“Shut up.” I laughed, sinking back into my seat.
But Connor was right. I was here for Walker, for the man who skated with grace and smiled at me like I’d just given him the world. And maybe, I thought, as the game resumed, I really was becoming a hockey fan. Or at least a Walker Hannan fan, and honestly, that felt pretty amazing.
After the game, I dropped Connor at home, drove to what I called our café, and sat in the car wrapped up like a burrito inmy thickest coat. Walker arrived half an hour later, still radiating excitement from the win, his eyes sparkling when he knocked on my window. Embarrassingly, I was out of the car so fast I nearly fell on my ass. Not a good start when he tugged me close to stop me from falling. We hugged and, as if I suffered from word vomit, I blurted as soon as he stood back.
“You were amazing out there,” I said, unable to keep the admiration from my voice. “The way you took that puck and got a goal, and the way you did that thing with the knock from your hand and the spin, and the bit when you slid on the wall, and oh my God, when you pushed that big guy into the boards, that was so freaking sexy.”
Walker laughed softly, ducking his head modestly. “Just doing my job. Glad you enjoyed it.”
“It was just… yeah… ”
He gestured to the coffee shop. “Shall we?” We stepped inside together, the bell above the door chiming softly. The café was warm and scented with coffee and fresh pastries. We placed our order and then settled into our usual corner booth, comfortable and private, away from the noise and bustle of the busy counter. It felt weird that it was just the two of us. I even missed the other guys for a moment until Walker tapped my shin with his foot, and I realized how freaking awesome it was to be here alone with Walker.
He leaned back and relaxed, his smile softer and more intimate now. “If you keep coming to games, you’ll know more about hockey than me.”
I chuckled. “Pretty sure that’s impossible. But I admit, it’s grown on me.”
“Only the hockey?” Walker asked, eyebrow raised and smirking.
My cheeks warmed again. “Okay. Maybe not only hockey.”
He reached across the table, his fingertips brushing lightly against mine and sending a gentle thrill through me. “I’m glad.”
We talked effortlessly about everything and nothing: funny stories from my classroom, Walker’s anecdotes about his teammates, and plans for the weekend. Each conversation deepened the comfortable ease between us, each laugh bringing us closer. When we left the café, the night had grown even colder, our breath fogging the air. Walker walked me to my car, pausing under the gentle glow of the streetlamp. His eyes met mine, soft, questioning, and I nodded silently, heart thumping as he leaned in to gently brush his lips against mine. A tender, lingering kiss filled with warmth and promise.
When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine, vulnerable yet hopeful. “See you soon?”
“Absolutely,” I whispered, feeling like the luckiest man alive.
“I’ll message you.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
The following school week dragged by, weighed down by endless meetings and the constant worry about Jamie’s situation. Every afternoon, a small knot of tension tightened in my stomach as dismissal approached, and the fear of seeing Jamie’s father again lingered in my mind. The one bright spot away from all that was the messaging with Walker, stupid jokes, hockey things, and stories about the guys from the art group.
My phone buzzed, interrupting my thoughts, and I smiled when I saw Walker’s name on the screen. A quick tap opened the text thread.
Walker: You will NOT believe what Arnaud did to Bob today.
Finn: Oh god, what now?
Walker: Swapped out Bob’s shampoo for some glittery unicorn kid stuff. Bob didn’t notice until he’d lathered it up.
I laughed, imagining Bob’s reaction.
Finn: Please tell me you got pictures.
Walker: Better. Video. Bob went nuclear. Glitter everywhere.
Finn: Poor Bob. I know what glitter is like after the Christmas play. He’ll be sparkling for weeks.
Walker: He’s so pissed. Arnaud might be sleeping in his pads tonight.
Finn: Tell Arnaud I admire his bravery. Or insanity. Either works.
Walker: Pretty sure it’s insanity.
Grinning, I set the phone down and went back to organizing art supplies and tidying up. I didn’t realize how late I’d stayed but a volunteer donation of one hundred fifty sets of kid-friendly paints wasn’t something I was going to leave in boxes. When I left the hallway, most teachers had already gone home. When I finally entered the empty parking lot, it was dark beyond the parking area, and I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. Just inside the glow of light was Jamie’s father, leaning against my car with a tense posture and a look of simmering anger.
