The locker room after practice smelled like sweat and old equipment. Mac showered quickly, his mind already racing ahead to the library. He pulled on jeans and his favorite green henley, the one Ellie had once said brought out his eyes, and ran a hand through his damp sandy hair.
Jamie emerged from the equipment room, where he'd been organizing hockey sticks with the kind of meticulous attention usually reserved for museum curators. His obsession with equipment management was legendary; every stick sorted by player, flex rating, and curve pattern. Mac was pretty sure Jamie knew more about the team's gear than he knew about actual people.
"You need a pep talk?" Jamie asked, leaning against the lockers.
"I need to not vomit."
"That's the spirit." Jamie grinned. "Okay, here's what you do.Walk in. Make eye contact. Give her flowers. Tell her she's beautiful—"
"I can't just say she's beautiful!"
"Why not?"
"It's too forward!"
"It's a compliment!"
Cole intervened, still toweling off his hair. "Mac, ignore Jamie. Here's what you actually do: be yourself. The real you. Not some smooth-talking version you think women want. Rachel will appreciate genuine over practiced."
"What if genuine is rambling and awkward?"
"Then ramble and be awkward. If she likes you, she'll find it endearing." Cole pulled on his shirt. "RELAX."
Mac looked at his phone. 11:30 AM. The library opened at noon. He had thirty minutes.
"I need flowers."
"Sophie's Café has flowers," Luke offered, appearing from the showers with his usual impeccable timing. "Good ones. She always has fresh bouquets by the register."
"Right. Flowers. A bunch! I can do this." Mac grabbed his jacket and truck keys from his locker.
Jamie tossed him a stick of gum. "For fresh breath. You've got this, MacKenzie."
"And if you don't," Luke added cheerfully, "we'll help you plan your next attempt!"
"Not helping, Luke," Cole called as Mac headed for the door.
Mac took a deep breath of cold March air and headed to his truck. He could do this. He was twenty-six years old, a professional athlete, a functioning adult. Asking a woman out shouldn't be this terrifying.
And yet.
2
Mac
Sophie's Café sat on the corner of Main Street and Oak, warm light spilling from its windows despite the overcast March morning. Mac pushed open the door, and the scent of fresh coffee and baked goods immediately wrapped around him like a hug.
Sophie Parker stood behind the counter, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, moving with the grace of someone who'd been running this café for five years. She looked up when Mac entered, and her face broke into a knowing smile.
"MacKenzie!" She set down the espresso cup she'd been wiping. "What brings you in? Coffee? Your usual blueberry muffin?"
"Flowers, actually. You have flowers, right?"
"I do." Sophie gestured to the small cooler near the register where she kept fresh bouquets. Her smile widened. "Special occasion?"
"I'm asking someone out."
"Finally! Rachel Morrison?"
