“Anytime, Mr. Blake,” I reply softly. “Truly. It was fun.” And surprisingly, despite the tension and the sheer awkwardness of it all, it was. Seeing Tabby’s joy. Seeinghimwith Tabby.
He nods curtly, ushering Tabby towards the kitchen door. Tabby turns back, waving frantically with her free hand. “Bye, Holly! See you next time! We’re making a castle next, right?!”
“Next time!” I promise, waving back.
Denton pauses at the doorway, his hand resting lightly on Tabby’s shoulder. He glances back into the kitchen, his gaze sweeping over the flour-dusted mayhem one last time.
And then it happens. Just for a split second. The barest hint of a curve touches his lips. It’s not a full smile. Not even close. It’s more like a reluctant softening, a crack in the granite facade.It transforms his face completely, softening the harsh angles, warming the gray eyes. It’s gone almost before I register it, replaced by his usual frown as he turns and guides Tabby out of the kitchen.
But I saw it. That tiny, almost-smile. The warmth that spreads through my chest has nothing to do with the ovens. It’s bright, unexpected, and terrifyingly hopeful. And it seems to have something to do with the grumpy fortress of a man who just walked out, leaving only the ghost of a smile and the echo of his daughter’s laughter behind.
Chapter 6
Denton
The sharp tang of sweat and disinfectant hits me the second I push through the door into the Blades’ locker room. It’s a familiar assault, a scent as ingrained in me as the feel of my skates.
After a grueling two-hour practice focused on defensive zone breakouts, my muscles are humming with fatigue, a pleasant burn that usually clears my head. Today feels different though.
I shrug off my practice jersey, the damp fabric sticking to my skin, and toss it into the overflowing laundry bin. The movement sends a waft of air past me, and that’s when I catch it again. Faint, buried under layers of sweat and rink smell but undeniably present: cookies. Sugar cookies, specifically.
Damn it.I rub a hand over my face, rough stubble scraping my palm. It’s been eighteen hours since I escaped the flour-bombed craziness of Sugar Rush. But the scent of Holly James’s bakery persists, an unwelcome, sugary ghost haunting my personal space.
“Yo, Blakey. Rough session? Or did someone steal your favorite spot in the crease?” Evan Daniels’s voice cuts through the locker room chatter, laced with his usual easygoing humor. He’s already showered, dressed in jeans and a Blades hoodie,leaning against his stall opposite mine, arms crossed. His sharp eyes miss nothing.
I grunt, avoiding his gaze as I yank open my own stall door. “Coach wanted blood today.” My voice is rougher than the ice after a third-period scrap. I focus on peeling off my sweat-soaked base layer, the fabric resisting.
“Uh-huh.” Evan pushes off the stall and takes a step closer. The locker room is emptying out, guys heading for the showers or the parking lot, leaving pockets of relative quiet. “Looked like more than that from where I was standing. You were playing like a man possessed. Or,” he pauses, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face, “like a man who spent his evening covered in sprinkles.”
My hands freeze on the waistband of my compression shorts.Shit.I keep my back to him, staring at the neat rows of clean practice jerseys hanging in my stall. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” The lie feels thick on my tongue.
Evan chuckles, low and amused. “C’mon, Den. The whole team heard Tabby chattering this morning about her ‘magic cookie lady.’ Something about a Daddy Snowflake?” He moves around so he’s in my periphery, leaning against the stall divider. His grin is pure trouble. “Were you baking cookies? In anapron? Details, man.”
Heat prickles the back of my neck. I straighten up slowly, turning to face him. Evan’s my best friend. My brother on the ice. The only one who knows the full, ugly weight of the last three years, the only one who gets away with pushing.
“It was for Tabby,” I state flatly, meeting his gaze.“She wouldn’t stop asking.”
Evan raises his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, no judgment from me. Sounds… sweet. Literally. Tabby mentioned Sugar Rush. Holly James is the owner, right?” He drags out the wordright, infusing it with a teasing lilt that makes my fingers curl into fists at my sides.
“Yep.” I think about the defiant spark in her warm brown eyes, the way she’d laughed at my suggestion of a teaspoon dispenser.Embrace the mess.Her words echo in my head. “She’s competent. With the baking.” I sound like I’m giving a scouting report on a minor league player.
“Competent,” Evan repeats. He tilts his head, studying me. “Just competent? Because the way Tabby talked this morning, she made it sound like it was the most fun she ever had.”
He leans in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially, though the nearest guys are well out of earshot. “And you? In an apron? Man, I’d pay good money for a picture. Did you at least attempt a smile? Or was it the full Blake glare the entire time?”
“I was friendly,” I snap, the defensiveness sharpening my tone. I grab a towel from my stall, needing something to do with my hands. “Just like I always am.”
“Friendly,” Evan echoes again, that infuriating grin still firmly in place. He pushes off the divider, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. He shakes his head, chuckling. “Den, my man, you are many things. A brick wall on skates. A pain in the ass for opposing forwards. But friendly to people you don’t really know? I don’t think so.”
I turn away again, tossing the towel over my shoulder and grabbing my shower kit. The plastic handle feels cool and solid in my grip. “Whatever. It was for Tabby and she enjoyed it.”
That part is undeniable. The image flashes unbidden: Tabby’s beaming face, smeared with icing and dusted with gold glitter, beaming up at Holly like she’d hung the moon. The memory hits me square in the chest.
“She enjoyed it,” Evan says, the teasing edge gone from his voice. “That’s the important part, yeah? Seeing her that happy?”
“It was crazy,” I mutter, the objection weak even to my own ears. “Crazy. Chaotic.”Everything I avoid.“But… yes. Tabby loved it.”
Evan claps a hand on my shoulder. “That’s great.” He squeezes gently. “And what about you, Captain Control? Any sparks fly? Holly James is smoking hot.”
