My parents got married super young—they were both nineteen. I think sometimes they forget that just because I’m a senior doesn’t mean I’m an old maid that needs to be put out to pasture. I’m cool waiting for a while before anyone puts a ring on it.
But as I stare at my hot hockey boyfriend out the window, I can’t help but imagine him in ten or even twenty years. Salt and pepper hair, strong shoulders, and still out in the cold, playing hockey with the neighborhood kids in the middle of the street.
The sound of breaking glass draws my day dreaming to a halt. Out the window, a couple of the kids flee in all directions, but cracking the window open just a little, I hear Justin reassuring the kids that it’ll all be okay.
The door to the house across the street swings open and a huge, red-faced, angry as fuck dude comes stomping out onto his lawn. He’s yelling, waving his hands, and even from this distance I can see the vein popping in his neck.
Justin leaps into action, putting himself between the kids and the raving lunatic pissed that his window has been broken. Justin raises both hands, and Dad, who was standing next to me just a second ago, is crossingourlawn and making his way toward the ruckus. He stops just short, though, and I’m grateful to him for letting Justin have the opportunity to handle this himself.
Justin takes full responsibility for the break. He’s a college hockey player, so there’s literally no way I believe he was the one to have broken the window. He has better aim than that, I know this because I’ve seen him play, but he says he is to blame. He says he’ll cover the cost to replace the window, but the neighbor—a recent addition to my parents’ street—doesn’t visibly simmer down.
Before he can turn to leave, Justin grabs his arm and gets all the way in the guy’s face, still speaking loudly enough for me—and all the other parents I just know are craning their necks out their own windows to listen—to hear. He tells him to check himself next time he barges out on the street to confront a group of elementary and middle school kids, no matter what the scenario is, no matter how much of a fright it is to have your window broken. The angry man nods, mutters something, and turns, stomping back into his house.
Justin spins to face the huddled group of little kids, crouching in front of them. “If that ever happens again, I want you to go to the Bowens house and tell someone in there.” He points at my house to his left. “They’ll let me know, and I’ll make sure you don’t get into trouble, and I’ll cover the cost of any puck-induced damages, okay?”
I’m pretty sure my heart is now taking up 92% of all available space in my chest. It feels like it might explode. I’m not sure I can take so much adorableness all at once. Who is this man? And how the hell did I manage to convince him that he loves me?
The kids nod, some look over their shoulders, presumably to their respective houses to make sure their parents aren’t storming out to yell at them. After a reassuring nod to Dad, Justin restarts the game.
“He’s a good man.” Mom must have turned on that stealth mode only parents seem to have, and I squeal.
“I didn’t hear you come in.” I cover my chest with both hands like I can control my racing heart.
She laughs and tips her head toward the window. “You were too busy swooning, darling.” She nudges me. “He really is a good man, though.”
“I’m hearing that a lot tonight.”
“Mandy and I are already making plans.”
My eye roll meets the Athena-level Olympic standard. “So I hear.”
“I’m just saying.” She bumps my shoulder with hers. “I wouldn’t be mad if you made an army of little hockey playing babies with that man.”
My face is on fire, but it’s Dad who answers as he returns to the kitchen. “And I wouldn’t be mad if you waited until you’ve at least finished college.” He kisses the side of my head before pulling Mom into a hug.
It’s over an hour before Justin comes inside. He stays out in the street until the very last kid is called in for dinner, leaving no one without someone to play with. He’s so good with the kids, and before the group breaks, he promises to play again the next time he’s in town.
His parents have arrived and we all enjoy a home-cooked meal, a few drinks and cupcakes from a local cupcakery. It’s run by the partner of one of Justin’s ex rivals from the home team—the Minnesota Snow Pirates—someone named Quinn. I can’t recall a time when I’ve tasted cupcakes this delicious. They’re melting on my tongue, the frosting is the perfect blend of cream cheese and sugar, and if I ever move back home after college, my waistline might be in danger.
Sophia announces we’re watching a movie, and while she and Dad bicker over what to choose, Justin and I claim the loveseat and I curl myself up on his lap to get comfy. Almost everyone I love is here in this room, and I have to say, it feels pretty fucking nice. I can’t wait to see what the future holds for Justin and me, and if my gut is right, it’s going to be epic.
Epilogue
SAVANNAH
(Two years later)
“Can you believe we came full circle and are back in Minnesota?” Justin sips on his ice cold bottle of Spotted Cow as I try not to gulp my margarita.
Shaking my head, I sigh. I can’t. I always thought I’d stay in Cedar Rapids and build a life there, but the tug of home was just too strong for Justin and me to ignore. We even live in my parents’ neighborhood. One of their neighbors moved out a few months after we graduated, and they gave us a great deal.
The house needs some updating, minor repairs here and there, and we have big plans to revamp the back yard to put a deck and grill out there, but as far as first homes go, we definitely did well for ourselves.
“Are you trying to distract me from your anxiety about the bestseller list with nostalgia?”
“Is it working?” He flashes me his movie star grin, and I roll my eyes.
“Nice try, hot shot.”
