Page 23

Wasn't she about to get married?

Because if she looks at me like that when nobody's watching, I'm done. Contract, farm, focus… all of it, fucking gone.

I'll have her against the nearest wall with those stockings ripped to shreds, and I won't stop until the whole resort knows my name.

Coach Dave's whistle cuts through my extremely unprofessional thoughts.

"Alright, ladies!" He's standing beside the bench with his thermos, which by the way, I'm fairly certain he keeps getting refilled at the bar. "That's practice. Get changed and get pretty. You've got ten minutes before a bunch of children hit the ice for you to entertain, and I've got a heated seat with my name on it."

We get changed quickly, and as it turns out, the whole resort has shown up for the kids skating event.

The overhead speakers are playing Christmas music as families pack the boards three deep, everyone dressed in bright festive colors. The market stalls behind them are crazy busy, with steaming hot chocolate and roasted nuts being sold by the second.

The sky's gone that deep winter blue that makes the thousands of lights strung between the huts glow, and the whole place smells like woodsmoke and waffle cones.

I lace my skates beside the bench while a brunette in a sweater dress arrives at the boards, escorting a tiny elderly woman wrapped in approximately nine scarves.

"NATE!" the brunette calls, waving. "Look who insisted on coming!"

Nate's whole face does something I've never seen it do.

"Eden. Hey. Hi. You came." I watch as not once does he takes his eyes off the brunette. "Wow, look at you. It's been so long!"

Of course, everyone in Chilmore knows about Eden and Nate. They've practically been inseparable since high school, but ever since he's made it big in the NHL, we've all been left wondering what's happened to their spark.

Eden smiles back as Nate drifts closer. "Gran wanted to see the hockey players."

The tiny grandmother lowers her scarf and surveys the ice with interest. "Which one is the big one with the tattoos?"

"Gran—"

"I'm just asking which one has the nice shoulders," Gran says, her eyes lingering on my arms with zero shame. "A woman my age appreciates good muscle definition."

Eden makes a strangled noise. "Gran, you can't just—"

"What? I may be eighty-three, but I'm not dead." Gran adjusts her glasses for a better look.

"She's been researching all morning," Eden says, rolling her eyes before looking across to me and smiling. "Oh, hey, Miles! How's the farm?"

"Still growing trees," I say, skating closer. "Though I'm starting to think they'd grow faster if Gran here gave them some motivational speeches."

The elderly woman perks up immediately. "Trees need encouragement, just like some men do."

Gran shoots Nate a hard look, her stare saying exactly what the entire town has been thinking for years now.

"Gran," Eden warns, but she's fighting a smile.

"What? I'm just saying, a little attention goes a long way." Gran's eyes twinkle as she looks between Eden and Nate, then swivels to me. "Speaking of attention, which one of you boys is single?"

"Oh my God," Eden mutters, tugging her scarf higher. "We're leaving."

"We just got here," Gran protests. "I haven't finished my investigation."

Eden covers her face with her mittens. "I'm adopting myself to a different family."

I bite back a laugh and push onto the ice, where the Wildcards are earning their sponsor money. Baxter is doing his bit, currently leading a conga line of eight-year-olds while Dylan carves fast circles around everyone while loudly reminding Audrey that he is supposed to be in the Music Lounge right now.

Coach Dave watches all of this from a heated bench beside the boards, thermos in hand, offering coaching wisdom to absolutely no one.