I dig my skates into the ice and push hard to the blue line. I swear the sharp, metallic smell of fresh ice is the last thing I’ll remember before I die. Banners hang from the rafters—a few I even helped win. Same with Ethan.
Seeing them makes me think of my grandparents.
When my parents took over the restaurant from my grandfather, my grandparents shuffled us to practice and games. My grandfather always sat in the same bleacher seat, his veteran’s hat pulled low and hands clutched around a cheap paper cup of coffee from concessions. He was the first to cheer the second I threw a punch, and Nana would be the first to lay into me on the way home aboutplaying fair.
A wave of pain sweeps over me, and I stumble, skating to the boards. I clutch tight, forcing myself upright, and breathe slowly through my nose until it passes.
The handful of Advil I had before I stepped on stage for the auction is swimming in the pothole outside.
It’s fine.
Just a bad day.
But when I push off the boards and start drills, I don’t think I can stomach the fact that this part of my life might be bulldozed for condos.
I circle the ice harder, jaw tight. I know exactly how fast places like this get swallowed up.
I also know they don’t have to if the right person steps in early enough.
Chapter 4
Izzy
I’d throw them away, except that feels wasteful.
The giant bouquet of red roses sits on the counter at Salty Romantic, mocking me. And his dumb note:Still owe you a coffee. Call me. Jack.
I held off a whole day before I even saved his number in my phone. And I haven’t texted. Yet.
I should toss everything and forget the whole dumb afternoon.
That’d be a lot easier, of course, if it weren’t for the fact that nearly all of Merritt Point has become involved in my dating life. And as much as I’d like to be pissed, since news broke that Jack won a date with the small-town bookshop owner, the viral social media gods have blessed me. Foot traffic is up, and theBoston Globeeven called about running a story on the shop.
Funny, considering I’ve pitched the story a few times myself and was either ghosted or met with a big no.
I finish posting a TikTok for the store when another stitched video of the auction pops up in my FYP. At first, there were so many, but after a few days, it’s more of a trickle of videos now. A few called me some pretty hideous names for being the winner;others fell all over themselves over Jack. But most of them all had one thing in common—they all made it obvious I’m in his orbit now, whether I like it or not.
Jack Murphy is chaos incarnate. Charming, sure. Trouble though. So much trouble. And I have enough of that in my life already.
Speaking of…
“I swear, he makes me crazy,” my mother rushes out as soon as I pick up the phone. “I’m going to jump off a bridge because of that man.”
“Hi, Mom. That’s not something to joke about.” I slowly exhale so she can’t hear, then brace myself for the tirade that always follows.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Mr. Piersanti on the sidewalk with two women, pointing to the facade of the building. One pulls down her sunglasses, catches me gawking, and gives me a wolfish grin with the whitest smile I’ve ever seen.
“Are you even listening?” my mom asks.
I peek over my shoulder at the clock on the wall. I close early on Thursdays before the weekend rush, but this past week has been so busy, I swear time is moving backward.
“Yes, of course.”
I haven’t.
“Well, then, what do you think? Should I believe Phil? He’s right, wewereseparated. It makes sense that his Tinder profile is still up.”
“Does it?” I straighten a stack of books, finding a monster romance shelved with historical that needs to return to its rightful home.
