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I couldn’t help smiling at him. “Let’s keep our fingers crossed for a happy ending.”
His gnarled finger pointed at me. “Remember, dearie, the heroines never have it easy. They have to fight for what they want. You’re no different. But you deserve it just as much.”
On the way to the car, I thought about what he’d said. And then I thought about the hobby shop.
I turned to Kiley. “Could we make one more stop?”
She grinned and pushed me toward the hobby shop.
Inside, we felt a whoosh of warm air. It smelled like hobby glue and looked like a sports memorabilia hoarder died and his family donated the collection here. As we moved past the model toy section, we noticed a corner with hockey gear. With any luck, the place had some sort of organization.
“Oh, how cute!” Kiley said, finding some smaller skates and sticks. “So many memories.” She held up the little skates. “Molly used to have a pair just like this.”
I smirked. “I bet she hasn’t changed much, has she? Still just as spunky as ever.”
Kiley nodded. “So, sassy, but I’m so proud of her.”
I wondered if it was even possible for me to have a kiddo as incredible as Molly one day.
As if a light went off in her head, Kiley lit up. “Oh. I meant to offer you Ilya’s gray sedan while you’re here. We don’t use it and it would be perfect for you to zip around in so you can have some freedom to come and go as you please. You keep it filled with gas and you can have it as long as you’re here.”
I grabbed her up in a hug. “Oh, Kiley! That is just the sweetest thing ever! Now I don’t have to be reliant on anyone to drive me. Thank you!”
“You’re welcome, sweetie. You can take it back with you today if you’re ready.”
I gave her a squeeze. “You, my friend, are truly awesome.”
Kiley smiled as she pulled back, then took a box from the shelf in front of her. Flipping through a few cards, she gasped.
I peeked over her shoulder. “What?”
Her hand flew to her chest. “Oh, my word. I think this is Ilya’s rookie card!”
“Really? You should get it framed for him!”
She beamed. “It’s perfect. Let’s see if there are any others in here.” Standing over her shoulder, I watched her flip through every one of them. “There’s a Milo card,” she said pulling it from the box and holding onto it with Ilya’s. “How fun would it be to give it to him?”
I peered into the box with her. “Anyone else?”
She pawed through the rest of them. “No one I recognize. Are you disappointed?”
I smiled. “No, Ransom isn’t sentimental like that. He’s very minimalist in his décor. Books and weights are about all he collects.”
She tilted her head. “He doesn’t have any pictures of you?”
I shrugged. “Don’t really let him take any.”
Kiley cooed. “Oh, sweetie!”
I shook my head. “You’ve said that too many times. New deal. No more pitying me. I’m fine.”
She lifted her brow. “I’ve been fine. I know what that means.”
I turned and started looking through the other hockey memorabilia on the shelf and found action shots with the names of the players at the bottom in block script. Picking up a pile of them, I started paging through looking at action shots of a bunch of men, most of whom I didn’t recognize.
And then I froze.
There was an old photo of Ransom from his early professional days fighting with another hockey player. But what caught my attention was the person in the background. Me. I was pounding on the glass behind him, cheering him on. And I looked hot. Like really hot. Did I used to look like that? Or do I still look like that?
