“Fine. Suzanne and Logan.”
Fletch makes room for me and I tentatively slide beside him.
“She’d remind him repeatedly that she’s a lady.” On my side, with my back to Fletch’s chest, I lengthen my legs along the couch, right in front of his.
“Hold on. We established that the hero in this story, Logan, is a kindly gentleman. He wouldn’t take advantage of a woman, especially not one with a gun.”
“This is the old west we’re talking about, cowboy.”
He grunts. “I’ve never met a hockey-playing cowboy. But I like the sound of that.”
I playfully whack his thigh and settle in, nudging up against him.
Fletch wraps his heavy arms around me and draws me close.
I could get used to this.
He’s sleepy now and says, “I need you.” At least, I think that’s what I hear, but his voice is muffled in my hair.
He needs me? Why me? That couldn’t have been right.
What did he say instead?
Hedeedsme—like he’s playing his cowboy role and will give me the deed to the cabin?
Hereadsme—and wants to check out one of my books?
But my mind turns mushy, my thoughts obscure as I sink into how secure it feels to have my husband’s arms around me.
I’ve never been this close to a guy before. At least, not in this way. Unlike the female main characters in my stories, I’ve never been snuggled.
Turns out, I like it.
I want it.
Does that mean I want Fletch?
Wrapped up in blankets and him, I can’t help thinking about the characters in my stories. How they always know the exact moment they fall in love, how certain they are.
Real life is messier, filled with doubt and fear and walls built from past hurts.
But for the first time in a long time, I find myself wondering if those walls might be worth climbing over.
Or knocking down.
CHAPTER 15
FLETCH
The soundof skates cutting across the ice, the guys grunting with concerted effort, and the steady hum of the cooling units fill the rink at the Ice Palace as Coach Badaszek blows his whistle.
I glide to a stop at the boards, watching as some of my teammates continue through drills.
My jaw injury is a mere memory at this point—and Bree is right, it didn’t stop me from singing—but I still haven’t caught so much as a cookie-crumb clue that Coach is going to clear me for contact.
Then doubt descends. Will I be ready? What if I’m not and I disappoint the team?
But there is a twinkle in his eye when he asks, “How was the cabin?”
