Page 154 of Wildest Dreams

Aisling

Present day

Half an hour later we’re all setting up on the back porch, Wyatt finally changed out of his military gear and their parents heading both ends of the table.

It’s a bright and sparkly summer afternoon, with the sunrays turning the garden into the perfect suntrap.

Tanner pulls my chair out before I reach it, leaning down to kiss my cheek before sitting himself beside me. His dad seems to be the head chef in the house when he’s not away on deployment, being responsible for not only most of the cooking but the plating up too. His striking eyes flash to mine every time he goes to add something to my plate, waiting for me to accept or refuse whatever it is that he’s offering.

It’s so heart-squeezingly endearing that I say yes to every single thing.

Cookie is sprawled on her belly beside Wyatt’s big boots, glittery eyes peeking up at him every time he lifts his fork to his mouth, and Cobie’s chin rests on her tiny back, gaze flitting keenly from plate to plate.

When he glances up at me his tongue happily lolls out of his mouth.

“How long now until the season starts?” Tanner’s dad asks.

He’s holding his beer bottle under the table and he wrenches off the top with a quick grunt. His eyes meet his son’s as he takes a long pull.

Tanner’s eyes flick between his food and his dad’s unwavering gaze.

“You mean ’til I start training for the NHL as an official player on Larch Peak’s team?” he asks.

His dad says, “Yeah.”

Tanner shovels in another mouthful.

I watch him in awe. The man caneat.

“The official start is in two months, but there’s some preliminary stuff before then. And” – Tanner glances down at me, squeezing my thigh – “we might head to the rink prior to that anyway.”

“Thought you couldn’t do unofficial training once you’re signed,” Wyatt says, biting off the cap of his own beer and then spitting it out like a trucker.

“Wyatt,” his dad barks, which makes Tanner chuckle quietly.

Wyatt holds up his palms and goes to retrieve the rogue beer cap.

Like Tanner’s, Wyatt’s plate is also more than half empty. I look down at my own, spear some green beans, and try to catch up.

They’re caramelised green beans. Tanner’s dad is freaking incredible.

“We won’t be training,” Tanner says, squeezing his palm over my thigh. “Just need some ice-time with Ash before game season begins.”

“Oh, can you skate?” Tanner’s mom asks me, smiling excitedly.

“Um,” I say, well aware that she’s a gold-medal-winning Olympic figure skater. “I’m not sure that you can call what I do ‘skating’,” I admit, laughing nervously.

Tanner’s palm roams to my knee, warm and reassuring.

“She’s only skated twice before, Mom,” he tells her. “But I’m gonna try and teach her a little before I’m on the road.”

“Adorable,” Wyatt smirks.

Tanner flicks a cherry tomato at him.

Wyatt catches it in his mouth.

“Boys,” their mom groans, dropping her face into her palms.

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