Page 6 of Hometown Heart

"And you?"

It shouldn't have, but somehow, the question caught me off guard. I'd focused so much on Cody that I didn't spend much time thinking about what I wanted out of our new situation. Silas challenged me to look directly at my feelings about Whistleport.

"I want..." I paused, trying to find the right words. "I want him to have somewhere he belongs. Somewhere, he doesn't have to explain his family or feel different." The words were true, but Irealized as soon as I spoke they were still about Cody and not me.

Silas responded in a low, careful tone. "Different isn't always bad. Sometimes, it only means you consider more workable options than others."

A commotion on the ice drew our attention. Cody had managed to thread a perfect pass through two defenders, leading to a goal that had his teammates crowding around him with whoops of celebration. His grin was visible even through his cage.

Silas grinned. "Look at that. I'd say he's getting along fine."

I watched closely as Cody's teammates pounded him on the back. He started moving his stick back and forth, recreating his triumphant moment for his new admirers.

"You know," Silas continued, "this town... it's not as simple as it might seem at first glance. People here, they've got layers. Stories. Sometimes, the ones who seem the most traditional are the ones who'll surprise you."

Practice wrapped up with a scrimmage with all the parents leaning forward in their seats. Cody's earlier pass had earned him a spot on one of the first lines, and even with my limited hockey knowledge, I saw how hard he was working to prove he deserved it.

Silas lowered his elbows to his knees and whistled between two fingers. "He's got that look. It's the one that says he's already planning tomorrow's practice in his head."

"That obvious, huh?"

"Takes one to know one." I glanced at him with questions in my eyes. "Let's just say I always tried to stay one step ahead in culinary school. Still have the notebooks somewhere."

The mental image of a younger Silas, probably wearing that same focused expression I'd seen behind his coffee bar, made me smile. "Somehow, that doesn't surprise me at all."

"I'll have you know I was one of the coolest in my class." He chuckled under his breath. "Ask Dottie. She's got photographic evidence from pretty much every stage of my life. I'm Whistleport born and bred."

"Now, those I'd like to see."

"Careful what you wish for. She's probably already planning a slideshow as a side element for the next poetry reading."

The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of practice. Kids began skating toward the boards, faces flushed with exertion and excitement. Cody was among the last off the ice, trading fist bumps with his teammates before making his way to where I waited with his water bottle.

"Dad! Did you see that pass? And then in the scrimmage when Tyler and I—" He spotted Silas and somehow managed to grin even wider. "Silas! Are you coming to all the practices? Because that would be awesome, and you should bring hot chocolate next time because after skating it would be like, the perfect—"

I placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Breathe, bud."

"We'll see about the hot chocolate, and I come to practice once in a while," Silas said, standing and gathering his empty cups. "I'm testing a new maple chocolate scone recipe tomorrow morning. You know, in case any hungry hockey players happen to stop by."

Cody's eyes lit up. "Dad—"

"Yes, we can stop at Tidal Grounds before school." I shook my head at Silas. "You're going to have us in there every morning at this rate."

"That's the plan. See you tomorrow, men." Silas's gaze lingered on me for a beat longer than expected before he turned away

I watched him weave through the dispersing crowd, stopping to chat with Rory and wave to a few departing parents. He moved through the space entirely at ease, working to make everyone around him feel included.

"Dad?" Cody's voice brought my attention back to him. "Can we practice that pass in the driveway when we get home? I want to make sure I can do it again tomorrow."

"Sure, buddy." I helped him gather his gear, consciously pushing away thoughts of warm brown eyes and gentle smiles. "But homework first, okay?"

On the drive home, Cody broke down every drill, pass, and pointer Rory delivered. I listened, offering the appropriate noises of appreciation while navigating the quiet streets of Whistleport. The sunset painted the harbor in shades of purple and gold.

"And Tyler says there are pickup games for adults sometimes on Sundays when the ice is free. Can we come to those, too? Please? I can see Brooks play, a real life NHL player." Cody's reflection in the rearview mirror was full of barely contained energy. "He says lots of parents play too, even if they're not that good, and—"

"We'll see." I turned onto our street in the oldest part of Whistleport. According to the realtor, our two-story house had belonged to a lobstering family for almost one hundred years. They'd recently sold it to an out-of-state owner who set it up as a rental property. "Let's get through a few regular practices first, okay?"

"But you had fun today, right?" Cody sounded slightly worried. "I mean, you talked to Silas the whole time, and he's cool. Way cooler than Mr. Anderson from my old team. He never brought coffee or knew anything about hockey or—"

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