Page 70 of Hometown Heart

My pulse quickened at the mention of Silas. Part of me desperately wanted him at my side—his steady presence and quiet understanding. Another part dreaded the inevitable collision of past and present, of Edward and Silas occupying the same space.

"That'll make Cody's day," I managed, aiming for nonchalance and missing by miles.

Edward returned, settling into the seat on my other side. "Wonderful community you've found here."

The buzzer signaled the start of the game, saving me from further conversation. We fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by cheers and the occasional groan as the play unfolded before us.

Cody was on fire, his passes more precise, and his footwork more confident than I'd ever seen. He scored within the first five minutes, triggering a standing ovation from our section and a chorus of banging sticks from his teammates on the bench.

"He's really good," Edward said, genuine surprise coloring his words. "Like, legitimately talented. When did that happen?"

"He's always been good. You just weren't at many games." The words escaped before I could reconsider them, hanging in the air between us.

Edward didn't deny it. "No, I wasn't." His simple acknowledgment landed like a blow, knocking loose some of the anger I'd been cultivating.

In the third period, I spotted Silas near the arena entrance, a brown paper bag clutched in one hand. He wore the navy blue Whistleport Hockey beanie I'd given him last month, his beard slightly more trimmed than usual. Our eyes met across the distance, and he gave a small, uncertain wave.

Edward followed my gaze. "Is that him?"

"Who?" I asked, though we both knew exactly who he meant.

"The coffee shop owner. Silas. Cody talks about him constantly."

I nodded, watching as Silas made his way toward us, navigating around clusters of standing spectators.

The buzzer sounded again, and the game was over—Whistleport victorious, the team piling onto the ice in a celebratory huddle. Cody emerged from the tangle of players, searching the stands until he found us, his grin wide enough to split his face.

"Did you see that?" he shouted, his voice carrying across the ice. "Dad! Papa! Did you see?"

"Every second," I called back, genuine pride momentarily overwhelming my emotional turmoil. "You were incredible!"

"I should congratulate him," Edward said, already rising from his seat. "Join the post-game celebration."

I followed, conscious of Silas approaching from the opposite direction. The inevitable meeting loomed, and my stomach knotted with anxiety.

"Jack." Silas's voice beside me was quiet, for my ears only. "How are you holding up?"

I turned to find him watching me with concern, the paper bag now extended in my direction. "Cinnamon scones," he explained. "Still warm."

"You didn't have to come," I said, taking the bag, our fingers brushing in the exchange.

"I wanted to." He glanced toward Edward and Cody. "He played well today."

"Yeah, he did."

An awkward silence stretched between us, filled with all the things I couldn't say in this public space, with Edward mere feet away.

"Dad!" Cody called, breaking the tension. "Look who's here!" He dragged Edward toward us, oblivious to the undercurrents. "Papa, this is Silas. He makes the best hot chocolate in the universe and the hockey stick marshmallows I told you about!"

Edward extended his hand, smoothly professional as always. "Edward Reeves. I've heard a lot about you and your coffee shop."

"Silas Brewster." They shook hands, sizing each other up with polite smiles. "Cody's quite the hockey player."

"Apparently so. I've clearly been missing out." Edward's gaze slid toward me, laden with meaning. "But I'm hoping to change that."

After lunch, Cody asked, "What should we do now? Can we show Papa the harbor? Or the lighthouse? Or the ice cream place with thirty-seven flavors?"

"All excellent options," Edward agreed. "Though perhaps not all today. I'm only here until tomorrow afternoon."

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