Page 18 of Hockey Halloween
He glances at my bookshelves, a knowing expression on his face. “So many books. You really are the sexy librarian type.”
“You’re lucky I like you,” I tease, nudging his knee with mine. “Otherwise that would’ve earned you a full lecture on feminist academic representation.”
“God, I’d let you lecture me all day,” he groans dramatically. “You could’ve worn glasses last night, too…”
“Shut up and eat your eggs, Mr. Ford.”
He laughs, mouth full of sourdough. My heart aches with a tender kind of joy I didn’t know I missed as I admire him carefree like this. Then his gaze flicks to the clock on the wall. His expression shifts—just a flicker—but I catch it.
“What’s wrong?”
“I have to be at the airport by noon,” he mutters. “I don’t want to leave.”
My stomach dips following his words. “Are you going home today?”
“We’ve got a three-game stretch on the West Coast. We’ll be in California tonight.”
“Tough games?”
He shrugs. “One of them is. We’ve got a point gap to close.”
“You’ll win,” I assure him, reaching for his hand. “You’ve got that Rick O’Connell confidence thing going for you.”
He grins that unfairly charming grin. “And you’ve got that Evie-level belief in me. Dangerous combo.”
“Deadly,” I agree.
When the food is gone and only half-full coffee mugs remain, he pulls his phone from the pocket of his pants. “Give me your number.”
I rattle it off while grabbing mine, his thumb tapping his screen. My phone vibrates, making me check it. The only thing he texted me is a flame emoji.
“I can’t with you sometimes,” I mumble, saving his contact information for future use.
“I saved you underMy Muse.” I arch a brow at his comment. “Could’ve gone withWilla the Sexy Historian, but I didn’t want you to ghost me for being too intense.”
“Yet you’re texting me flame emojis.”
“Look, I’m not the best when it comes to flirting. I’m an awkward turtle trying to impress the pretty girl.”
“You’re doing a great job with it so far.” I reach for his hand again, my voice softer now. “I know long-distance can be messy. Still, I want to try it with you. Even if it means bad timing, missed dates, and FaceTime calls at midnight.”
His voice is steady when he replies, “I want that, too.”
“Really?”
“Willa, I’d cross time zones for you.”
I’m caught off guard by his words and how much I love the way he says my name. How easy it feels. How real this already is.
“I’ve never felt this connected to someone so fast,” I admit, thumb brushing along his knuckles. “I know that sounds?—”
“It doesn’t,” he cuts in gently, his eyes holding mine. “Because I feel it too.”
He kisses the back of my hand, takes one last sip of coffee and rises with a resigned sigh. He moves around the apartment, gathering his things, the morning light painting him with soft colors as he gets ready to leave. I admire the way his hair still sticks up and how his mouth twitches when he catches me memorizing the curve of his broad shoulders.
At the door, he finally pauses. Not to check for his keys or the time, but to look around one last time. His gaze lingers on the couch, the mugs on the table, the blanket he borrowed and lastly on me.
“You’ll be back,” I promise him.
