Selfish. Reckless. Too famous for his own good.
But the man crouching in front of my daughter does not look reckless.
He looks careful.
He points toward the lights strung above the rink and says something I can’t hear. Jillie shakes her head. He presses his hand dramatically to his chest like she has wounded him. She looks uncertain for half a second, then smiles.
My heart gives one dangerous, traitorous twist.
Colby glances toward me, as if asking permission.
I should walk over there. I should collect my daughter. I should definitely not nod at a famous hockey player like I am agreeing to something normal.
But Jillie is smiling again, so, I nod.
Colby grins at her, then carefully lifts her onto his shoulders like she weighs nothing. Jillie squeals, grabbing his beanie with both hands.
“Careful,” I call, already moving toward them.
“I’ve taken worse hits than a six-year-old with frosting on her mittens,” he says.
His voice is warm. Lower than I expect.
Jillie gasps. “You know I’m six?”
“You told me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did with your face.”
She giggles. “That’s not real.”
“It is if you’re very skilled.”
I reach them, breath catching slightly from the cold or the moment or the absurdity of standing beside Colby Reid while my daughter sits on his shoulders like a tiny queen of winter.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “She wandered off.”
“She didn’t wander.” Colby looks up at Jillie. “She was conducting an official festival inspection.”
Jillie nods seriously. “The lights are good. The cookies are too small.”
“Noted,” he says.
I fold my arms. “The cookies are perfectly sized.”
Colby looks at the booth, then back at me. “You made those?”
“Yes, I own Sweet Seasons.”
Something flickers in his expression. Recognition, maybe. “You’re Sadie Bennett.”
I brace myself. There it is. The pity. The gossip. Darren the ex. The single mom who got cheated on.
But Colby only says, “My sister used to mail me your maple pecan bars when I was on the road during playoffs.”
That catches me off guard. “Really?”
