Page 37 of ICED
Which he has, probably. Of course he has. Because that’s the kind of man he is. Disciplined. Constant. Stubborn as a bulldog but always showing up. Even when I’m not sure I deserve it.
He grins when I don’t say anything.
“You look like you’re deciding whether to offer me cake or arrest me.”
“Depends what you’re here for,” I say, grabbing the bowl of glaze again. “If it’s sugar, we’re out. If it’s sass, you’re late.”
“I brought my own,” he shoots back, nodding at me. “You’re covered in it.”
I snort, and try not to notice the way his eyes linger on the smear of icing across my cheek. Or the way he leans his hip against the counter, far too comfortable in this space I’ve tried to keep protected.
“Busy day?” he asks, like it’s normal, like he belongs here.
“Long. But good. The kids made shortbread and only three of them tried to sword fight with rolling pins, so I’m counting it as a win.”
He chuckles, deep and quiet, and for a second the warmth in his eyes steals my breath.
“You okay?” I ask. “After last night?”
He shrugs. “Shoulder’s still attached. I’ll take it.”
“I meant the rest.”
His smile slips a little, but not in a bad way. Just thoughtful.
“I missed this,” he says softly. “The game. The boys. The noise.”
I nod, and I understand. It’s how I feel when the kitchen’s full of life. When I’m wrist-deep in dough and the oven’s humming and there’s purpose in the air.
“But,” he adds, eyes flicking toward me. “Was weird not having anyone there. Not properly. You know?”
I don’t answer, not right away. Because I do know. I know exactly what it’s like to be surrounded by people and still feel completely alone.
Then he clears his throat and gestures toward the prep table. “So, I was thinking…”
“Dangerous,” I tease, arching a brow.
He grins again, slow and crooked. “Reckless, even. But hear me out.”
I pause, spatula hovering mid-air. “Go on.”
“There’s another home game this weekend. Saturday afternoon, it’s a show game, a friendly. I was wondering…” Hescratches the back of his neck like it’s a habit. “If you might want to come. Bring Lila. If you’re up for it.”
I blink.
That’s not what I was expecting. I thought maybe he’d offer to fix a shelf or drop off more brownies or come around with a cheesy grin and a pun-laden story about practice.
Not this.
He sees the hesitation on my face and steps back slightly. Not away, not withdrawn, just giving me space. Like he always does.
“It’s totally fine if not,” he says quickly. “No pressure. I just thought she might like it.”
“Might?” comes a voice behind me.
We both turn to see Lila standing in the kitchen doorway, backpack sliding off one shoulder, face lighting up like she’s just heard the word ‘unicorn.’
“You said a game?” she asks, eyes bouncing between me and Owen.
