Page 25 of Put a Rink on It

“Try them, Len. You might like them,” Aubrey coaxes.

“I will if you will,” Lennon shoots back playfully.

Aubrey’s a deer caught in headlights. As much as she loves to bake sweets, she isn’t a fan of eating them. Which is so odd, but I keep my judgment to myself. More for me to enjoy.

“I’m too full from dinner.”

“Whatevs.” Lennon shrugs and walks away empty-handed, cuddling into Dad’s chair with him.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and my hand reaches for it. Pulling it out, I spy Nero’s name, and I get all tingly inside.

Wow, I need to get a grip. I can’t be reacting like this in front of my family to a text message. I gotta play it cool.

Ships! Call me

I’m at my parents. Everyone’s here

Even better

I don’t have a chance to respond when his picture shows up as a FaceTime call. I can’t not answer, but what is he doing?

With a swipe of my finger, I answer, his elated face staring back at me.

“What’s up?” What couldn’t wait until later? I want to ask.

“Guess who signed on for a summer hockey clinic in Vermont?” His excitement is palpable through the screen.

I don’t miss the way my eyes light up at his news. I can’t tell if I’m delighted for him or me. “Seriously?”

“Yep. It’s a little school called Aspenridge College. You know it?”

I peek a glance at my brother, the rink manager for his alma mater. “Oh, really? How’d you get roped into that?”

Walsh holds up his hands. “In my defense, it was a long shot.”

“Was it, though?” I chuckle. Nero gets invites to many clinics, some he has to turn down, but the ones he can agree to, he makes it a point to show up. I’m sure it took little convincing on Walsh’s part, especially since Nero’s “local” now. “That’s so exciting.”

Walsh points to Lennon and mouths, “We are not telling her.”

“Got it.” I look back at the phone. “I’ll put the date on my calendar. Make sure I’m free to stop by and watch.”

“A calendar invite should be in your inbox.”

“Of course. Should have known.”

As much as it’s months away, who knows where I’ll be.

Nero and I will be “married.” I’ll most likely be living in Connecticut.

The thought has a chill racing through me. The good kind. As much as it’s crazy, the notion of living with Nero infuses warmth into it.

“I also made reservations for Sunday.”

“Shh,” I whisper-yell, staring into the screen. “Hush. We’re keeping that on the d-l. We’ll discuss it later.”

“Call me later?”

A fizzy bubble of excitement rises inside me. “I will.”