“I only want to grab lunch…”
Zoe arches an eyebrow. “You’re going to see Jack?”
“No. Maybe.” I throw my arms up. “Okay, yes.”
She laughs. “Go. I’ve got everything here. Really. We need to prep for the event anyway, and I’m sure things will be quiet this afternoon. I’ve got it, Izzy. Promise.”
I grab lunch at Seas the Day, the diner on Main Street, then drive to the rink. The parking lot’s packed, so I navigate my way through a mine of potholes and a grumpy seagull who dive bombs me until I find crumbs of a leftover granola bar in my pocket. Thank goodness for toddlers.
I chuck it away from me, then scurry inside.
Jack’s in the middle of the ice, surrounded by a large groupof kids. He’s pretending he’s terrible at skating so they can “catch” him. He flails dramatically, almost falling, and the little boys and girls lose their minds.
God, he’s adorable.
He’s patient and loud and ridiculous—all at once. It’s clear the kids love him.
He scoops up a tiny player who can barely stand in all his gear and skates with him tucked between his legs. He guides the kid’s stick toward the puck, helps him fire it into the net, and celebrates like they just won the Stanley Cup.
Alex and Bosko swoop around the group, hyping them up to cheer on the little guy.
The thought hits me without warning—him like this, a kid of his own tucked between his legs as they skate together. I don’t… there’s no future where I’m with Jack and that’s our son or daughter he’s helping instead. Right?
He turns and spots me, his entire face lighting up. “Quick, everyone, try to catch Bosko!”
The kids cheer, switching their attention to his teammate, and he skates over to where I’m standing in the box, clutching his bagged lunch.
“You can’t stay away from me, Sinclair, can you?” he teases, eyes bright.
“As if I’d admit that.”
He grins, reaches out with one gloved hand, and pulls me in just far enough to kiss me—quick, sweet, a little sweaty, and somehow perfect.
“Did you rob the bank?” he asks, glancing at the bag in my hands.
“Brought lunch. Figured you’d want more than vending-machine jerky and stale popcorn.”
His eyebrows lift, impressed. “You’re the best.”
“Best fake girlfriend around, I hear.” I quickly clear my throat. “How’s the clinic going?”
He shrugs. “Good group today. One kid keeps trying to check me, which feels rude.”
“He’s probably what… seven?”
“No respect for his elders,” he mutters.
I laugh, the tension in my chest loosening for the first time all day.
Then he looks at me, setting the bag on the railing. “You okay? You look… tired.”
I blink. “I just got here. No need to go so hard.”
Jack scrunches his nose. “Sorry,” he says gently. “Want to split lunch, and we can chat about it? I probably can’t talk for long…”
I swallow past the giant lump in my throat. “No, I’m good. Focus on all this.” I lean forward, whispering, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this place is falling apart.”
“You’re funny, you know that?”
