He doesn’t sound like someone who’s run into an old friend. This is different. His tone is too excited, bordering on starstruck.
I turn back toward the van, staring at the peeling emblem on the door, and so badly wanting to pick at it. I should know everything about the man standing behind me. He filled out a profile. Did I need details like marriage status or profession? No. Those felt personal and not necessary to accomplish my job. Name, how many adults, how many kids, favorite foods, what to stock, activities they want to do while here, dates of arrival and departure, and can they afford the fees. That is all the information I need.
So why do I feel like this plumber has blindsided me?
I hear the crunch of the dirt and rocks under his shoes and the heat of his hand on my lower back as he comes closer. “Hey man, I’m trying to spend some time with my son and would appreciate the privacy. Do you think you could keep this between us?”
When I tilt my gaze up, the guy looks at me and then Daniel again before he sits back. “Sure, man. Could I trouble you for a photo and autograph, though?”
Autograph?
Oh my God. I slap my hand to my forehead as the big picture comes together. That’s why Dolly’s been acting like a fangirl. Because she is a fan. How does she know who he is, and I don’t?
Who is Daniel Sutton?
Apparently, someone famous enough to be recognized in the middle of my nowhere town of Mountain Laurel Cove by someone just looking at him.
Mortification rises like blooming dough inside my chest and forms a lump in my throat.
Daniel replies, “I’ll hook you up at the house ahead. We’ll meet you there.”
“I was dreading driving out here, but it’s my lucky day.” He pulls away, leaving us to watch as he turns off onto the driveway in the distance.
Neither of us has moved. I feel too dumb to even say anything, much less dare to look into his eyes when he knows I didn’t recognize him.
His hand slides up my back and cups my shoulder. “Summer?”
With my head hanging down, I shake it. “I feel so stupid.”
“Don’t.”
“Tell me how to make it go away, and I will.”
Coming around to the front of me, he lifts my chin until our eyes meet. “I liked that you didn’t know who I was. You treated me . . . like me, like someone normal instead of a celebrity.”
“I don’t know what you’re famous for. I just feel so foolish, like the wool was pulled over my eyes and now the truth has been revealed, leaving me a laughingstock?—”
“The truth is revealed, but if it makes any sense, I wish it hadn’t been. It felt good to get to know you without my world being a part of it or having an opinion on my love life.” He walks ontothe road and stops with his hands grasped behind his head. “I hope this doesn’t change anything between us.”
“It changes everything. I don’t know anything about the real you?—”
“This is the real me, Summer. I’m still the same Daniel standing in front of you.” His eyes search mine with a plea pulling his brows together.
A horn honks in the distance, causing us both to look in the direction of the cottage. I take a breath. “I can’t keep him waiting. I need to take care of this.”
“Promise me we’ll talk when he’s gone.”
“What is there to talk about? You’re some famous . . .” I throw my arms up in the air. “I don’t even know why or how you’re famous. That’s how messed up this is. It feels crappy to be the butt of this joke.” I start walking because the anxiety of keeping the plumber waiting is building.
I don’t get ten feet from him before he says, “Daniel Sutton. Thirty-five. Dad of Roman.” My breath catches, causing me to stop. I don’t turn back. I can’t, or my emotions will get the best of me. “Professional hockey player for the Brooklyn Breakaways. I play right wing. I live in Manhattan in a penthouse because I thought that would make me feel important. I hate it. I hate being so isolated from the world. I travel too much and go home or to the hotel alone. Most nights. I’ve never been in a serious relationship because all I care about is my career, which is currently on the verge of being ripped out from under me if I don’t fix some shit about my life.”
My heart pounds in my ears, competing with his words. I finally turn around, angling my head to the right as I stare at him. “You don’t owe me anything, Daniel.”
“I want to fill in the blanks, so you know exactly who Iam.” He says, “Hockey used to be everything that mattered to me. That changed when Roman was born. But it’s a lonely fucking existence to only see your kid occasionally or in the stands and for two minutes after a match in the locker room before the press swarms in for a quote they need for their story on the nightly news.”
He just laid his entire life for me to study, analyze, judge if I want to, or soak in and accept him for who he is. “So the whole world knows who you are except for me?”
“Seems so.” His half-hearted smirk has my tummy doing flips. Why does he have to be so cute?
