She told me about her interview at Hendrick’s Bar. I know it’s today, but she didn’t say what time it started.
I purchase a pie, two coffees, and walk over.
“Fancy seeing you here.”
Her head lifts, and her eyes widen slightly, not in shock, but in a soft, delighted surprise. There’s a spark of recognition and warmth behind each flutter of her lashes. And when I place the mug in front of her, her mouth curves upward in a slow, unrestrained smile, the kind that feels immediate and heartfelt.
Worth every cent.
“Chase, hey.” She closes her book and picks up her mug. A second later, she does that same shimmy I saw her do when I was at her door a few days ago.
I love that movement.
“Thank you. I was about to order another.”
“You’re welcome. Did you have the interview yet?”
She sighs. “Yep, and it was horrible.”
“I’m sorry, Bookworm. Tell me what happened.”
“He wasn’t ecstatic by the fact that I never went to college,” she says sheepishly, her head dipping. “After I moved in with the Silvers, I opted for homeschooling and started volunteering at W&B when I was fifteen. With my dad’s help, at seventeen, I was getting paid to do little bits,” she says, setting down her mug.“When the time came for college, I didn’t want to go. I knew I wanted to stay with W&B. Dad’s friends at the company took a chance on me. I was offered in-house training and professional development coaching, which eventually got me the role I have now as a marketing manager.”
“You’ve been working for the biggest publishing house in the city since you were fifteen and this bozo is worried about a missing piece of paper with some grades on it?”
Her eyes glimmer with gratitude, as if she thought I’d judge her.
“I don’t have a college degree, either. I went straight to the league at eighteen. I’ve done okay without it, and it looks like you have, too.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“Is the work incident the only reason you want to leave?”
She blows out a raspberry that has me fighting a grin.
She’s fucking adorable.
“Before that factored into my decision, new management took over. There’s been budget cuts, and it’s gotten a little toxic. I read somewhere that if you wake up wanting to come home before you’ve even left, it’s a sign it’s time to go.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“You want to quit playing hockey?” she asks quietly.
My brows pinch together.
“At Hendrick’s Bar, I overheard two guys talking about whether or not you’d be playing in the upcoming season,” she adds. “They mentioned some…people.”
My jaw locks together because I know whoever she overheard talking had most likely mentioned Jack and Elliot.
“I’m sorry.” She glances away. “I didn’t mean to upset you or pry. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”
“You didn’t Google me?”
She shakes her head. “It felt personal and not a story Google should share.”
There are plenty of articles that could have told her what happened and why my return was being questioned.
She could’ve checked. Anyone else would have.
