“I once blocked a slapshot with my face.”
“The goat remains unconvinced.”
Jillie laughs so hard milk nearly comes out her nose.
***
So, one year later, this is somehow my life now.
And honestly? I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Sweet Seasons officially doubled in size three months ago after tourist traffic became completely ridiculous. Apparently, people really will drive three hours for cinnamon rolls, hockey sightings, and the possibility of witnessing Toby Donovan accidentally break furniture again.
The bakery expansion added: a second seating area, a bigger prep kitchen, extra ovens, a massive picture window overlooking Main Street, and a cozy upstairs reading loft Mrs. Bellamy calls “emotionally literary,”
Colby quietly paid for half the renovations without ever telling anyone. I only found out because contractors accidentally sent invoices to my house instead of his by mistake.
The bell over the bakery door jingles again.
Another tourist family enters carrying Blizzards merchandise and enough excitement to power a small city. The little boy spots Colby instantly and gasps loud enough to startle nearby customers.
“THAT’S HIM.”
Colby looks up from unpacking supplies and immediately smiles. Not celebrity polite. Real. The little boy nearly faints.
I still haven’t gotten used to watching people fall in love with the version of Colby I already know.
The real version.
He’s the one who fixes broken equipment before anyone asks, remembers every customer’s coffee order, folds Jillie’s hockey jerseys straight from the dryer because “they wrinkle weird,” and still shows up at five in the morning to help me prep dough even after road trips.
The headlines eventually calmed down.
Mostly.
The internet still calls us America’s favorite hockey family
Toby framed the article. Unfortunately.
Across the bakery, Caleb Hart sits in the reading corner pretending to read a mystery novel while very obviously watching the bookstore owner arranging displays across Maple Street.
Grumpy goalie behavior.
“Just ask her out,” Liam says while stealing whipped cream directly from a mixing bowl.
Caleb doesn’t look up from his book. “I’d rather fight a bear.”
“That can be arranged,” Toby offers helpfully.
Liam turns back toward me. “By the way, the videographer from the Winter Festival is coming later.”
His expression immediately changes. Too casual. Too innocent.
Ah. Interesting.
“Her name is Brooke,” Jillie says loudly. “And Liam combed his hair twice before she came last time.”
Liam points accusingly. “Tiny traitor.”
