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When the elevator chimed and the doors opened, she gestured me to follow. “Come on. I know you don’t have much time, so I’ll make it quick.”

I studied Logan as she unlocked the door to unit 1094. The same unit where I’d sent her a pie for Thanksgiving. I’d seen it in pictures, but I’d never expected to be invited into her home.

I followed her inside, taking it all in as the door shut behind me. The exposed brick walls and wood beams on the ceiling hinted at the building’s history. She moved around the space, flipping on some of her twinkly fairy lights. She disappeared down a hallway, all while I stood there, cataloging everything, knowing this might be my first and only time here.

The fluffy blanket draped over the back of the couch, the potted plants that rested on the windowsill overlooking downtown, the framed photos of Logan with family and friends. I knew some of the people pictured—Bryn, Kylie, and Georgia, of course. There was a picture of Logan on the ice in a Dartmouth uniform, flanked by Frasier and Derek. And then there were some of her and Cece, as well as photos of her with her family.

Her mom and her Grandpa Joe, famous for the years he’d played for the Bruins. Another of Logan and Levi as kids on an outdoor ice rink. They were so little, so bundled up, you could barely tell how much of it was them and how much was their gear.

They had the same shade of hair—this warm chestnut that was shiny and lustrous when the light hit it. They had the same color eyes—a deep hazel that glowed golden at times. The same mischievous smile.

“Hey,” she said in a rush, and I backed away from the photos, hoping she wouldn’t realize what I’d been looking at. “Here.” She held out a folded jersey with her name on the back.

I grinned, taking it and holding it up to admire it. Fortunately, it was oversized to accommodate her pads, which meant it might actually fit me. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Thanks again for Emerson’s number. It—” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe you did that.”

I opened my mouth to respond just as my phone chimed.

“You probably need to get to the airport,” she said, grabbing her keys from the counter. “I’ll give you a ride.”

“Oh, uh—” I rocked on my heels. “Thanks, but you don’t have to do that. I’m sure you’re tired after your game, and I can easily get a rideshare.”

She waved away my concern. “It’s the least I can do. Which airline are you flying, or is it charter?”

I tossed her jersey over my shoulder, noting that it smelled like her. Sweet and floral, energetic and bold. But also, there was a softness to it, a warmth.

I grabbed my phone from my pocket, freezing when I saw what was displayed on the screen. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Logan came to my side, and my focus turned completely to her.

To the way her arm brushed against mine. The smell of her shampoo. Just how close we were standing and how badly I wanted to kiss her.

It wouldn’t take much. I could lift my hand to her cheek, lower my head, and finally fucking take what I’d wanted all this time.

“Carson?” she asked.

I cleared my throat and unlocked my phone, scanning through the group text that had been sent by one of the team’s travel coordinators, Berkeley. “Our flight was canceled.”

“But the weather isn’t even that bad,” Logan said, glancing out the large windows that overlooked downtown. Snow continued to fall, like being inside a snow globe that had been shaken up. It was peaceful and beautiful, and I wanted to dwell in this moment a little longer. “And besides,” she continued, “the Minneapolis airport is prepared for winter weather.”

“True,” I said, still staring at my phone. Still wondering what I was going to do. “But we were supposed to fly to Chicago.”

She cringed. “Yeah. Okay. That makes more sense.”

I read the messages aloud as they continued to roll in. “There’s a ground stop at O’Hare. All flights are canceled. They’re going to try to rebook us on something tomorrow. And…” I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose because this might be the worst part of it all. “The concierge company that was in charge of our carry-on bags already closed for the night.”

She frowned. “It’s not even that late.”

“I know.” Fuck. “Berkeley, our travel coordinator, is trying to see if she can get someone to come in, but I’m not holding my breath.”

“Oh jeez. I’m sorry, Carson. What a pain in the ass.”

My mind was already spinning with what this meant. My checked bag was already in Chicago with the rest of the team, so I had nothing but the clothes on my back. With my carry-on bag unavailable, I had no laptop, no glasses. Shit. I gnashed my teeth.

I could handle travel delays. Hell, I was used to them even though we traveled private. But typically, I at least had my essentials with me.

“Is it too soon to mention a potential silver lining?” she asked, perhaps sensing my inner turmoil.