Page 96 of Slapshot Bride

Her words hit me, but she says them in such a cheerful manner that I catch the joke, and I laugh before I can stop myself.

I like her.

Emma settles into my lap without asking. Quinn passes me a napkin without me asking.

“It’s nice to meet you, Quinn.”

“Oh, it’s more of a pleasure for me. You have no idea how it is being the only woman around these loud-ass men.” She chuckles and waves at the yard.

My eyes travel around, and I definitely understand.

“I don’t have anyone new to talk to at these things,” Quinn says. “Ever. I have known most of these idiots since forever. So, it’s a delight to have you here. And of course, Emma too. Love her to death.”

I laugh again, this time louder than I intend, and for once I don't feel embarrassed about it.

Emma is staring at me now, a wide, toothy grin lighting up her face.

Quinn pinches her cheeks. With a happy squeal, Emma toddles straight into Quinn's open arms.

“This little pumpkin has been my mate. I babysit her whenever I’m home from college. And no one would believe the kind of friendship you can have with a three-year-old. Emma is special.”

“She’s beautiful. So cute too,” I say, watching them.

“She is. The best gift Theo gave to the team.” She kisses Emma’s cheeks.

“Oh, shoot. I should get you a drink. Or something to munch on. Have you had anything?” She's about to stand up after handing the baby back, but I stop her.

“Oh, it’s fine. I’ve had lemonade, and I’m good for now. Easton gave me some food a while ago.”

“Okay. I could get you something to take home,” she winks, and I smile again. “So what do you do, Riley? I’m assuming you’re out of college? By the way, I’m a business major.”

I look at her.

I haven’t been asked that question in a decade.

I open my mouth. “I take pictures.”

“Oh, you’re a photographer.”

“I’m becoming one. Again. I was one. I put it down. I picked it back up recently.” I look at Emma’s small hand on my collar.

“I’d love to see your work. What do you shoot?”

I tell her.

We talk for an hour. Maybe two.

Emma falls asleep on my lap somewhere in the middle of it, mouth open, one hand fisted in my shirt. Quinn hands me another lemonade without me asking. She tells me about school and life with her dad. She opens up about her mother leaving when she was nine. She doesn’t ask me about Preston, and doesn’t ask about the tabloids. She asks me what I want to shoot next.

Nobody I have met in this yard has said the name Sinclair.

Nobody has asked me if I’m okay.

Everybody has just handed me a drink and made room on a bench. Gave me food, told me stories of the ice, and made me comfortable like I’ve always been one of them.

Across the yard, Easton is with the guys. He's doing something with tongs at the grill. He has taken his cap off. He's laughing at something Wyatt said. He looks… different.

Not like the softer version of the man I know at home. But like a man with his family.