But, looking at Summer—at the tangerine bra strap peeking out from under her sweater, at the way she’s holding my cat like she belongs here—and pretending I don’t want more?
This might be the hardest one yet.
NINE
I wishI could say our first weekend of friendship was more… something?—
I don’t even know what, exactly. Justmore.
We’ve spoken exactly six times in the last two days. Short, stiff exchanges that barely qualify as conversation.
Yesterday’s total word count was twelve.
“Morning.”
“No hockey today?”
And when I mentioned I had the day off but was leaving for a road trip tomorrow, all she said was, “First day in the studio for me, too.”
Maybe it’s for the best. Except it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like shit.
So, yeah. Words are sparse, and I’m greedy for more of them.
Not that I’ll get any. The team jet leaves for New York in two hours. Five days on the road. I should be thinking about hockey.
I’mnotthinking about hockey.
I shove an extra pair of socks into my duffel bag. It’s the third “extra” I’ve added, but you can never have too many backups. The zipper rasps closed, and I glance at the clock on my nightstand. Time to go.
Out in the hall, I glance toward her bedroom. The door’s open, and I debate for all of two seconds before heading down there. The room’s empty, but I get a lungful of the citrus-sweet scent that’s been haunting me since Thursday night. I stop myself before I can breathe in any more of it.
Don’t make it weird.
In the kitchen, I set my duffel on one of the barstools, pour myself a coffee, and take a sip.
Damn, that’s good.
Same machine, same beans, same everything. I’ve made this exact coffee a thousand times. I check the packaging anyway. Nope, still the same. I take another sip and come up empty.
I need to get a grip.
Grace winds between my ankles, then trots toward the living room. I follow her, but stop short. Summer is cross-legged on the floor, back against the couch, headphones on. Her pen moves in slow loops across her notepad, hair falling forward so I can’t see her face.
She doesn’t notice me.
I should announce myself. Say something easy. Morning. Coffee’s good. Let her know she’s not alone.
Instead I stand there, utterly transfixed by the sight of her. She looks completely at home, and all I can think is:what the hell did I agree to?
She reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear, and the morning light catches in the reddish-brown strands.
I take a sip of the world’s best cup of coffee.
She looks up.
“Oh.” Her pen stops. “Hey. Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
“Don’t apologize.” I lift the mug. “This is good.”
