“You keep warning me, I’m still not going anywhere.”
I laughed. “They’re not bad, it’s just...well, you’ll see.”
The backyard was divided up into zones. Huge white canopies were set up to protect the food. Two massive grills were going and Heavenly Bite catering trays of food were stashed on one of the many six foot tables. My dad was manning one of the grills and the sharp scent of onions and peppers teased the air.
“There’s my girl.” My dad waved to me. Mike Valentine was as handsome as my brothers but his dark hair had faded to salt and pepper with a little added padding to his waist thanks to his love of food. The closer he got to retirement, the more he cooked these days.
I pointed to Dutch to tuck the bag of sweets under the table so they didn’t melt or get eaten by the heathens right away.
I went over to my dad and gave him a hug. “Dad, I want you to meet Mouse.”
“Well, hello there. That name does not compute.” He crouched down and instantly Mouse’s tail went into helicopter mode. “You should be Snow Beast or Yeti.”
I laughed. “You should have heard all the names I came up with. I tried Falcor—he wasn’t about it.”
Dutch came up with a tight smile. “Hi.”
“Dad, meet Atticus Dutch.”
“Dutch,” he said quietly. “About time.” My dad straightened, laughing when Mouse leaned against him enough to put him off balance. He held his hand out. “Seems you two can’t make time to get away for family dinner lately.”
I moved to Dutch’s side. “We’ve both been working a lot.”
“Mr. Valentine.” Dutch shook his hand then found mine, our fingers lacing together easily.
My dad glanced at our linked hands. “Like that, is it?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t give him a hard time, he still has to meet Keaton.”
My dad laughed. “You can call me Mike. Big Mike if I like you. We’ll see about that one.”
Dutch scrubbed his palm against his outer thigh. “Thanks for the invite. Your place is really nice.”
“Thanks, we like it. Her mom would be happy if I let her put the pond in at the edge of the property, but I think she needs to get away from hockey for at least a few hours a day.”
My mother would live at the rink if she could.
“Pretty sure she officially has keys to the Zamboni,” I muttered.
“She does.” My dad opened the lid to the grill and pushed around the peppers and onions then flipped the sausage. “She got licensed last season.”
“You’re kidding.”
He shook his head. “Frank broke his leg and they didn’t have anyone to drive it. She learned in a week.”
“Next she’ll be coaching the Haven Renegades.”
“You’re out of the loop, my girl. We already are.”
“What?”
“Yeah, Coach Dalton retired to Florida. Your mom volunteered us.”
I glanced over at my mother who was hovering around my brother and his friends, refilling beers and sodas. “Does Keaton know?”
“Yeah. She’s been trying to get him to come in and help.”
“How’s that going?”
