"Deal."
We shake on it, and the formality would be funny if my chest wasn't tight with everything I'm not saying. She walks me to the door, and we stand there awkwardly, like two people who just admitted they want each other but can't do anything about it.
"Friday's game," she says. "I'll be there. Front row. Your jersey."
"I'll look for you."
"Ryder?"
I pause, hand on the doorknob.
"For what it's worth—none of this feels fake to me either."
The admission almost breaks my resolve. I want to turn around, want to close the distance and show her exactly how not-fake this is. But she trusted me with her fear, with her honesty, and the least I can do is respect her boundaries.
"Good to know," I manage.
I make it to my cabin before allowing myself to feel the full weight of what just happened. I'm falling for Piper Meadows. The influencer with designer boots and a fear of moose. The girl who makes lists and overthinks everything. The woman who's rebuilding her life one uncertain step at a time.
And she's falling for me too.
But we're both too scared to do anything about it.
I pull out my phone and text Gage:
Me: That "simple doesn't mean easy" thing? You forgot to mention it also means impossible.
Gage: Impossible just means it's worth fighting for. Trust the process.
Through my window, I can see Piper moving around her cabin, probably making another list.
Three games left. Three chances to prove I belong in the NHL.
And maybe finding out if Piper Meadows wants a future that includes me.
I'm not sure which terrifies me more.
Chapter 11
Piper
The notification sound on my phone has become Pavlovian at this point. Every ping sends a jolt of dopamine straight to my brain, which is probably concerning from a psychological standpoint, but I'm too busy watching my analytics climb to care.
I'm curled up in my cabin's reading nook—which is really just a chair I've dragged near the window for best light for photos—scrolling through brand deal emails that started trickling in yesterday and turned into a flood overnight.
Subject: Partnership Opportunity - Arctic Outerwear
Subject: Collaboration Inquiry - Wilderness Survival Gear
Subject: Sponsored Content Request - Dating App for Outdoorsy Singles
That last one makes me snort coffee through my nose. Two weeks ago, I couldn't get a hiking boot company to return my emails. Now dating apps think I'm some kind of wilderness romance expert because I fake-dated a hockey player and went viral with a moose.
My phone buzzes with a text from my former manager, Devon, who dropped me faster than Chad did after the breakup livestream.
Devon: Saw your numbers. We should talk.
I delete it without responding. Some bridges look better burned.
