The exact moment his dreams come true.
I never pictured myself laughing, but I am now. Giggles of glee flow out of me, and tears well in my eyes. He sets me down, and I reach up and hold his face. It’s the face of a full-grown man, but I enter a weird time warp in my head where I remember perfectly how his little face would fit in my palms. My pulse rises through my temples. “Congratulations. You earned it.”
Noah’s chin trembles, and it breaks me. He’s never been a crier, even when he was little. “No, Mom, be honest. We did this together.”
The fact he would take his moment to shine in pride and acknowledge my sacrifices cracks my heart wide open, unleashing the welled-up tears. “I’m really proud of you.” I swipe at my damp cheek with the back of my hand and laugh again.
“Training camp isn’t until fall, but I’m seriously going to start training first thing in the morning.” His words come out with conviction, like he’s saying an oath. I believe him.
“You’re going to do great.” I reach out, running my hands over the sides of his cheeks again. I can’t stop looking at him.
He straightens up and says half-sheepishly, “Sorry to leave you, but I’ve got to call my friends.”
“Of course.” I nod, an ache budding in my chest as he hurries toward his phone for privacy. I get it. He needs to tell everyone, but I’m so honored I got to be the first person he told. I call after him, “Let’s celebrate tonight. We should go to Red Barn for dinner.”
“Sounds good,” he calls back, but his phone is already pressed to his ear as he disappears into his room.
With him gone, I retrieve my purse from the floor and hang the strap on the coatrack next to the door, right as my phone chimes inside. I pull it out with hesitation and read the message:
Bill: Thank you for such a lovely afternoon.
A swell of happiness rises in my chest, despite my struggle to hold it back. Every second of our time at the bridge felt magical. Maybe it was the nostalgia of my childhood, but my gut tells me it’s something more. I don’t know how, but we have a chemistry I never expected. Yet, there’s a niggling in the back of my head telling me to avoid Bill, especially now since Noah playing for Granite Ice is official. I certainly don’t want to get hurt, or screw anything up for my son.
I stare at the message, my heart feeling both swollen and hollow. I can’t just ignore him, but I won’t lead him on. This needs to end now. I type out a reply and press send before I have a chance to change my mind.
It was wonderful to have a last memory of the bridge. Noah just got off the phone with you, and he’svery honored by the opportunity, as am I. I’m looking forward to an amazing hockey season.
Hopefully, he gets the subtle hint that I don’t plan to see him outside of hockey. Today was a one-time thing because of the bridge.
My usual breakfast rush has finally thinned, leaving all my booths covered in dirty dishes and sticky syrup. Like clockwork, I work through them to reset everything. I’m wiping off the last bench when the bell chimes over the door.
Casually looking over, my heart gives a flip.
It’s Bill Baker.
“Good morning!” I’m a tad too eager as I straighten my apron and go on, “Are you here for the pancakes again? I had a feeling you’d be hooked.”
He smiles back an easy grin. “Pancakes sound great, if it’s not too much trouble.”
I gesture toward the stool where he sat the other times he was here. “Of course not. Please, have a seat.”
He straddles the stool and slips off his winter coat in one smooth motion. I stand back, farther than I normally would while taking an order, and ask, “Would you like coffee while you wait?”
“Sure, thank you.”
I retrieve my notepad and scribble a ticket for Margie: big stack of pancakes. Then I slide the slip through the window. Since my morning rush has cleared out, it’s quieter than usual,and I engage in small talk while I pour his coffee and slide it across the counter. “How’s your morning going?”
My heart pounds in my chest while I scream at myself. He’s just a guest.But then I remember the way we almost kissed, and my cheeks warm in recollection.
I don’t do that withguests.
Something soft emits from his eyes as he eases into the conversation. “It’s been good.” He reaches into his jacket pocket. “Actually, I did something, and I came because I have a gift for you.”
Completely shocked, I blink. “You didn’t need to bring anything—” But before I can finish, he produces a framed photo, about the size of a Polaroid, and places it on the counter in front of him.
I barely need to look to know what it is. It’s a photo of our bridge with perfect golden-hour light breaking through low clouds, illuminating the old beams to make them appear to be glowing. His voice softens. “I thought this might look nice on your photo wall. There’s nothing more vintage in this town than that old bridge and, well, it's the last photo we’ll ever get.”
My breath catches as I stare at it.
