Page 67 of Heart Checked By the Hockey Heartthrob

She spins slowly in place, taking it all in. “Wes… this is incredible. Why haven’t you used any of this?”

I lean on the railing. “Honestly? I think I was waiting. For what, I didn’t know. Just… not ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“To let myself enjoy it.”

She doesn’t say anything right away. Just walks over and stands beside me, hands resting on the wood rail.

“There’s a whole life here,” she says quietly.

“Yeah,” I murmur. “There is.”

I lead her down the side steps to a short path that winds through dune grass to a strip of private shoreline. The sand is soft and cool under our shoes. The tide is low, and in the distance, a heron lifts off into the sky.

She turns to me, eyes bright in the fading light. “You have your own beach?”

“Well, I share it with two retired lawyers and a reclusive mystery novelist, but yeah. Basically mine.”

She laughs and tosses a pebble into the surf. “This is the dream, Wes. This is it.”

We walk back slowly, and I steer her toward the attached garage tucked under the house. I lift the door, and she lets out a low whistle.

Inside are all the things I thought I’d use one day: surfboards, beach chairs, a stand-up paddleboard still in plastic, an unopened badminton set, and a pair of kayaks with spiderwebs collecting in the corners.

“Planning to open a beach rental?” she teases.

“I bought all this after a summer in California. Thought maybe I’d pick up new hobbies.”

“And…?”

“And instead I went back and buried myself in meetings and press tours.”

She walks through the space, trailing her fingers over the dusty equipment.

“You didn’t need new hobbies,” she says. “You needed a reason to stay.”

I look at her then, really look. The porch light behind her catches in her hair, and for a split second I see it—what this place could be.

What we could be.

“Yeah,” I say softly. “I think I finally found one.”

Back inside, we make a list on a whiteboard I find in the hall closet labeled “workout goals.” She draws a heart next to “buy pillows.”

“You’re the only person I’d let deface my to-do list,” I tell her.

“I feel honored.”

We end the night in the doorway, leaning shoulder to shoulder, watching the last of the light fade over the water.

“You know what this place needs next?” she murmurs.

“Better lighting?”

“A party.”

“A party?”

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