Page 20 of Love at Teamsgiving
“This sounds juicy. Spill,” Margo says.
Erica tells the entirety of the encounter at Honey & Lavender while I stack the last of the boxes by the door.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to entrust them with the planning? I’d do it—I’d love to do it, but I’m already under contract for three weddings and the team events.” Margo frets.
Erica, who should wear an intense look of concern at the very notion of entrusting Miguel and me with her wedding plans, simply smiles. “I think it’ll all work out.”
“With a cream pie fight,” I mutter, given the Thanksgiving wedding theme. I sneak to the fridge and pull out the rest of thepumpkin pie from Kian. Looks like Mama had a slice, which is a good sign. The woman is all bird bones these days.
“Weren’t the two of you going to get married?” Margo asks.
“That’s ancient history.”
Erica goes still. “Until today, much of that was news to me, including that your parents were friends.”
“Rivals,” I correct.
“What part of the story did you know?” Margo asks.
“That they were a couple.”
“We’re talking about Mikey Cruz, right? New center for the Knights, right?” Margo asks.
“Unfortunately,” I say, not thrilled that he’s practically following me to Nebraska ... or is it the other way around?
Margo says, “I knew about the family stuff, but not that you dated a pro hockey player. That explains a lot.”
“And she left the family history part out for me,” Erica says.
I flop onto the couch and rest the pie tin on my chest. Seeing Miguel drained my tolerance-for-jerks battery. I need to recharge.
“Is there any ice cream left in the freezer?” Erica asks, eyeing the pie.
“It’s empty. This is all I have left.” If I weren’t me—a stone-cold city girl—I’d be crying right now.
“I hear there’s a new ice cream shop opening here in the spring,” Margo says brightly.
“That doesn’t help the immediate situation,” Erica says, sitting down next to me and setting the phone on the chair so it’s like she and Margo are gathered around me, staging an intervention.
Margo clears her throat. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I want to eat pumpkin pie.” I pout.
“Okay, dear. But sit up so you don’t choke,” Erica says, guiding me into an upright position.
I start at the beginning, reiterating the story that Miguel and I told at the café. Then I add, “Before Miguel Cruz was a hockey star, we were enemies, before that, we were rivals, and before that, we were in love.” My throat tickles and my vision blurs with salty liquid for a moment.
Erica follows my words with her fingers.
“There’s a chance I have it out of order, but does that matter?”
“What about now?” Margo asks softly.
I wipe my hand down my face. “Back to where we started.”
Erica rubs my back. “In love?”
“Anything but that.”
