“I think I will be in trouble if I tell you that the pumpkin pie is calling my name.”
He grins then walks away, and I mosey to the dessert table in the corner. The options are endless, but the pecan pie actually takes the win.
“You can eat it but be prepared for the shot of bourbon inside because someone got excited about it when baking,” Connor, my team captain, warns me as he grabs a small plate. He mentioned the other day on the plane that he, his wife, and their twins always spend it with his family.
“Thanks for the heads-up. Might be good to really wake me up.”
He blows out a breath. “Tell me about it. Getting back late then having the twins eager to start the day at six is a little brutal.”
Sometimes I think about the whole wife-and-family life. It’s not that it isn’t appealing, it’s just that I have no space or time in my life for it. The players have games and practice, maybe a few endorsement deals. A coach? We have games, practice, watching videos, team meetings, general manager meetings, and the list goes on.
Using the pie cutter, I attempt to pull off a piece of the pie but stop mid-slice when I notice Gracie walk into the room.
Throw ice on me.
The pine-green turtleneck sweater she’s wearing covers up fuck all in my mind. I still envision every curve underneath or the way her tongue licks my skin. Also, I wasn’t expecting her here, and my body needs a minute to adjust.
She spots me by accident, and her eyes blaze in slightrecognition.
“Okay, a slice of apple and that’s it. There is fruit somewhere in this thing, and I don’t need the girls hyped up on more sugar,” I hear Connor say, and in the corner of my eye, he walks away.
Gracie takes a deep breath and quickly searches the room to see if anyone has noticed her. Slowly, she ambles my way to land right in front of the table. She doesn’t look at me when she arrives, instead taking an unsteady breath and pretending to study the options.
“Hi,” she says faintly.
“Hi.” I give up on the pie and turn to face her, even if our eyes don’t meet. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“We always stop by on Thanksgiving. All of my dad’s friends are here, actually.” She glances over her shoulder as if to check that nobody is watching.
A heavy pause lingers in the air. Small talk is probably the way to go. “Want a piece of pie? I hear there is an overload of alcohol in the pecan.”
I notice the way her body stiffens, and she seems to swallow as if she needs to balance herself. “Oh gosh no, the mere thought of pie in any shape or form makes me want to gag.”
Creases appear on my forehead. “Why?
She blows out a breath. “Because the plate of food that I nibbled on in the kitchen tasted rancid.”
“Really? I thought all of the food here was pretty good. Gourmet, even.”
She presses her fingertips against her lips. “Was it? Maybe it’s my tastebuds or something. I’ve been fighting a stomach virus all week. Half of the people coming into the boutique are sick and spreading germs.” Finally, she lifts her gaze and shifts her shoulder, meaning her body is angled to me for our eyes to meet.
It’s electric. Instantly, we are tied together purely by our sight.
Gracie is still gorgeous, but I would be lying if I said I could ignore the dark circles under her eyes that she attempted to cover up. “Tired too?”
The line of her pressed lips stretches a tad. “Totally. What gave it away? I must look like a zombie.”
“I know the feeling. Whoever from the league planned our team schedule should be given a penalty.”
She chuckles under her breath. “At least, you’ve had a few good games.”
I’m slightly surprised and impressed. “You’ve been watching again?”
She shrugs one shoulder, and her smile is nuanced. “Hockey can be interesting. Besides, there is this new coach that I hear is an ass, but he looks good in a suit, so…”
Licking my lips, I enjoy her saying that. “Lucky him.”
Her lips roll in and cheeks tighten because she seems entertained. “He was once.”
