Page 5 of Hometown Heart

"Oh, he's precious. Already making friends, I see. And you're from New York? The city?"

Before I could respond, the arena doors swung open, bringing a gust of cold air and the unmistakable scent of fresh coffee. Silas strode in, balancing a drink carrier and wearing a thermal Henley that hugged his shoulders a little too well. He moved through the space with practiced ease, calling out greetings and dodging equipment bags like a pro.

Our eyes met across the bleachers, and his warm and curious expression made my pulse pound a little heavier in my ears. He lifted the drink carrier in a small salute, and I returned the gesture with my nearly empty cup.

"Oh, you've met our Silas! Of course, dear. You see him every morning at his charming shop." Ruthie puffed up with pride. "Best coffee in three counties, though I'm sure it's nothing like your New York lattes."

I watched as Silas handed a cup to Rory. "His maple latte could hold its own anywhere. New York shops have nothing on him."

Silas heard my comment. "High praise from a city boy, but you missed my seasonal specials for the holidays. Cody would have loved my peppermint hot chocolate. I might have to bring it back as a late-winter treat."

"That would be something. He says he can't live without your standard hot chocolate."

"The highest praise a ten-year-old can give," Silas settled onto the bleachers one row down from me. He smelled like coffee and something warm and spiced—probably whatever he'd been baking that morning. "So, how's Whistleport treating you so far?"

I was halfway through telling Silas about Cody's encounter with a particularly bold seagull at the harbor when a flash of neon yellow appeared in my peripheral vision.

"Jack St. Pierre!" The voice rang through the arena with enough force to turn several heads. "I was wondering when I'd finally get to meet you properly!"

An older woman in cat-eye glasses and a cardigan that could probably be seen from space bustled toward us with remarkable speed. Silas muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "brace yourself" before plastering on a bright smile.

"Dottie, your timing is impeccable. I was about to tell Jack about the infamous '87 Peewee championship game."

"Oh, who cares about ancient history." Dottie wedged herself onto the bleachers with surprising agility. "I want to hear all about New York. Is it true you worked on restoring that lovely Art Deco building on Park Avenue? The one with all the bronzedetails?" She leaned in close enough for me to smell her powdery perfume. "My niece Margaret works at an architecture firm in Boston, and she said—"

"Dottie," Silas interrupted gently, "I think Coach Rory's trying to get your attention."

She swiveled around so fast that her glasses went slightly askew. "Where? Oh! That reminds me—I must ask him about the winter carnival committee..." She was up and moving before I could process the transition, leaving a lingering cloud of perfume and questions in her wake.

"Sorry about that." Silas shook his head. "Dottie's our unofficial town crier. Heart of gold, but she could pull secrets out of a brick wall if you let her."

"She knew about the Park Avenue project." I raised an eyebrow at him. "I only mentioned that to you yesterday."

The tips of his ears went slightly pink. "Small town. News travels fast." He cleared his throat. "Especially when it comes with a great cup of coffee."

Out on the ice, Cody was running drills with his new teammates. He'd always been a strong skater, but something about his movements seemed lighter here, more confident. He caught my eye through the plexiglass and gave me a thumbs-up before racing after a puck.

"Rory says Cody's got good instincts for hockey." Silas leaned back. "He's good at reading the ice."

"You play?"

"Used to. My only appearances are at the beer league level now, when they need a sub." He gestured toward the far goal. "Your boy's got better hands than I ever did, though. Must get it from his dad?"

My shoulders tensed. This was usually where conversations got awkward—when I had to decide how much to explain and reveal. At least, that was the pattern with nosy types. Silas'sexpression showed nothing but genuine interest, and his easy way with words made me want to be honest.

"Actually, neither of his dads played. Edward—my ex—was more of a tennis guy. And I..." I shrugged. "I can almost skate well enough to keep up with an active ten-year-old, but that's about it."

Silas absorbed my revelation with a simple nod. I'd already shared information about Edward at Tidal Grounds. I appreciated the opportunity to flesh the story out more.

"So he found hockey on his own?"

"There was a learn-to-play program at Chelsea Piers." I watched Cody line up for another drill, his face set in concentration. "He saw the kids on the ice one day while we were walking past and wouldn't stop talking about it. Edward thought he'd lose interest after a few lessons, but..."

"Hockey has a way of getting under your skin." Silas's voice sounded like it carried decades of wisdom. He was watching Cody, too, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Even if you're only observing from the stands."

Rory's whistle blew, sharp and clear. He gathered the kids around him and began to explain the next drill. Cody's enthusiasm hadn't waned at all. He leaned forward to catch every word.

"He really wants this to work." I spoke quietly, as much to myself as to Silas. "The move, the team, all of it."

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