She laughs. “That’s one word for it.”
“And I’m Mia,” another woman adds, sliding into the row behind us. “Welcome to the party.”
“Thanks,” I say, finally remembering my manners. “This is Paige and Nancy. They’re here so I don’t have to figure this place out alone.”
Paige’s eyes light up. Nancy nudges me.
I wait for the question.
What are you to him?
How do you know Colby?
Is this serious?
It never comes.
Instead, Annabelle gestures to the ice. “You picked a good night. They should beat the Blue Jackets.”
Mia nods. “And if they’re not on their top game, we pretend they are until further notice.”
I blink.
“That’s… very generous of you.”
Annabelle shrugs. “It’s a learned skill.”
Somehow I start to relax.
This isn’t what I expected.
There’s no sizing up. No territorial edge. No subtle assessment of whether I belong here.
They just… make room.
Mia laughs softly. “They’re fun to watch,” she says, nodding toward the ice. “My husband’s the goalie, so I’ve learned early to enjoy the nail-biting moments or lose my mind.”
Annabelle smiles, a little wry. “I work in the executive offices. My dad owns the team,” she adds, like it’s no big deal. “And last year, when I really wasn’t expecting it, Bryce and I kind of fell into each other.” She shrugs. “Long story. Definitely a later conversation.”
The lights dim. The music shifts. The players spill onto the ice.
And there he is.
Colby Hayes doesn’t announce himself.
He doesn’t perform for the crowd or throw his weight around for attention.
He just skates.
Efficient. Controlled. Like the ice already knows him.
“Who’s that?” Paige asks, leaning forward.
I don’t answer right away.
Because I’m watching how the team orients toward him.
How they glance his way without thinking. How a younger player adjusts his position the second Colby lifts his stick.
