“My, my.” He grabs the silverware I have laid out and follows me. “That’s awfully sweet of you ladies.”
He helps me set the table, and as the other girls finish cooking breakfast, the rest of the guys start to filter in, lured by the delectable smell of bacon and hot coffee. Zander walks in wearing flannel pajama pants, so exhausted that he’s struggling to pull on a T-shirt that says “REDRUM” in bloody red letters. Wilder comes in with wild hair, looking like a grumpy lion, also in flannel pajama pants and a white t-shirt. Carson stumbles in a few minutes later, looking half-asleep and bumping against the walls, until Skyler hands him a cup of coffee. He takes a sip and his eyes brighten immediately. Owen strolls in looking far more put-together than the other guys. He’s already wearing a Night Hawks hoodie and black sweatpants, smiling at the table, and casually wanders over to plant a kiss on Stacey’s cheek. He then bends down to murmur something to her belly.
“Damn, this all looks amazing,” Zander says, as we gather around the table to sit.
“Yeah, thanks girls,” Owen nods, pulling out a chair next to Stacey.
Once we’re all seated and start passing around food, we suddenly hear the front door open.
“Hello?” a familiar voice calls out.
The guys all let out whoops and cheers as they recognize the voice. Jayce walks right into the dining area, dressed in a slick black coat, his blue eyes warm and his blonde hair slicked back. His cheeks are rosy from the cold.
“Jayce!” Jensen stands, along with the other guys, and goes to greet our latecomer. “Hey, man! Glad you finally made it.”
“Hi everyone,” Jayce greets. “Sorry I’m late. That storm was a real sonofabitch.”
“We’re just glad you made it,” Zander says, slapping him on the back.
“You missed a hell of a day yesterday,” Owen tells him.
“I can’t wait to hear all about it,” Jayce grins, eyeing the table. “It looks like I got here just in time for the best part, though.”
“Come on, Jayce,” I wave him over. “Have a seat!”
The guys direct him to an empty chair next to Sutton and sit him down.
“Hey there,” he says to her, giving her a little nod.
“Hey,” she replies with a small wave, her cheeks going a little pink. I blink, watching them, and suddenly I wonder — if Wilderisn’tSutton’s type, maybe Jayce is…?
I’ll have to keep an eye on that, I think. Now that we’re finally all together, we relax and tuck into our breakfast.
The air bites at my cheeks, crisp and wild with a sharp, pine-scented chill. The girls and I are bundled together, sitting by the frozen pond Jensen brought me to last night. We’re keeping close for warmth because we all wanted to wear Night Hawks jerseys, and so we left our coats inside — though we’re actually wearing sweatshirts under the jerseys, and other than Stacey,we’re still all very cold. Even Sutton’s wearing a jersey with Jayce’s number.
“Sutt, where’d you get that?” Skyler asks, pointing to Sutton’s jersey.
Sutton smooths her hands down her front and answers, “Uhhh, I dunno. Jayce gave it to me. Said he didn’t want me to be the odd woman out and not have a jersey on.”
The corner of my mouth twitches as I fight my smile. Her cheeks are still pink, and I’m pretty sure it’s not just because of the cold.
The guys are on the ice, playing an impromptu game because I’m pretty sure they’re incapable of going more than a week without hockey.
Jensen’s in the center, stick tapping the ice, grinning so big, his whole face is lit up despite the red on his nose.
“Let’s go, boys!” he yells, and his voice echoes through the valley.
Carson’s crouched low in the makeshift net, a wool hat pulled down over his ears and a pair of mismatched gloves on. His outfit reminds me of the sort of silly getups he wore when we were growing up together, but Skyler’s groan signifies she’s less nostalgic about it.
“I told him to bring real goalie gloves,” she mutters, clutching her coffee in her hands. “I knew they’d end up doing this somehow, and I told him to be prepared. Does he listen? Of course not.”
I laugh, thinking about Carson as a kid, rushing out of the house without his shoes tied because he was in such a hurry. “Typical Carson.”
Owen’s skating backward now, smooth and confident, watching the play unfold.
Stacey nudges me, eyes sparkling. “Tell me he doesn’t look like he was born on skates.”
I grin. “You’re biased.”
