Page 22 of Almost Ours
Benny waited a beat, then leaned in and muttered, “Chief Dawson. Asshole.”
I exhaled shakily, blinking hard.
“He’s all puffed-up ego in a uniform. Doesn’t know when to shut up and definitely doesn’t know how to read a room.” Benny added.
I nodded slowly, the tension in my chest beginning to ease. My hands were still clenched, but at least I wasn’t shaking.
“Anyway,” Benny said, his brightness returning like flipping a switch. “Connor will absolutely love Winterfest.” He winked and turned to grab the tray again.
My heart tugged at that thought. “I’ll be there, Benny.”
Benny stopped mid-step and turned, the grin that spread across his face softer this time. “I’d love that, Harper. Really.”
He gave me a little nod before heading back through the kitchen doors.
The afternoonat the bakery had been quiet, thankfully. Just a slow, steady stream of regulars, which meant I had plenty of time to wipe down already spotless counters and rearrange the pastry display at least five times.
By the time my shift ended, my nerves had settled just enough to fake normal. Barely.
I headed home, threw together grilled cheese and soup, helped Connor change, and then we were back out the door, hockey bag in hand. It was only his second practice since we’d moved here, but hockey had always been his thing. The secondhis skates hit the ice, it was like everything else faded away–he was in his element.
He was already fitting in with the team–laughing, skating, throwing himself into drills like he was chasing a dream. And watching him out there, so full of energy and ease, made something in my chest loosen.
I was starting to find a rhythm too. Our mornings had followed the same simple pattern: walking Connor to school, then heading straight to the bakery where the scent of sugar and yeast had begun to feel like home. I’d spend the day making coffees, manning the counter, and trading banter with Benny, the steady hum of routine slowly soothing the part of me that was always braced for chaos.
After work, I’d pick Connor up, and we’d head home for dinner and homework, or on nights like this, straight to the rink for practice. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was predictable. Safe.
Our next-door neighbour, Mrs. Knox, had introduced herself on our second day with a tray of homemade lemon bars and a handwritten list of important phone numbers–hers at the top. She’d offered to watch Connor any time, swearing it was no trouble.
She’d dropped off soup when it snowed over the weekend, muffins this morning, and a sense of quiet reassurance.
Little by little, things were beginning to settle. The chaos in my chest was still there–probably always would be–yet it no longer swallowed me whole.
Sitting in the bleachers with Nina, sipping our coffee and laughing at her sharp, unfiltered commentary, had become a sort of comfort. There was something easy about being around her. I hadn’t known her for long, but some people just… get it. Get you.
By the time we stepped into the rink, the familiar blast of cold air hit us. The scent of metal, rubber, and faintly sourhockey gear filled my lungs, oddly comforting in its own way. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a pale glow over the scuffed ice and worn wooden bleachers that lined the perimeter.
Connor took off down the tunnel toward the dressing room, hockey bag slung over one shoulder, not even sparing me a backward glance. He was already calling out to one of his teammates before he disappeared around the corner.
I followed at a slower pace, scanning the rink until I spotted Nina in our usual seats near center ice–third row up, just high enough to see everything. Her chestnut hair was swept into a high bun, a few loose strands framing her face. She wore her signature puffer coat in a deep forest green, zipped halfway over a faded university hoodie. One leg was crossed over the other, foot bouncing lazily in a worn sneaker as she leaned back with casual confidence, looking like she owned the entire rink.
Both hands were wrapped around oversized coffee cups, one already extended in my direction, grinning as she saw me. “Saved your seat.”
“Thank you,” I muttered, climbing the steps and plopping down beside her.
I took the coffee and wrapped my hands around it gratefully, letting the warmth seep into my fingers.
“How was work?” Nina asked, tucking her legs up beneath her.
I stiffened slightly. “Uh… it was alright.”
She hummed, not pushing, just sipping her coffee like she knew I wasn’t quite ready to spill.
A minute passed. Then another.
I let out a breath. “I poured hot coffee on a customer this morning.”
Nina’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”
