She frowns. “Terribly, at first. He was completely overwhelmed. Didn’t know the first thing about kids,let alone a Deaf child. But you know what? He rose to the occasion. Just like Lane is doing.”
That wordrisenudges me like a gentle reminder. My word for the year. Rising to challenges, being better, growing into who I’m meant to be.
Jess’s expression grows soft. “Actually, lots of the guys have dealt with sudden family situations. Redd learned he had a little sister and took custody of her and Blue—that’s their dog—when he discovered their father was in jail. Total shock, but he stepped up.”
Before I can respond, Whit appears in the doorway of her Milk Mustache food truck, parked next to us. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”
Although Whitney Reddford is also a baker and purveyor of milk and cookies, the woman is intimidating. She once ran a Fortune Five Hundred company and then left to pursue her dream, bringing her back to Cobbiton.
However, instead of being upset that we were talking about her family, she says, “Nina, you should see how Lane lights up when he talks about you and Kai. That man is head over skates in love.”
Giddiness builds inside. I want to tell her that it’s complicated, but I’m not sure that’s entirely true anymore.
Rolling out the welcome mat in front of the pale blue vintage food truck, she says, “Trust me, I’ve been around hockey players long enough to know the difference between a guy who’s playing house and a guy who’s found his home. He may not even realize it yet, but Lane is home.”
From the corner of my eye, I see darting movement behind the Milk Mustache truck, but I try to cling to her words. I want to believe that she’s right.
Shortly after, the energy is already electric as Leah officially commences the festival from the main stage, borrowedfrom the Christmas pageant. Her voice carries across the town square with delight. “Welcome, everyone, to the first annual Happy Hockey Days Festival!” Her arms are wide like she’s trying to hug the entire crowd. “Knights fans, locals, visitors, and hockey lovers from everywhere—this is your celebration!”
I can’t help but beam, watching her in her element. The woman who used to note festival ideas on napkins during her breaks at O’Neely’s Fish Bowl made it happen.
She continues, outlining the events and activities at the festival. “No matter who you root for, I want everyone to know that this weekend, hockey is hockey!”
My chest swells with pride watching her dream come to life in living color—literally, since she somehow convinced the mayor to let her string lights in every team color combo imaginable across Main Street. She found her version of happily ever after with Hudson—one of the Knights’ stars—and seeing her glow like this makes me think about my own hockey player.
Just then, I spot Lane and Kai getting off the “Cobbiton Wagon,” a trolley operated by Mr. Gormely. They walk down Main Street toward us, and my heart skips.
My husband wears jeans and a Knights sweatshirt with his jacket open over it. His hair is hidden under a knit hat on this chilly Nebraska day, but he looks settled. Happy. Like he belongs here.
Kai is bouncing with excitement, pointing at every decoration and vendor setup he sees. He rushes up to me when he sees the bakery stall, talking a mile a minute. “This is the best day ever! Lane says there’s going to be a hockey game and face painting and a real ice block igloo we can go inside and snowman building and a hot chocolate contest that he’s definitely going to win!”
“Confident, aren’t we?” I tease Lane with a bump of my hipinto his. Like chocolate in warm milk, I could melt into this man.
He presses a kiss to my temple. “Just stating facts.”
Jess and Whit exchange a look that tells me they think we’re just adorable. But my mind is hung up on the odd things going on at the bakery and the real risk of my business going under. I worry that using baking to self-soothe isn’t working, resulting in clouded vision, in not seeing things as they truly are.
Maybe I should take Bibi’s advice.Spis lige brød til—have some bread with that. I need to relax. Cut out the stress. I let out a long puff of breath from my cheeks, but it doesn’t quite relieve the pressure inside.
Shortly after sampling some Bundt cake, Lane and Kai game plan their adventures for today, leaving me to sell baked goods.
However, the kid’s proclamation that today is the best day ever was said too soon. During a rush of visitors to the baked goods booth, I hardly register what’s happening when a man wearing a thin T-shirt with a camera on his shoulder and a blond woman with a sharp nose crowd my personal space.
At first, I assume they’re reporting on the Happy Hockey Days festival, but then she asks, “Nina Bruun, is it true you’re using two children to trap Lane Sheridan Junior into marriage?”
I look around dumbly as if this question is aimed at anyone but me. How intrusive. Rude. Wrong!
However, one important detail catches up with me.
Meeting her gaze, I state a fact, “Wearemarried.”
“Then you’re after his money,” she says into her microphone, loud enough so everyone can hear.
Brow furrowed because I have no idea what this woman stands to gain by directing absurd questions my way, I shake my head. While the lesser part of me has boiling blood and wantsto give this woman a piece of my mind, I opt for the high road. At least for now.
Wearing a smile Bibi would be proud of, I say, “Would you like to have some bread with that?”
To put it another way, would you like to stuff some bread in your mouth so you stop spouting all that nonsense?
