Because in Alexandria, fall doesn’t just mean a change in season.
It means hockey is coming back.
Which is fitting considering I’m currently standing in front of twenty-three professional hockey players who are staring at me like I came in—on purpose—to ruin their afternoon.
“Okay,” I say gleefully, clapping my hands to get their attention. “Who here has worked with metal stamping before?”
Silence. Absolute silence, then Owen slowly raises his hand halfway.
“Oh, good.”
He frowns. “No, I’m raising my hand because I don’t understand what I’m supposed to be doing.”
Laughter breaks out around the tables.
“I thought you said this was arts and crafts,” Liam says from the back of the room. “Nobody said anything about tools.”
“It’s bonding, which could be arts and crafts, but isn’t,” I argue.
Campbell leans back in his chair. “There’s a hammer involved.”
“Yes, but surely you can handle swinging one of those considering you run around on ice swinging a stick in the air?”
That earns me another round of laughter.
Honestly, this has become one of my favorite sounds in the world. Groups of grown ups, like hockey players, pretending they don’t want to participate in something while secretly getting aggressively invested in it five minutes later.
Ten workshops ago, I was starting with Emma and her team. Now? Now I stand in community rooms, executive board rooms, and youth centers with a travel case full of jewelry supplies and somehow feel like what I’m doing matters more. I know what I’m adding to the world is useful, and you know what? It makes me happy.
My grandmother keeps saying this is what happens when passion finally catches up to where you belong. I told her that it sounded suspiciously like something you’d find embroidered on a throw pillow. She told me to hush and handed me another box of jump rings.
“Okay, listen up,” I say, lifting the metal stamping tool. “You’re each stamping one word onto your tag today. One word you want to carry into the season.”
“Can mine be nap?” Sawyer asks.
“No.”
“Can mine be revenge?” Campbell offers.
“Concerning, but also no.”
“Can mine be carbs?” Owen asks.
“That one at least feels honest.”
Ty laughs quietly from the far end of the table, and even now—months into this relationship—the sound still finds me instantly.
My gaze flicks toward him before I can stop it. I still think that this man in the dark blue Dominion hoodie should honestly come with a warning label. Especially now.
Especially after Canada.
The trip for Emma’s wedding somehow shifted everything between us again, but in the best way possible. Maybe because seeing Ty with his family explained so much about him. The warmth. The loyalty. The way he made sure everyone around him is okay before he lets himself relax. Also, thankfully, for all concerned, there were no ring incidents.
I smile to myself and look back toward the room.
“And before anyone asks,” I continue, “no, your word cannot be puck.”
A hand lifts immediately.
