Page 8 of Hometown Heart

"Coach Blake says I'm getting better at edges!" Cody practically vibrated with pride.

Jack crouched beside him, one hand steadying his son's shoulder. "You are," he said, voice calm and encouraging. "And you know why?"

Cody squinted. "Because I practiced?"

"That helped, but it's also your inside knee. Remember what we talked about?"

Cody frowned for a second, but then he remembered. "Oh! Keep it bent so my blade stays flat."

"Exactly." Jack lightly squeezed his shoulder. "Your edges only work if you trust them. The ice does the rest."

I forced myself to look away,but the image stuck—a father grounding his son, steadying him how only a parent could.

The last time I'd seen a father and son like that—seen it and felt it—I was fifteen, standing in this very rink, watching my own dad lace up my skates before a game.

It was before he left and before the weight of his absence settled into my bones to become an injury that never fully healed.

I pushed away from the boards, suddenly needing air. My hands were trembling slightly as I gathered the empty coffee cups.

Down at the other end of the rink, Brooks caught my eye with a look that was too perceptive for comfort. "Heading out?"

"Yeah, got to prep for the morning rush." I managed what I hoped was a casual smile. "Dottie's bridge club meets tomorrow. If I don't have her lemon scones ready by eight, I'll never hear the end of it."

Something inside me told me to run, but I held onto my composure enough to walk toward the exit, glancing back once at Rory and Brooks. The skating was over, but they lingered near the penalty box, lost in their own world. Brooks absently adjusted Rory's scarf, and Rory responded by brushing a kiss against his partner's palm. The gesture was perfectly natural and unselfconscious.

It wasn't only the casual intimacy that impacted me. It was how they moved through Whistleport together, neither hiding nor advertising who they were. There was a quiet pride in Rory's eyes whenever Brooks announced his latest community project. They'd built something real in town that went far beyond their high school friendship and shared love of hockey.

Looking at them now, I wondered if I'd spent so many years convincing myself I was content with my solitary life that I'd forgotten to imagine anything else might be possible. Or worse—what if I had imagined it at one point in my life? Then, I buried it so deeply that I convinced myself it was not for me. Some people were meant to belong. Others were meant to watch from the outside.

I'd barely taken three steps toward my truck when I heard a voice calling behind me. "Silas! Did you see? Did you see my stop?" Cody zipped through the lobby doors, face flushed withexcitement. His dark hair stuck up in damp spikes where he'd yanked off his helmet.

"Sure did, bud. Pretty impressive." I turned back, trying to ignore how my pulse quickened as Jack followed at a more measured pace. His cheeks were pink from the cold rink air, and that shy half-smile appeared as our eyes met.

"Coach Blake says I'm getting better at edges," Cody continued, practically bouncing. "Papa, can we tell him about the thing? The cool thing?"

"Why don't you tell him yourself?"

"I got picked for the shootout competition!" Cody could barely contain himself. "At the Winter Carnival! Coach Blake says I can do it!"

"That's fantastic." I grinned. "You'll have to practice your celebration move. It might not be literary flourishes like Ziggy Knickerbocker used to use, but I'm sure you can think of something."

"Wait—Ziggy Knickerbocker? The UMaine player?" Cody's eyes opened wide. "He's from here?"

"Born and raised," I confirmed. "His dad has a lobster boat in the harbor. I heard Ziggy's going to be at the carnival."

"That's so cool!"

"Did you know Ziggy worked for me?" I watched Cody's face light up

"Really? At Tidal Grounds?"

I nodded, smiling as memories flooded back. "When he was in high school. He was great. One winter, right before Christmas, we had this massive snowstorm. Roads were terrible, and power was out all over town."

Jack leaned in to listen, too.

"Ziggy walked through the snow from his house—not for his shift, mind you. He wasn't even scheduled. But Mrs. Henderson was grieving having recently lost her husband, and he knewshe'd be devastated to miss her morning coffee and chess game with Mr. Perkins. Said someone needed to make sure the regulars could count on us."

"He walked in deep snow?" Cody blinked.

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