I tap my watch. “You might as well stay when we get to my place because everyone else will be there soon.”
He gives me a sheepish grin. “That was kind of my plan.”
A low growl slips through my lips. “I should have asked Bree to run me home or one of the other guys.”
Barbier hesitates, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “It was Bree’s plan, too.”
Bree? Why would she want to keep me out of the apartment all afternoon? “What are you talking about?”
He turns onto the street leading to my place. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Evasive much.” Whatever this mystery is, I’m not a fan. I’ve never liked surprises, not really. I prefer to know what I’m walking into so I can at least prepare like when I’m in the crease. I can read the players, predict their moves, and anticipate what’s coming. That patch of blue is my territory, and I know how to run interference.
Yet here I am, blind to whatever plan Bree’s hatched.
When we finally—and I mean finally—reach my place, I’m in no mood for small talk when I walk in the door. I want a shower and a few minutes to myself before the place fills up with noise and chaos. Don’t get me wrong, I love these guys like they’re my brothers, which they are when you consider how much time we spend together on and off the ice.
But I need a hot shower to help my aching muscles and to relax my unsettled nerves. Things will get better once I’m back in the crease. I just have to ride this out until then.
As I walk inside, the sweet scent of chocolate chip cookies slaps me in the face like a much-needed douse of cold water. Bree’s hunched in front of the oven, staring through the glass window as if her life depended on it.
When she straightens and notices Barbier and me watching her, she startles in a way that’s so frigging cute; it makes me clench inside.
“Oh, I didn’t hear you come in.” A smile grows on her face as she grabs a plate from the counter and approaches us. “Fresh out of the oven. Care to try one?”
She’s smiling, but her eyes hold clear trepidation.
I pick one up and take a bite. Warm chocolate bathes my tongue and mixes with bits of crisp cookie as I chew. The entire sensation transports me home, back to my grandmother’s kitchen.
“Is this Nana’s recipe?” I drag my gaze from plotting my next mouthful to Bree’s expectant face.
She nods. “I had to bribe her to give it to me.”
I’m convinced my nana was a hostage negotiator in another life. Or ran her own country. “Did she require you to name your firstborn after her?”
“Something like that.” Bree giggles.
Barbier grabs one and shoves the entire thing in his mouth instead of savoring it like Nana’s cookies deserve. “Wow, these are delicious,” he says in a spray of crumbs.
Bree pulls the plate out of his trajectory. “No sharing, thank you very much.”
I close my eyes with the next bite and lose myself in the nostalgia it brings. The aromas filling the kitchen at the ranch, the sound of Nana singing some tune to herself while she shuffled trays of fresh-baked cookies from the oven with the next batch, and Bree and me sitting at the small dinette set, dunking them in tall glasses of milk.
The realization that Bree did this for me hits me square in the chest and expands into a warm, fuzzy feeling. I’m like the Grinch when he realizes the true meaning of Christmas. “Thank you, Bree-bear.”
When I open my eyes and look at her, I swear I see tears in hers. I take the plate, put it on the counter, and pull her into a hug. “Don’t tell Nana, but I think you make them as good as she does.”
“Bree-bear?” Barbier flashes a cocky grin.
I grab the collar of his shirt, then twist my fist, yanking him to me. “Don’t even go there.”
He bobs his head up and down like a scared rabbit. “Sure thing, Cowboy.”
After a few seconds more of staring him down so he knows I’m dead serious, I let him go. He stumbles away, tossing a wary glance over his shoulder.
Bree shoots me a pointed look. “Be nice.”
I hold my hands out to my sides. “I was. He can still talk.”
