Page 100 of Defensive Desire

His deep voice, usually gruff and intimidating, becomes animated. He changes his tone for different characters, makes sound effects for the hockey plays, even does a silly accent for the shopkeeper that has the kids giggling.

I watch on, supposedly monitoring the hot chocolate situation, but really just staring at this man I love reading to children like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"And that's when young Roch discovered that sometimes the best team isn't the one on your sweater," Logan says, closing the book. "It's the one in your heart."

The kids applaud, and I swear I see Logan's cheeks flush pink.

"Mr. Kane?" A boy with gap teeth and freckles raises his hand. "Are you and the hot chocolate lady married?"

My face goes nuclear. Logan's eyes widen like he's been checked into next season.

"We're..." I start, then completely blank.

"We're very good friends," Logan finishes, shooting me a look that's part panic, part amusement.

"My mom says you only hold hands like that if you're in love," the gap-toothed boy continues sagely.

"Well, kid… Your mom is very observant," Logan says dryly.

A little girl with pigtails pipes up. "Are you gonna have babies?"

I choke on absolutely nothing. "Okay! Who wants to try hitting some pucks at the target board?"

The kids erupt in excited cheers, completely forgetting about my reproductive plans. Thank God.

The next hour passes in a blur of mini hockey lessons, bookmark decorating, and enough sugar consumption to power a small city.

Logan shows the kids how to hold a stick properly, how to aim for corners, how to celebrate a goal without hurting anyone.

He's patient with every question, encouraging with every attempt.

I watch a shy little girl finally hit the target after twelve tries, and Logan's genuine celebration makes her beam like she just won Olympic gold.

The parents return from their tour with Grandpa Walt, who's clearly had the time of his life regaling them with stories about Iron Ridge hockey history.

"The kids having fun?" one mom asks, watching her son explain the finer points of hockey strategy to Logan.

"They're having a blast," I say. "Your son's got quite the shot."

"He's been skating since he was three. Dreams of playing for the Icehawks someday."

I glance at Logan, who's crouched down listening intently to the boy's excited chatter about his skating lessons.

"I bet he will," I say softly.

As families start to collect their children and bundled-up takeaway hot chocolate, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

Big Mike stands behind me, Sophia at his side, both wearing expressions of approval that make my heart race.

"Oh. My. God." Sophia's eyes are sparkling as she looks around. "This has been wonderful, Emma! Truly. The kids all around the arena are talking nonstop about it to their parents."

But before I can respond, I spot two more figures approaching through the departing crowd.

My father in his customary button-down and khakis, and beside him… my mother, looking impossibly out of place in her cream cashmere sweater and pearls.

"Emma?" Logan notices my expression, following my gaze. "Everything okay?"

"My parents," I whisper. "I… I didn't think they'd actually come."

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