Page 20 of Almost Ours
It made me want to know more.
My phone buzzed on the seat beside me, pulling me out of my thoughts. Shane’s name lit up the screen.
Shane: You alive?
I huffed a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I picked up the phone.
Ryan: Last I checked.
His reply came fast.
Shane: You actually going to show up for practice tonight, or should I tell the kids their other coach is still hiding in the woods?
I sighed, leaning my head back against the headrest. It had been a week since I’d set foot in the rink. Depression was a damn trap like that.
Ryan: I’ll be there.
The typing dots popped up instantly, and I could practically see him at his kitchen table, scowling at his phone like it had personally offended him.
Shane: Good. The kids miss you, and I’m tired of covering for you. Plus, I need to make sure you aren’t dead in a snowdrift somewhere.
Ryan: Appreciate the concern, Coach.
Shane: Shut up. You know what I mean. I need to see you. And don’t give me any of your ‘I’m fine’ bullshit, either.
My smirk faded. Shane always knew when I wasn’t okay, even when I tried to hide it. Gruff on the outside, sure, but he was more like family to me than anyone else.
Ryan: I’ll be there. Promise.
There was a pause before his reply.
Shane: 7 pm. Don’t make me regret not hunting you down sooner.
I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and exhaled slowly. He was right. It was time to show up again–for the kids, for Shane, and maybe even for myself.
The moment Ryanwalked out the door, a strange heat flushed through me–like my body had only just caught up with what had happened. I gripped the edge of the counter, trying to steady my breath, the smooth marble cool beneath my fingertips.
Outside, the snow swirled gently past the wide bakery windows, muffling the usual street sounds. Inside, the low hum of the espresso machine mixed with the clatter of glassware and the sweet scent of rising dough and cinnamon sugar. The warmth of the oven fogged the glass slightly, cocooning the space in a haze of comfort that I didn’t quite feel.
What just happened?
My heart still pounded, too fast, too loud. It wasn’t just from the embarrassment of spilling coffee on a stranger–it was the way he’d looked at me. Not angry. Not even annoyed. Just… calm. Steady. Kind.
That threw me more than anything else.
How he didn’t lose his temper or flinch at my awkward apologies was beyond me.
I pressed a napkin to my cheeks, trying to cool the heat spreading across them. My thoughts flicked, uninvited, to Reid.If I’d done something like that in front of him? He would’ve lost it. Called me stupid. Made me feel two inches tall. My throat tightened.
Stop. This isn’t that. You’re safe.
Still, my stomach churned as I glanced around, waiting–half-expecting Benny to come out of the kitchen red-faced and ready to fire me on the spot.
The door creaked.
I straightened, instinctively bracing for impact.
“Harper,” Benny called out, stepping into view with a tray of muffins balanced on his hips and a raised brow. His tone was teasing, but I flinched anyway. “You’re about three seconds away from hyperventilating. Did Mr. Flannel Shirt break you?”
