“She said many things. Mostly about how I needed to trust that I raised you to make good choices. That you have her strength and my stubbornness, and that would serve you well.” He pauses with a chuckle.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until Papa pulls me into another hug.
“I saw you in that video, looking at him,” he murmurs. “You looked happy. Truly happy. That’s all I ever wanted for you.”
“Thank you, Papa,” I whisper.
I hear a sniffle from him and then he says, “On my way into town, I saw a rink set up in the square. Will you skate with your old man?”
Papa and I walk over and I tell him about the Happy Hockey Days festival. The banner and decorations are gone,but the temporary rink is still frozen. Delaney mentioned filing for a permit with the town board to host a new Valentine’s Day event called the Sweetheart Skate. Looking at the empty ice, I can picture couples holding hands and gliding around under twinkling lights.
The image makes my chest ache with longing for Lane.
Twenty minutes later, we’re both laced up. Papa’s movements are still strong and as second nature to him as walking.
We fall into our old warmup routine from when I was learning how to play hockey. Despite being called the “Danish Hammer,” he was always gentle and encouraging with me, in his way.
As Mrs. Rice said, maybe I need tonot thinkfor a moment.
Easier said than done.
What am I so afraid of?
Lane Senior’s comments echo in my mind, but I’ve always managed on my own, thank you very much, and would never be after his son’s money.
That I’ll disappoint my own father by breaking the promise that’s shaped my entire dating life? I know about the damage my parents did to their relationship. I’m not going to repeat it.
Or am I afraid of something simpler? That this could actually work out between us. That I could have the family I’ve always wanted, the love I’ve always dreamed of?
“You’re thinking too much,” my father observes as I do tentative crossovers. “I can see it in your form.”
“I have a lot to think about.”
“Like what?”
“Like ...” I take a breath. “What if Lane leaves when things get hard?”
“Have things been easy?” Papa counters.
“No.”
“And is he still here?”
I nod slowly.
“Then perhaps that’s your answer.” He skates backward effortlessly. “What else?”
“What if I’m just a small-town baker who doesn’t belong in his world?”
Papa stops and looks at me seriously. “Nina, you are your grandmother’s legacy. You run a business, you’re raising two children, you married a stranger and made it real. You belong wherever you choose to be.”
The knots unravel.
“What if I disappoint you?” I whisper.
“By being happy? By choosing love?” He shakes his head. “Impossible. I disappointed myself by trying to protect you from something that wasn’t yours to fear.”
I nod, grateful to hear this, to have something like closure.
