Page 13 of Hometown Heart

"Yeah." I lowered the phone, watching Cody show off his medal to his teammates. "He does."

There he was—confident, surrounded by new friends, already trading jokes about whose shot was better. For the first time since our arrival, I knew I'd made the right choice. Whistleport might have been small, fueled by gossip and hockey scores, but it had given Cody something we'd never found in New York.

It had given him somewhere to shine.

The fire pit cast dancing shadows across the snow as families clustered around its warmth. Cody joined his teammates on a nearby bench, their medals catching the firelight as they shared a plate of s'mores and traded exaggerated stories about their shots.

"Hot chocolate?" Silas appeared beside me, offering a steaming cup. "No hockey stick marshmallows this time, but I added extra whipped cream."

"Starting to think you're trying to put yourself out of business." I accepted the cup, sinking onto one of the weathered benches. "How many free drinks have you given away today?"

"Who says they're free?" He settled next to me, close enough that our shoulders almost touched. "I'm building customer loyalty. Very sophisticated business strategy."

"Ah, of course." I grinned into my cup. "And here I thought you were only being nice."

"That's the problem with you city folks." Silas drew a fleece blanket across both our laps with casual ease. "Always looking for the angle."

Around us, the carnival hummed with life. Kids chased each other through the sculpture garden while parents captured photos on their phones.

"So." Silas's voice dropped lower, meant just for me. "What really brought you to Whistleport? Besides the incomparable pastries?"

The question should have set off my usual alarms. In New York, personal questions always came with an agenda attached, but something about Silas's quiet presence made me want to answer honestly.

"Would you believe me if I said it was an accident?" I watched Cody demonstrate his winning shot for the fifth time, his new friends hanging on every word. "After the divorce... everything in the city was too loud. It was suddenly too crowded with too many people asking if I was okay and offering advice I didn't want."

Silas nodded, waiting.

"Then Cody made the travel team, and suddenly we were driving to all these small towns for games. Places where nobody knew us or our story. He seemed... lighter. Started talking more, laughing more." I traced the rim of my cup.

"One weekend, we played in Portland. On the way back to New York, I took a wrong turn, and we ended up here. There was this kid practicing shots against the arena wall, and Cody just... lit up."

"Must have been Tommy Martinez." Silas smiled. "He's out there every morning at dawn. Drives his mother crazy wearing through all his stick tape."

"Cody talked about him the whole drive home. Next thing I knew, I was negotiating with my company about remote work and looking at rental listings in Whistleport." I paused, realizing how impulsive it all sounded. "Probably seems crazy, uprooting everything on a whim."

"Doesn't seem crazy at all." Silas's hand found mine under the blanket, a gentle pressure that sent warmth spreading throughmy fingers. "Seems like you knew what Cody needed. What you both needed."

From the bench, Cody's laugh rang out—clear and uninhibited. "Maybe. Still feels like I'm skating blind most days."

"That's not always a bad thing." Silas's thumb traced circles on my palm, setting off sparks under my skin. "Sometimes you have to trust the ice beneath your feet, even when you can't see where it's leading."

I turned to look at him, struck by the quiet certainty in his voice. The firelight caught in his beard, highlighting strands of copper I hadn't noticed before. He met my gaze steadily, and I forgot about the crowd and the cold for a moment.

"Dad!" Cody's voice broke the spell. "Tyler says there's gonna be a three-on-three tournament next weekend. Can we come? Please?"

I reluctantly pulled my hand from Silas's as Cody bounded over. "We'll talk about it tomorrow, bud. How are those s'mores?"

"So good! Here, I saved you guys one." He thrust a slightly squished marshmallow sandwich at us. "You have to try it. Silas, you can have half of Dad's. He's not really a chocolate person anyway."

"Is that right?" Silas raised an eyebrow at me. "Guess I'll have to work on converting him."

The carnival lights cast long shadows as we made our way through the thinning crowd. Cody skipped ahead, his medal catching the glow of the paper lanterns, its soft clink mixing with the crunch of snow under our boots.

"And then—and then—" He spun around, walking backward to face us. "When Ziggy said I had good hockey sense? That's like, the best thing ever. Tyler said he never tells anyone that!"

"Watch where you're going, bud." I nudged him before he collided with a sculpture. "And yes, that was pretty special."

Silas walked beside me, our steps falling into an easy rhythm. He'd insisted on helping carry Cody's gear bag, claiming it was his "civic duty as a former hockey player."

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