And there she is.
Gwen.
I can’t help but smile as she spots me and walks over. She’s wearing deep green that brings out her eyes and makes her hair look darker in a way that feels unfair. The dress fits her perfectly, tracing her shape in a way that’s impossible not to notice.
Her hips sway as she walks confidently, but with a hint of uncertainty, like she’s still deciding whether she’s allowed to take up this much space.
It’s… captivating.
When she reaches the table, I stand and pull her into a quick hug.
“Hey,” I say, wrapping my arms around her. She’s warm, and she smells faintly of vanilla and something floral, softer than I expected, but just as distracting. “You look great.”
“Thanks,” Gwen says, her smile a little shy. “How are you?” she asks as she sits across from me.
“I’m good. We’ve got a game coming up, so I’m a little on edge. But… yeah, I’m good. How about you?”
She shifts slightly in her seat, and I notice the nerves immediately.
“The bakery was crazy busy today,” she says. “But my knee’s better, so I can’t complain. No evidence left of one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.” She pauses, then adds dryly, “Except for the hundreds of photos and videos, obviously.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “I don’t think it was that embarrassing. I fall on the ice all the time.”
She gives me a look, amused and unimpressed. “Yeah, but you also know how to move on the ice. And do… whatever it is you do with that puck.”
The way she says puck makes it obvious she knows next to nothing about hockey.
For some reason, I like that.
“Well,” I say, leaning back slightly, “we could fix that. We could go skating again sometime. I’ll teach you. I promise your knees will survive.”
She smiles. “We’ll see. Gravity and I have a complicated relationship.”
Before I can respond, a waitress approaches the table.
“What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a sparkling water,” Gwen says politely.
“A beer for me, please,” I add.
The waitress nods, jotting it down, when Gwen suddenly speaks again.
“Actually… can I get a beer too?”
I glance at her, surprised. “You like beer?”
She shrugs, a small laugh escaping her. “My dad always wanted a boy. So when I showed up, he just… rolled with it. Taught me everything he would’ve taught a son.” She tilts her head slightly. “This might be part of that.”
I smile. “I’m not going to lie, that’s pretty cool.”
“It is now,” she says. “Not so much when you’re the only girl in high school who knows how to throw a proper punch and shotgun a drink.”
She laughs, but there’s something under it, something quieter.
Something that still stings.
“High school for me was just classes and practice every day,” I say. “I didn’t go to any events. Didn’t even make it to prom.”
