Page 2 of Love on Thin Ice

The mannequin topples over, taking half the display beside it with it. Boots, scarves, and my favorite wide-brimmed hat go flying, and I just stand there, staring at the chaos in disbelief.

Jack freezes, his hands halfway outstretched like he’s trying to stop time. “Holy buffalo wings,” he says, his mouth barely moving.

For a moment, I’m speechless. I should be upset. I should be frustrated. But instead, I burst out laughing. The whole thing is so ridiculous—this gorgeous, perfectly put-together man knocking over my display like a clumsy puppy.

I mean, you should see him on the ice. It’s like poetry in motion. He’s always in the right place, and every move looks effortless.

Jack’s eyes widen, and then he starts laughing too, a deep, rumbling laugh that makes my heart skip all over again.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to…accost her.”

“It’s fine,” I say, still giggling. “Really. I’ll fix it later.”

He kneels down to start picking up the scattered accessories, and I follow suit, trying to calm my racing pulse. As we gather the mess, I can’t help but get a breath of his sexy cologne. Butter my biscuits, someone should make a candle of Jack Winters and sell it. I’d buy a whole warehouse of them.

He’s even more attractive up close, and there’s something about the way he moves—so effortlessly confident, like he’s usedto owning every room he walks into. But there’s also a softness to him, a kind of vulnerability in the way he looks at me, like he’s not sure what to say next.

“I’m Jack, by the way,” he says, handing me a scarf that somehow got tangled in the mannequin’s arm.

“Poppy,” I reply, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Poppy Brighton.”

“Poppy,” he repeats, and the way he says my name sends a little shiver down my spine. His voice is low, almost like a purr, and I find myself wondering what it would sound like if he said it again. And again. And then again—right after he kisses me.

“So,” he says, standing up and holding out a hand to help me up. I take it, and the moment our fingers touch, a spark shoots through me. I’m not imagining it. There’s definitely chemistry here. “How about I make it up to you for the mess I made?”

I blink, surprised. “Make it up to me?” I cock my hip. “How are you going to do that?”

He flashes me that crooked smile again. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

“You better think fast,” I say as I right the mannequin and start redressing her.

“How about this?” Jack’s eyes on me are heavy, and I can’t resist him. I look over, and he adds, “You let me take those helmets off your hands, and I’ll help you with whatever you need for the Harvest Festival.” He looks over to the window, his gaze coming right back to mine. “And your grand opening.”

I stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious. Jack Winters, star hockey player and local heartthrob, wants to help me—a fashion boutique owner—prepare for the Harvest Festival? And my grand opening?

It sounds like the setup for a bad rom-com. But he looks completely sincere, and there’s something about the way he’slooking at me—like I’m the only person in the room—that makes me want to say yes.

I tilt my head, considering him. “You want to help me with the fashion show?”

He shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes. “How hard could it be?”

I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “You realize that might involve glitter, fabric, and maybe even some sewing, right?”

He chuckles, stepping closer. “I’ve survived worse.”

The air between us feels charged, and for a moment, I forget everything else—the helmets, the Harvest Festival, the mess on the floor. All I can think about is how close he is, how his eyes are locked on mine, and how my heart is racing like it’s about to win a NASCAR race.

“All right, Jack Winters,” I say, working hard to keep my voice steady. “You’ve got yourself a deal. But don’t blame me if you end up covered in sequins and tulle.”

He grins, and for a split second, I wonder if he’s going to kiss me. The thought sends a thrill racing through me, and I have to remind myself to breathe.

“I’ll take my chances,” he says, his voice low and teasing.

I swallow hard, trying to keep my composure. I’ve only just met this man, and already I’m picturing what it would be like to kiss him, to run my fingers through his messy hair, to feel those strong arms around me.

Get a grip, Poppy,I tell myself.You can’t fall for the local hockey star. He’s probably used to women throwing themselves at him, and I’m not about to be another name on his list.

But as he picks up one of the boxes of helmets and says, “I need your number,” I can’t help but think—maybe, just maybe, this could be different.

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