Page 11 of Hockey Halloween
Willa pauses in front of a framed photograph—a grainy, black-and-white shot of a championship parade from the fifties. Crowds of people line the street, their faces tilted to the sky and mouths open in excitement.
“This one’s my favorite,” she says dreamily. “Look at their pure joy. The kind that doesn’t fade, even after the photo yellows.”
Instead of the old snapshot, I study her profile and the soft glow radiating from her in this safe space she’s sharing with me. The way her mesmerizing eyes shine as she admires the display. How her lips part just a little when she’s mid-thought.
“Having that kind of joy preserved in time,” she continues, “This is why I love working here. These aren’tjustitems or memorabilia; they’re proof. Proof that people lived, that they loved things deeply, and what they did mattered.”
The confident way she states it hits in a place I usually keep buried beneath stats, noise, and whatever mask the media expects me to wear. Because isn’t that what we all want in the end? To matter and to be remembered.
I pull out my phone, inspired to make tonight even more memorable. “I want to do something with you.”
Her brow lifts, teasing. “Is it another surprise?”
“Sort of.” I scroll through my music app, thumb hovering over a song I’ve loved for years and fits the moment. I tap the screen, putting it on repeat. The soulful notes of “Beyond” by Leon Bridges spill out through the phone speaker.
She tilts her head. “Slow dancing in a museum?”
“Tell me it’s not perfect,” I say, putting the device in my shirt pocket and hold out a hand.
She shakes her head, smiling as she steps forward. “You’re impossible, Nolan Ford.”
“No objections, my Muse.”
She pauses mid-step, her fingers brushing mine. “Muse?”
“I mean, I’m not an artist. I don’t paint or write songs or stories—” I take a calming breath, trying to find the right words. “But you make me want to be more and vocalize what I actually feel instead of hiding behind whatever I’m supposed to be. You get under my skin in the best possible way.”
Her expression softens with admiration, so I continue. "The way you talked about how those stories matter, how their joy deserves to be preserved. That struck a chord with me. Not a lot of people have made a huge impression on me this quickly. But you did."
She’s quiet for a moment, eyes shining bright. Then she steps closer, looping her arms around my neck. “I guess I really am your muse then.”
“I’m glad we can agree on that.”
Wrapping my arms around her waist, I pull her in. Her body settles into mine, fitting so naturally it feels inevitable. The scent of her— cinnamon—wraps around me.
We sway, slow and unhurried, between glass cases full of history. Surrounded by everything that came before us and a new story being written in our movements.
“You’re the calm I didn’t know I needed in my life,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper, afraid that anything louder might shatter the moment.
She leans back to look at me, her gaze searching mine. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“You clearly need to meet better people.”
She smirks. “Or you just need to keep talking.”
“I can do that,” I murmur, dipping my head and brushing my lips across hers. “I have so much more to share with you.”
“Start with something sweet then.”
“I can’t believe someone as wonderful as you exists,” I let the truth pour out. “You’re absolutely brilliant. The way your brain works fascinates me. Seeing you light up when you talk about the past and how it matters? It floors me like your beauty does.”
Her hands tighten at the back of my neck, and I keep going, moving my lips near her ear. “I enjoy how you challenge me to bemore open and see things in new ways. You also listen and care about what comes out of my mouth—even the stuff no one else sticks around long enough to hear.”
She exhales slowly, the breath tickling on my skin.
“Iloveyour laugh and how your eyes crinkle at the corners when something really gets to you. I also appreciate that you’re brave enough to be here with me, even if it scares you. You make me want to stay and not run away. For as long as you’ll have me. I know it’s wild because we just met, but I can feel our connection in every cell of my body,” I finish.
She stills in my arms and I wonder if anyone has said this to her in the past? If I’m the first one to share such words with her.
