Page 56 of From Ice to Grace
Grace.
“But you’ll be fine,” I say, this time softer. “You’re a great defenseman and they need you on the ice. They know that, everybody knows that.”
I’m not going to fluff his ego, or lie to him about the horrible state of his circumstances. But I can tell the truth—and the truth is Declan has immense talent and skill. The team is better with him. No one can argue that.
“Was that a compliment?” he asks, and my stomach twists realizing that he might take the simple truth and turn it into something it isn’t. “Ah, thanks Snowflake.”
With a huff, I move to the front door that’s still open. “Was that all?” I ask, gesturing for him to leave.
He gets up from the couch and steps closer. He’s incredibly tall and somehow he’s even bigger now that he's clean and sober and wearing sweatpants.
“Come now, you liked me enough to compliment my game a second ago,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “Doesn’t that warrant a cup of coffee? At least?”
My eyes narrow. What’s your game now, Murphy?
“That was before the idiot made his reappearance," I toss back. The coffee is almost done, the steam and the smell of fresh filtered coffee coming off the machine in the kitchen.
“I’ve heard idiots like coffee too,” he says. “Especially idiots who just want to apologize and say thank you.”
I’m not sure if I should allow him to stay. We’ve never had coffee, just the two of us. Granted, we’ve never been able to be in each other’s company for more than a few minutes without one or both of us slinging a quip in the other’s direction.
“Or maybe I could get a cup of coffee for bringing you back a clean, nice-smelling car?” he tries again.
“My car would’ve been just fine if you hadn’t puked in it in the first place.”
He has the decency to look slightly sorry at least. “True, but if I didn’t throw up in it, would it smell as good as it’s smelling now?”
“Better,” I say with confidence. I sigh, closing the front door. “Fine, you can stay for coffee.”
Making my way to the open plan kitchen, I feel his gaze following me. He takes a seat at the counter while I head to the coffee machine.
“You still haven’t told me where you’re going,” he says, looking into one of the boxes on the counter before reaching in and pulling out my family recipe book. “A place with a bigger kitchen so you can bake?” He flips through the book, landing on a random recipe. “Or perhaps make Kroppkakor…” He tries and butchers the word and I can’t help but laugh.
“What in the world is that?” he asks, his voice rough and laced with laughter.
“In English it would be body cakes.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”
“Are you willing to stay ten more minutes to find out?” I silently dare him, while taking out two cups from the cupboard.
“Mm, maybe you should make my coffee here where I can see you.”
Turning around, I place the cups and the coffee on the counter in front of him. I’m a bit surprised by how comfortable it suddenly feels.
“What?” I ask, pouring him a cup. “You don’t trust me?”
Heading to the fridge, I take out the cream remembering he took it that way this morning. I add it to his coffee as he watches me carefully…considering.
“I trust you, Snowflake.” His voice is low causing my stomach to unexpectedly dip.
A warm blush creeps up my neck and I clear my throat.
“I have to go back home, so I guess I’ll be making more body cakes than I have in the past year being here.”
“You’re going back home?” he asks, setting down the book where I’ve scrawled down recipes over the years. I’ve got a few in there from my mom and grandmother too.
“Sent back,” I say simply.
