“So,” I say, desperate to maintain some semblance of normalcy, “that goal you scored in the final period was pretty impressive today. The way you faked out their defenseman?”
“You noticed that?” He sounds pleased.
“Hard not to. The whole arena went nuts.” I nudge him with my elbow. “Don’t let it go to your head, though. Your ego is big enough already.”
“It’s not ego if it’s earned,” he quips, pulling open the café door and gesturing for me to enter first. The blast of warmth and the rich aroma of chocolate and coffee envelop me immediately.
The café is everything a winter hideaway should be—soft lighting from strings of Edison bulbs hanging from exposed beams, dark wood tables polished to a warm glow, and holiday decorations that manage to be festive without crossing into tacky. A massive Christmas tree stands in one corner. It’scovered in vintage ornaments and tiny white lights. Garlands of pine and holly adorn the windows. The air smells like rich chocolate and freshly ground coffee.
“Wow,” I breathe, taking it all in.
“Told you,” Dylan says, his voice close to my ear. He’s standing right behind me, his chest nearly touching my back, and I can feel the heat radiating from him. “Table or booth?”
“Booth,” I say, spotting a cozy corner one away from the main crowd. “Definitely booth.”
He nods and leads the way, his hand coming to rest at the small of my back as he guides me through the busy café. The light pressure of his fingers through my sweater sends a jolt of awareness through me that I’m not prepared for.
“I’ll order for us,” he says once I’m seated. “The regular menu doesn’t have the special hot chocolate. You have to know to ask for it.”
“Of course you know the secret menu.” I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “Fine, impress me with your insider knowledge.”
He winks before heading to the counter. I watch him as he waits in line, the easy way he chats with the barista when it’s his turn. I can’t help but notice that several women in the café are watching him too.
Dylan has always had that effect—drawing eyes without even trying.
He returns a few minutes later with two enormous mugs topped with whipped cream, chocolate shavings, and what looks like a toasted marshmallow.
“This,” he announces, setting a mug in front of me, “is their signature Winter Wonderland hot chocolate. Dark chocolate, a hint of cinnamon, homemade marshmallow, and they torch it right before serving.”
“It looks like dessert in a mug,” I say, wrapping my hands around the warm ceramic.
“Life’s short. Start with dessert.” He slides into the booth across from me, his long legs brushing against mine under the table. “So.”
“So,” I echo, lifting the mug to my lips and taking a cautious sip. The chocolate is rich and velvety, with just enough spice to warm me from the inside out. “Oh my goodness.”
“Good, right?” His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles.
“Okay, fine, you win. It’s the best hot chocolate ever.” I take another sip, closing my eyes to savor it.
When I open them, I find Dylan watching me with an intensity that makes my heart skip. “What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.
“Nothing,” he says, but doesn’t look away. “Just ... it’s good to see you happy, Chey. After everything with Garrett.”
Garrett. Ugh.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, setting down my mug. But seeing his skeptical expression, I amend, “Getting there, anyway.Some days are better than others. But it needed to happen. We wanted different things...”
“You know you don’t have to pretend with me, right?” Dylan’s green eyes are steady, searching. “I was there when it happened, remember?”
I sigh. “It’s just ... embarrassing, honestly. The way he left me there. In front of your family. On Thanksgiving.”
“He’s the one who should be embarrassed,” Dylan says, an edge to his voice. “Not you.”
“Still.” I stare down at my hot chocolate. “I keep replaying it all, wondering what I could’ve done differently.”
“Nothing,” Dylan says firmly. “Absolutely nothing. The guy’s a jerk.”
“Says the man who ruined his expensive sweater,” I point out.
