“You know too much.”
Chloe laughs again, stumbling as the street slopes gently downward. I reach for her elbow, steadying her, and she stills, her laughter settling into a smile. My pulse rushes.Zero business, Brody. Get ahold of yourself.
I step back, clearing my throat before gesturing onward.
“What about you?” I ask. “Where are you from?”
“Minnesota, actually. Small town you’ve never heard of.”
“Try me.”
She names a town that I absolutely have heard of—we played a charity game there two years ago—but I keep my face neutral.
“You’re right, never heard of it.”
“See? Nobody has. It’s the kind of place where everyone knows everyone.” She pauses. “What about you? What was it like growing up in North Dakota? Besides cold.”
“Quiet. A lot of space to think.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “Spent a lot of hours shooting pucks in the hockey net in my parents’ driveway.”
“Did you play in school?”
“For a while. It was something to do.” All technically true, just…edited. “What about you? Any sports?”
“Ohno. I’m what you call athletics intolerant. Trust me, you don’t want me going anywhere near a sporting event. I’ll curse the whole thing.”
I chuckle, trying to imagine this girl on the ice with me.
We’re quiet for a moment, just walking. The street is emptying out as people head indoors for dinner.
“So, your sister’s marrying a hockey player?” I ask.
She pulls in a breath. “Yeah. Derek something. I really need to remember his last name.” She laughs. “My parents areecstatic. They’re huge hockey fans. Growing up, they dragged me and my sister to every game—my brother’s high school games, college games, you name it. I spent a good chunk of my youth fighting off frostbite from the stands.”
“So…not a fan, then?”
“Not even a little bit. I mean, I get that people love it, but to me it’s just…” She shrugs. “It’s never been my thing. And honestly, most of the hockey players I’ve met through my sister are exactly what you’d expect. Big egos, lots of swagger.”
My stomach tightens. “Maybe they’re just confident.”
“There’s a line between confident and arrogant.” She glances at me, her eyes going wide. “Oh no, you’re not a hockey guy, are you? Shoot—I feel bad.”
“No, you’re good.” I answered that maybe a little too quickly.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she breathes.
We round another corner, and suddenly the Sagrada Família towers above us—all organic curves and soaring spires.
Chloe stops dead.
“Wow.”
Wow is right. The warm sun kisses her cheeks, highlighting those freckles, and I know—I know—I’m staring, but…this girl. She is completely herself. Completely unselfconscious, her gaze taking it all in greedily.
When was the last time I got excited about anything?
I can’t remember.
She’s still staring up, her eyes tracing each line as though she means to memorize it. “It’s wild to think Gaudí knew he’d never see it finished.”
