Without Ty’s presence, the room feels different. Which is ridiculous. It was a ten-minute conversation. A ring pickup. A photo. That’s it. Yet somehow he’s left it lighter than it was when he arrived.
“But, that wasn’t so bad,” I murmur, mostly to myself.
“Excuse me?”
I blink, turning back to the customer like I haven’t just been standing here mentally rewinding the last ten minutes.
“Sorry,” I say quickly, slipping into my usual position behind the counter. “What can I help you with?”
She launches into something about an anniversary, a redesign, a stone she’s not sure about. I nod in all the rightplaces, reaching for a tray, asking questions I’ve asked a hundred times before. But my brain. My brain is still somewhere near the front door. Still stuck on the way he laughed. Still stuck on the moment he looked at my old engagement ring and asked what the story was.
I pick up a pen, jotting down notes I will absolutely have to re-read later.
“—and I just want it to feel like us,” the customer says. “Like love and loyalty, and our happily ever after all rolled up into one.”
“Yes, I hear you,” I reply automatically. “That’s the most important part. We’re here for your happily ever after.”
Because it is. And we are.
That’s what we do here.
CHAPTER 12
TY
Imove along the boards, tracking the drill Emma set up, trying to look like I belong here. Like I know what I’m doing. Like I’m not just a guy who got voluntold into helping out and is now hoping none of these girls notice he’s half a step behind at all times.
“Heads up,” I call, tapping my stick lightly against the ice as one of them corrals a pass. “You’ve got more time than you think.”
She glances up, uncertain, but she does it. The adjustment is quick, but she sends the puck clean across the ice. Better.
Truth is, I’m still figuring this group out. Who needs a push. Who needs space. Who’s going to test me just to see if I crack. One of them skates past me a little too fast, shoulder-checking me on purpose.
“Pass the puck, Hannah!”
“I did—you weren’t looking, Clara!”
“I was looking!”
“Hey.” I clap once, turning my attention across the ice to the duo in question. These two are oil and water. If I can get them to get along, they’ll dominate, but right now they need to agree onsomething. Anything. “We’re not rewriting history mid-play. Reset.”
There’s muttering. A dramatic sigh. One stick taps the ice like she’s filing a formal complaint. But, something catches my attention.
Clara points to her wrist, not in awe’re still arguingway, but indicating to Hannah to look.
I frown, watching as Hannah looks down at her own wrist. She huffs, nudges the puck back.
“Fine. But you still missed the pass.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
But they’re moving again. It’s head-scratching, let me tell you. I’m still trying to work out what just happened, when my gaze drops to Clara’s wrist. Then Hannah’s.
Ohhhh. The bracelets. Right. I glance down at my own wrist without thinking. Huh.
A slow grin pulls at my mouth.
