Page 46 of Hearts on Ice
When he opened his eyes, I couldn’t stop the question. “Well? How is it?”
He looked at me, that slow, genuine smile forming. “It’s incredible.”
My mom beamed. “Good. Then he can come back for more.”
Drew leaned a little closer, voice low enough for only me to hear. “Worth twenty-seven saves.”
I threw my head back and laughed. “You remembered.”
“I make good on my promises,” he murmured.
My mom, still glowing with pride, said, “I’ll pack you some to take home, Coach. For later.”
Drew smiled, soft but sure. “If it tastes half as good tomorrow, I’ll call that a win.”
She laughed. “Ay, I like this one.”
Abuela leaned forward, tone firm but fond. “Coach or not, no one leaves here hungry.”
My dad added, “He’s polite, this one. Careful, Lucía, he’ll charm you next.”
She smirked. “Too late.”
The table broke into another wave of laughter, spoons clinking against plates, conversation tumbling over itself. I watchedDrew take another bite, that tiny crease appearing near his mouth when he smiled.
Mamá set a plate in front of me, the caramel glistening like amber under the light. “You too, mijo,” she said. “Eat before it melts.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I didn’t argue. One bite in and the flan was everything I remembered—smooth, creamy, that perfect edge of burnt sugar that hit sweet and smoky all at once. Heaven.
Before I could offer Drew another look, the front door opened, and a pair of familiar voices floated in.
“¡Llegamos!”We’re here!
“¿Qué e' la que hay?”What’s up?
My aunt and uncle swept in, bringing a gust of cool air and easy laughter with them. Tía Rosa looked radiant, a floral scarf covering the short, growing hair that framed her face. She’d fought hard—months of chemo, surgeries, endless prayers—and she’d won. Seeing her laugh now still felt like a small miracle.
“Look who’s here,” Mamá said proudly, waving them in. “Miguel and his coach.”
Tía Rosa’s smile spread, warm and knowing. “So this is Coach Mack. We’ve heard about you.”
Drew stood, always the gentleman, and shook her hand with that calm, steady grace that somehow made everyone relax. “All good things, I hope.”
“All the best things,” she said, eyes twinkling. “Anyone who looks out for our Miguel is family.”
Her husband, Tío Ernesto, clapped Drew on the shoulder. “You already ate? My sister doesn’t let anyone leave her kitchen hungry.”
Drew laughed. “She made sure of that.”
“He passed the test,” Papá said, chiming in with a grin. “Clean plate and everything.”
The room filled with laughter again, Rosa teasing my mom, Papá pouring another round of juice, Drew’s laugh low and warm, threading through it all. I sat there, full—not just from the food, but fromthis.The noise, the comfort, the easy way Drew fit in, like he’d always belonged here.
All too soon, it was time to go.
Mamá and Abuela packed up the leftovers, neat and careful, and pressed the containers into our hands. Abuela slipped something else into mine—a woven bracelet, green and gold thread—and another into Drew’s.
“Para suerte,” she said. “For good luck.”
