Page 35 of Snow, Ice, and Spice
I tell Maya that I used to spend most weekends and winter breaks with my grandpa.
“I’d help the workers feed the dogs and groom them, clean their kennels, and go for sled rides. It was awesome.”
Just thinking about those memories makes me smile.
“Okay, the image of you as a little kid playing with a bunch of huskies is pretty freaking adorable.”
Maybe it’s ridiculous, but hearing Maya, who used to hate my guts, call me adorable makes me feel pretty damn good.
“I mean, I was a pretty cute kid. I can show you pictures.”
She laughs. “So have you been able to get back on the sled lately?”
A pang of sadness hits me. I shake my head. “My grandpa passed away from a heart attack when I was still pretty young. His brother eventually sold the business a couple of years later and I haven’t been dog sledding since.”
Maya’s face falls. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. That was a long time ago.”
She touches my arm. Despite the layers of winter clothing between us, I swear I can feel the warmth of her hand, and…it honestly feels really good. Comforting. Like she truly cares about me in this moment.
“I’m sorry you lost your grandpa when you were so young.”
I take in the sadness and sincerity in Maya’s eyes, how she’s standing here with me, feeling for me—feeling for my loss, even though it was more than twenty years ago.
And something about that, the fact that she’s taking the time to acknowledge my loss, lands deep.
“Thanks, Maya.”
We walk through the glass doors into Ingrid’s house.
“Would you ever want to go dog sledding again? Or would it be too hard with your grandpa gone?” Maya asks as she unzips her coat. Her tone is soft, like she’s hesitant to ask me.
That emotion swirling inside of me deepens. It’s like she’s trying her hardest to handle my feelings with so much care.
For a second, I just stand there and soak it in. I’m not used to people talking to me like this—like they care about my feelings. Most days it’s coaches yelling at me or joking around with my teammates or flirting with women I barely know.
But this conversation with Maya hits differently in the best way. She’s asking about my life like she truly wants to get to know me.
She frowns slightly as she looks at me and shakes her head. “Sorry, that was probably really weird for me to ask you that.”
“It’s not at all. It means a lot that you’d care to ask me.”
She looks relieved. That intense feeling inside of me eases. And then I realize why: I made her feel better, and it feels good to know that I could comfort her in some small way.
“I’d love to go dog sledding again sometime,” I say, feeling light and happy as I say it. “I just haven’t made the time. I got started with hockey and that kind of took over my life. But I should probably look into going dog-sledding again. That would be nice.”
A small smile tugs at her lips. “You should.”
As we stand there and look at each other, the air between us feels different. Charged, but in a good way. Like we crossed some sort of threshold by talking about something so personal and important to me.
Just then the doorbell rings. Maya turns to the door before looking back at me and smiling.
“Looks like the kids are here. You ready, Coach Theo?”
“I’m ready.”
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