And then my heart goes crazy when the announcer warblesCorbin Knight.
Number Fifteen flies across the ice, heading to the players’ bench, but scanning…the stands.
Looking for…me?
He is looking for me. His gaze lands on my face, and his smile is bright and confident, a man who knows what he wants.
My pulse soars to the moon as he jumps over the boards to the bench. He shuffles to the end of it, determination in his every move. When he nears the end of it, he reaches under his shirt, grabbing something. Corbin stretches his right arm toward one of the slim openings between the glass, sliding an envelope through and handing it to me.
I’m still staring at the envelope in my hands as the National Anthem finishes.
Some people in the crowd are checking me out—the woman who just got a letter from a hockey star. With my name in a neat script on the front.
But all I see is my name on this paper. Every single molecule in my body is comprised of hope. Intoxicating, beloved hope that floods my cells.
I hope it’s a love letter.
I hope it’s a new beginning.
Remy nudges me. “Open it,” she whispers.
Like that isn’t all I’ve been thinking of.
“I will,” I say, breathily, running my finger along the lilac envelope.
As the teams line up for the puck drop, with Corbin naturally on center ice, I slide a finger at last under the seal of the pretty envelope. I take out the sheet of paper.
Unfold it.
And as he battles for the puck, I read the first love letter delivered to me at a hockey game.
Well, my first love letter ever.
Dear Mabel,
I should have said this a while ago. I should have said this the other night. But I’m saying it now—please give me a second chance.
Because I love you.
I love you so much, it feels like my damn heart is beating for you every second of every day.
I love your hatred for nuts. I love your devotion to your friends. I love your obsession with colors, and pickleball outfits, and purple flowers, and baking excellence.
I love the way you stand up to me when I’m being ridiculous. I love the way you became friends with my daughter—like it was the easiest thing in the world. I love how you roped us into fostering dogs. That was brilliant and sneaky, and now I’m hooked.
I love how brave you are. Yes, you’re brave, Firecracker, and you don’t always realize it. But it was gutsy to come back to town and try again. To deal with the chess guys and the knitting ladies, not to mention Ronnie. I love the way you were determined to win the hearts (and stomachs) of Cozy Valley.
I love how you listen. How you understand. How you connect with people where they are, and most of all, with me.
Even when I’m being a stubborn, annoying perfectionist who’s afraid of fucking up.
Especially then.
I love that you wear your heart on your sleeve and you can’t hide when something excites you, like finding a jar full of love letters your grandma left behind.
I love seeing you in the morning, and seeing you in the afternoon, and seeing you at night. I love that you’re the best part of any and every day, and my favorite part of the middle of the night.
The other day, I messed up big time. I was the biggest idiot I’ve ever been. A stubborn fool who thought he was doing the right thing.
