Page 9 of Slapshot & Sweet Potato
Four
WENDY
“Great hot chocolate, but that last part goes down a little rough,” Slapshot says with a grimace.
“That’s why I prefer baking chocolate bars, but all you had in the kitchen was cocoa powder. I was pleased to see real heavy whipping cream in your fridge, though.”
He shrugs, eyes catching the firelight. “Like it in my coffee.” He pauses, and the cabin settles in the storm. “How you doing over there? Staying warm enough without the generator?”
I tug the blanket tighter. “You’d think the fireplace would give off more heat.”
He huffs a laugh. “Not sure how our ancestors survived.”
The wind howls down the chimney, scattering a few sparks onto the hearth. He leans forward, forearms braced on his knees, every line of him carved in gold and shadow.
“Maybe notmyancestors,” I tease. “Yours were hockey gods, right?”
Something shifts behind his gaze, the spark fading to distance. “First hockey player in my family, actually.”
“How’d you get into it?”
The storm rattles against the walls, snow whispering across the windows. A log pops in the fire, sending a shower of embers up the chimney. For a second, the only light is the flicker of orange across his face, and the soft hiss of the logs in the hearth.
He smiles faintly, gaze still on the fire. “The Olympics. Like every other kid my age. Wanted to represent for the nation, though I’ll never get there now. Not that it matters anyway…”
The disappointment in his tone tugs at my heart. “To answer your question, though, we had a rink in town, but my favorite games were on the frozen lake behind our farm in Minnesota. Those were brutal.”
I picture him as a boy on the ice, cheeks red from cold, grin wide. “Did you celebrate the holidays back then?”
“Yeah,” he says after a beat. “Big family gatherings … cousins, chaos, too much food.”
“How many siblings?”
“Five. Three brothers, two sisters.”
“They must be proud of how far you’ve come.”
He shakes his head, expression tightening. “They’ve got their own lives.”
His tone is final, but his eyes give him away, a flash of something lonely. I want to reach out, touch his arm, but the air between us feels fragile. Instead, I shift closer to the fire, pretending to warm my hands when really, I’m trying to steady my heart.
“I get it. I have two sisters. Both older.”
“The ever-optimistic baby of the family,” he teases. “Should’ve guessed.”
I arch a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Our eyes meet, the flames reflected between us.
“Just that the best thing that’s ever happened to Liam is Cassandra,” he says softly. “And her sidekick sunshine isn’t half bad either.”
I chuckle. “I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess.”
“You should.” He licks his far too kissable lips, and my heart shivers behind my ribs.What the hell is wrong with me?Love or hate him, I can’t deny Wallace Lemoille is the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. Hands down. “We should probably go to bed. Getting late,” he adds like an afterthought.
“Yep.” My insides are in knots, and I can’t explain why.
“I’ll take the couch,” he says, eyes glinting. “Only one bed.”
