Page 19 of Pucked Up Plans
It’s not a huge sofa, and both my libido and heart take notice. Damn, he smells nice. Fresh, like soap. Woodsy.
“So, what brought you and Aubrey to Vermont?” he questions, taking a swig of his water.
“Go right for the jugular, why don’t you?”
Walsh shows no shame, and a simple shrug of his shoulders is his only action.
Forced to answer him, I say, “The short version is I needed a change. I didn’t expect to move so far away from home—my parents, the help they offered with Aubrey—but I felt trapped there. My father’s sister lives here in Vermont and offered me the place to stay rent-free until I got my bearings. I couldn’t pass it up. Plus, I have fond memories of New England summers from a few visits when I was a little older than Aubrey.” Now it’s my turn to shrug. He doesn’t need to know the real reason I moved away from home. Not wanting the focus on me, I ask, “Have you always lived in Havenwood?”
He doesn’t seem to mind the conversation turned to him. “I was born here. Moved a few times within the town, but Havenwood has always been home. It’s convenient for classes, too.”
His comment catches me off guard. “You’re a student?”
I never planned to attend college right out of high school, even before Aubrey came into the picture. However, I alwaysfigured I’d go at some point. I’d like to think I’ll keep the promise to myself one day, way, way in the future.
“Yeah, a senior at Aspenridge. The degree’s a bonus for playing on the hockey team.” A chuckle rips out from deep within him, finding his own words hysterically funny. I smile, but it’s half-hearted.
My eyes assess his athletic build, scrutinizing the way his body is so fit. “What position do you play?” An internal hand slap because I’m certain of one position in hockey: goalie.
“Left wing. Offense,” he adds when my face contorts to confusion. “Front line, on the left side.” As if that makes it less confusing.
So I change the subject to something I’m a bit more familiar with. “What’s your major?”
“Athletic Training. I love the sport, but I have no grand notions of playing much beyond college. My ideal job would be to work as a trainer for the hockey team at Aspenridge. A pipe dream at best.”
His tone reeks of defeat. And I have to know why.
“Why?”
Relaxing back onto the sofa, he expels a deep sigh. A motion of his hand in the air waves away my question. “Story for another day.”
A sure way I’ll get to spend more time with him.
Most likely at a playdate.
For our children.
Not as anything else.
The girls’ reemergence in the room disrupts our conversation.
“Dad,” Lennon starts, “Aubrey has two American Girl dolls. Two!” She holds up her fingers in case he missed the way she stressed the number. “I don’t even have one. What’s up withthat?” I choke back a laugh how she phrases her question. And I don’t miss how she called him “Dad.”
“Have you ever asked for an American Girl doll?” he lobs at her.
She tilts her head to the left, contemplating her answer. “Hmm. No, I guess not. I’m asking now. Can I get an American Girl doll? Please? Pretty please?” Her eyes bat, her almost cherub face too cute and nearly impossible to say no to. I have to bite my tongue not to agree to give her one.
“Put it on your list.”
Her fist shoots in the air, happiness emanating from her enough to light up our small living room.
When she can’t contain her excitement any longer, she races back down the hall, Aubrey on her heels.
“I wouldn’t have pegged her for a doll kind of girl.” The observation tumbles unabashedly from my lips. Heat creeps into my cheeks at my insinuation.
Walsh chuckles at my comment, which helps ease some of my embarrassment. “I’m pretty sure she’s not. Though she seems a little young for American Girl. Aren’t they, like, ridiculously expensive?”
“For sure. Aubrey’s are hand-me-downs. They were mine. I don’t think she understands the concept yet, but one day she will. Especially when she’s got dolls no one else has because they’re already retired.”
