My eyes remain locked on Cole’s, trying to figure out exactly what he meant by that previous statement until the very last minute.
“Surprise,” Mom cries as she throws the door open.
“Freya,” Dad sings, but before he has a chance to say anything else or even step into the room, his eyes land on Cole, and they almost bug out of his head. “Cole Hansley is in my kitchen. He’s…” Dad shakes his head and rushes toward Cole with his hand stretched out.
“Happy birthday, sir,” Cole greets, shaking his hand.
“You’re really standing in my kitchen,” Dad states, making us all laugh as he practically shakes Cole’s arm free from his shoulder. “Best birthday gift ever. Sorry, love,” he says, unable to take his eyes off Cole. “Those socks you bought me have been downgraded.”
“Dinner will be ten minutes,” I announce. “There are chips and dip on the table, and we’ve made a jug of virgin margaritas.”
“Freya,” Dad says again, as if remembering that I’m also standing here. “Wow, this all looks incredible. Thank you,” he says, pulling me into a tight hug. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome, Dad,” I say, more than aware that he’s referring to bringing Cole rather than the food I’ve cooked.
“That game the other night,” Dad starts the instant he’s released me.
Cole chuckles, glances at me, and then follows Dad to the table and takes a seat.
“I think we made him very happy,” Mom says with a wide smile.
“Honestly, Mom. I’m not sure we have anything to do with that,” I tease.
“Well, I invited him and you ensured he came,” she points out.
“Do you think we should go out and leave them to it?”
“And miss your father fanboying over that man all night? Not a chance.”
Mom helps me serve up the food as Dad and Cole get lost in hockey talk. Most of it still goes over my head, but I pick up on a lot more than I used to.
The season is about to end, and the Vipers are headed straight to the playoffs. They’ve still got a lot of hard work ahead of them. And my job is going to become even more important. Cole is going to need a well-planned and nutritious diet to help with performance and staying healthy. It isn’t just him feeling the pressure as the season comes to a close; it’s me as well.
But we’ve got this. If I’ve learned anything in my time with Cole, it’s that I’m capable. That’s something I never would have said about myself a year ago. Hell, even six months ago I was lost and felt like I’d never achieve anything again.
“I love seeing you so happy,” Mom whispers as Dad and Cole’s laughter bounces off the walls around us.
“I love being happy,” I say, unable to wipe the smile off my face.
“Come on, let’s eat.”
I made more food than we were able to fit on the table, but as the next hour passes, we all eat our weight in Mexican and Mom makes a second pitcher of margs. We chat and laugh as if we’ve done this a million times before, and I swear, every time I turn to look at Cole, he’s already gazing at me.
As the time ticks on, the thought of climbing back into the car with him and heading home has my stomach rioting with butterflies. Something has shifted again tonight. I don’t know if it’s being here, or spending time with my parents or what, but his eye contact is even more intense than usual. And I’d put money on the fact that his chair is closer to mine than it was at the beginning of the evening.
“Wow, it’s getting late,” Mom points out after looking at her watch.
“We’re not leaving until we’ve helped clean up,” Cole states, making my heart soar. He’s such a sweetheart.
“Stay,” Dad suddenly says. “It’s late, and it’s a long drive back.”
“Oh, no, we can’t do that. Cole needs to be back for work in the morning.”
“I could go straight to work from here,” Cole offers, shocking the hell out of me. “Your dad is right; it’s late.”
Dad beams.
“We don’t have a guest room,” Mom points out. “We turned it into my craft room,” she explains to Cole. “I just love it. I could spend hours locked away in there, fiddling around.”
