She nods thoughtfully, then glides away from me—backward—smooth as anything.
“You should get some of that stuff Mommy put on mine,” she tells me. “Then maybe you’ll get married.”
And then she executes a perfect little spin in the middle of the ice. Meanwhile, I’m left standing near the boards, with an alleged wart and no defense.
Or self-respect.
“Wait!” she calls, carving a clean arc back toward me. She stops so sharply, ice sprays my skates again. Her blue eyes go wide and I brace myself. “Are you not married because you’re not in love?”
Well.
I nod solemnly, shoulders finally relaxing. “Yes. That’s it, Stella. I’m not in love.”
And that should be the end of it. Except my gaze drifts across the rink to Lucas and Josh as they fire pucks at the net. Maria’s boys.
And yeah…Maria. Who manages our favorite café, The Nook. Who smiles like she doesn’t realize it wrecks me. Who I may or may not be in love with.
So.
There’s that.
Ice sprays again when Tanner comes to a stop beside us. It’s easy to see where Stella gets her mad skills.
“Do I even want to know?” he asks, eyeing me like he’s walking into the aftermath of a bar fight. He rests a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Things looked intense over here.”
I tap Stella’s helmet lightly. “She was just asking why I’m not married,” I explain, holding up my college ring like it’s evidence in my favor.
“Daddy,” Stella says, eyes narrowing like she’s about to deliver her final judgement. “He’s not in love. That’s why he’s not married. It’s not because of that ugly wart.”
“Stella,” Tanner groans. “That is not a nice thing to say. And it’s not a wart.” He throws me an apologetic look. “It’s a callus.”
She huffs dramatically. “That’s what a wart would say, Daddy.”
Mortification crawls across Tanner’s face. “I don’t…why…she…”
I just grin. “Mouths of babes.”
Hell, I might be battle-scarred from the game, cuts and bruises here and there, but that’s not why I’m not married—and not why I avoid the puck bunnies. Still, it’s good to be humbled by someone who needs bedtime stories.
Ignoring us entirely, Stella clasps her tiny hands to her chest and gazes dreamily across the ice at Noah and Brighton’s son. “I’m in love with Tate. We’re going to get married.”
“I’m never surviving her teenage years,” Tanner mutters.
“Five going on fifteen?” I offer.
“More like five going on terrifying,” he says, spinning her gently toward center ice. “Come on, Stella. Let’s leave Tuck alone so he can go find someone to fall in love with.”
“Uncle Tuck?” she calls over her shoulder.
I glance down and she beams at me like she’s about to gift me with life-changing wisdom.
“When you do find someone, make sure you don’t have broccoli in your teeth when you smile at her.”
I nod gravely. “Yeah, that’s probably the best advice I’ve ever received. I’ll always do a broccoli check.”
Seemingly satisfied, she glides away with her father—then promptly starts skating tight, flawless circles around every other kid on the ice.
Yeah. Tanner’s in trouble. But one day she’s going to be a phenomenal hockey player, and probably a killer captain.
