I feel Bree tense beside me, though her expression remains neutral. An overwhelming desire to protect her builds inside.
“Actually,” I say, slowly taking my wife’s hand, “what I notice most when we’re together is how everyone gravitates toward her. She has a quiet magnetism that draws people in. That’s what made her so successful at the college newspaper. She was a star, illuminating dim places. Now, she translates that onto the page, captivating her readers. I’m just the lucky guy who gets to be in her glow.”
Bree’s surprised gaze meets mine, a flush of color spreading across her cheeks.
Monique’s eyebrows lift slightly. “Fascinating. I learn something new every day.”
I grunt. From what I’ve gathered, maybe Monique would know about her daughter if she ever bothered to look past her own nose.
By the time we leave, I’ve managed to charm Bree’s mother into showing me a family photo album. It’s abundantly apparent that the sweet little girl who became a beautiful woman was the only bright spot in that household. As we walk to the car, Bree seems both relieved and puzzled.
“My mother actually liked you,” she says, sounding bewildered.
“Is that so surprising?” Though I admit, at times I would’ve rather given Monique a piece of my mind.
“She tends to look at people in terms of what she can gain.”
“That wasn’t lost on me. Being in the NHL, I’ve run across plenty of people like that.”
“She seemed to enjoy your company, a rarity.”
“Are you saying that you don’t?”
She cuts a glance at me as if she’s undecided, but that’s better than a solid no.
“Maybe I’ve grown up and am not quite the college jokester you remember.” I silently laugh to myself. I very much am—ask any of the guys on the team, but I don’t intend to play with Bree’s emotions. Seems like she’s had a hard enough time with her parents.
I hold the truck’s door open for her.
She looks at me, and the late-afternoon light frames her features in such a way that illuminates the glow I mentioned earlier, sending a rush of desire through me that’s so strong I might have to rethink just how deep attraction can run, because I’ve never felt quite this way before.
Snapping me out of my thoughts, Bree says, “Now everyone is going to know.”
“The mayor already broadcast Cobbiton’s ‘power couple’, which means?—”
“I’m more concerned about my mother and Mrs. Gormely.”
“So?” I ask, wanting her to tell me why the opinions of snooty town gossips would bother her. My job has taught me to ignore the haters.
She turns to face me. “Because it’s not about love.”
I arch an eyebrow. “So you do believe in the stuff.”
“Love?” She swallows as if not sure how to answer or is afraid of what’ll happen if she does.
This seems like it could turn into an interesting conversation. One I would very much like to have with Bree—my wife. I get in the truck and ask, “Coffee?”
“Sure. We should talk about the toy drive.”
And love.
The new Coffee Loft franchise offersnumerous festively warm, caffeinated beverages on its chalkboard sign. I get a seasonal latte and Bree sticks with black tea.
We claim a corner table and I review the email Mayor Nishimura’s office sent. Bree is all business now, focused and efficient as we outline a plan for collecting and distributing the toys.
“We should set up collection points at the ice rink and the library. Some of the other businesses with space available like the bakery, too.” She looks around as if evaluating a spot here as well.
I watch her as she speaks, struck by the animation on her face and the quick movements of her hands as she takes notes. This Bree—invested and engaged—is yet another facet of the complex woman I’m beginning to know. Warmth unfurls in my chest like I’m streaking toward a goal with the defense riding me, but there’s no stopping, even though I know I’m dangerously close to losing the puck. Nothing like living on the edge—of my skates or life.
