyes. I don't know if he chose this song because it's fast-paced or we both like it. Or if the lyrics mean as much to him as they do to me. But I picked it for his playlist becausehe'sall I think about when I hear it.
And now I'm reminded of why.
Drew has a lot going on. And no, he hasn't always made the right choices. But he's filled with so much good—so much kindness and quiet empathy—that he's hidden all these years behind an image that he has had to maintain. But if you know him, you see it right away.
You feel it when he's with you.
Or at least I do.
He's taught me that we're all navigating how we want life to unfold. That it doesn't matter if you're twenty-five or thirty-one, sometimes it's not about knowing what you want. It's about going after something real. I thought because he was younger than me, that there was no possible way that he'd be ready to settle down. But what I didn't consider was that readiness doesn’t come with age—it comes with intention. And Drew, with all his chaos and charm, is intentional with me. With the way he looks at me, the way he listens.
The way he lets me in.
I used to believe that settling down meant having all the answers—a steady job, a stable relationship, a five-year plan. And all of that felt so big—so possible to fail at. But Drew Anderson, Mr. Showman himself, has proven to me that it’s not about perfection or appearances. It's about what's on the inside—whether or not you let your heart grow roots.
It turns out there's no age requirement for the real thing. No perfect timeline or magic moment for finding someone who makes you feel seen for the first time. Love isn't about a number or a date or a checklist. It's about being there—showing up. And in the middle of this rink side concert with hockey player rockstars, I'm even more sure—that's exactly what Drew does for me.
As the second verse starts, he comes back to me, smiling as he pants and tossing his stick behind the boards.
"You're insane," I yell over the music.
Drew laughs, glancing back at the boys who are skating toward the side wall. "Insane… ly talented?" he asks, his dimple making its usual appearance.
"Something like that," I chuckle. He presses his lips together, puffing air through his nose as he grins, and all of him—all ofthis—overwhelms me. "Insanely easy tofall in love with."
Drew's eyes double in size, his grin blooming into a full-blown smile. He looks like he might speak, but instead, he dives into me and kisses me hard—saying nothing and everything all at once.
"I like the song choice," I say when he pulls back.
He winks at me, tucking a hair behind my ear. "Angsty shit."
I nod, the lingering weight of this moment settling into the space between us. "So, was this just a fantasy you've always had with the boys or… ?"
Drew tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. "Not quite."
"So, what then? A joke? A dare?"
Suddenly, he pauses. "How did you get in here?"
Confusion washes over me as I reach into my pocket and pull out the folded paper. "Max told me the door was propped. This was shoved in the frame."
Drew looks at the square in my hand and tilts his chin up toward it. "Open it," he says.
I hesitate, but his face is serious, so I do as he says and unfold it crease by crease. The small cube expands to a full sheet of paper, words scribbled across the center. I peer up at Drew, who raises his eyebrows, encouraging me to read it.
So I do.
Brooke,
You've always been my mystery girl,
