“Good. I’m glad I’m not costing you your job, at least.”
“And how was your day? The shoulder okay?”
“Seems good. I’m pretty limited in practicing with them, and I spend more time in the occupational therapy rooms than on the ice, but I’m on schedule to play after the break.”
“Good. I’m glad your shoulder’s healing.”
She didn’t ask him any more questions about it, and he didn’t really expect her to. It seemed odd to him that she hated hockey as much as she did, considering her brother played, but there was probably a reason for it. If she wanted to share, she would. But it was slightly limiting, having the one thing that filled his life being something she didn’t want to talk about.
“This looks like a good place to park,” she said, and he had to admit she parallel parked flawlessly. His mother and sister would both rather walk a mile carrying whatever they bought than parallel park.
“Where are we, exactly?”
She killed the engine and gave him a smile. “You’ll see. It’s just a short walk from here.”
He was glad it was a fairly decent day for January in Boston and, because he’d walked to practice, he had a coat and warm boots. Kristen grabbed her parka from the backseat, and after getting out of the car, she pulled it on and zipped it up.
Then she took his hand, and they started walking.
Usually Will liked to be in control of his life. Knowing what he was doing, where he was going—as well as why—were things he was accustomed to, and he didn’t like being in the dark. But walking down the sidewalk with his fingers laced through Kristen’s, he realized he didn’t mind so much. He was content to follow wherever she was leading. Especially since it meant she wasn’t driving anymore.
“Okay, this is it.” She pointed at a small, unassuming house that was obviously very old but also well cared for.
“Oh, no shit,” he said as the words on the sign registered. “Abigail Adams was born here?”
“I think the house has been moved a couple of times, but she was born in it and lived in it until she got married. And it’s not open this time of year, and it’s already getting dark, which sucks, but I figured you could take a picture for your mom. She might think it’s kind of cool.”
“She’ll think it’sverycool.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket to take some pictures, but he paused to smile at her so she’d know he meant it. “Because it is. This is very cool.”
“Since you’ve been reading her biography, you probably know a lot more about her than I do, but I’ve been by here a few times over the years, so I’d seen the birthplace signs.”
He took a few pictures, getting several angles of the house, before he gestured for her to join him. “Let’s do the selfie thing.”
“Do you hear yourself right now?” she teased, shaking her head.
“Fans are always asking me for selfies, and now I’m asking. I’m a Kristen fan, so get in here.”
“A Kristen fan? Really?” She sighed dramatically, but stepped in front of him and was patient while he framed it so their faces and the Abigail Adams birthplace sign on the house were in the shot. Just before he hit the button, he lowered his cheek to the top of her head, and she was smiling when the shutter sound clicked.
“That’s a good one,” she said, and he agreed. Her blue eyes were sparkling in the photo, and even in a photograph, the warmth of her smile heated his blood.
It was a photo he’d be keeping in theFavoritesalbum on his phone for a very long time.
“Thank you for this,” he said, hoping she’d hear the depth of sincerity in his voice. “It means a lot to me that you not only remembered what I was reading and that my mom read it, too, but cared enough to bring me out here to get a picture for her.”
“It’s not like it’s a big deal.”
“Actually, it is. A lot of people don’t bother to pay attention to anything about me other than the hockey. That’s all they see.”
She grinned and bumped him with her elbow. “I hate hockey, so I guess it’s easier for me to see the other things you like.”
“Good point.”
“The temperature’s dropping,” she said, shoving her hands deep into her parka’s pockets. “We should head back to the car.”
Because she had her hands in her pockets, he didn’t get to hold her hand on the walk back, but it was okay. She asked him a few questions about Abigail Adams, and they talked about the former First Lady until they were back in her car with the heat on full blast.
“Have you eaten yet?” she asked, glancing over at him. Then she scowled and shook her head once. “Never mind. Forget I asked that.”
