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"All right." He crosses his arms. "Roads are getting worse. We're cutting it here. Get home before you need a plow to find your driveway."

Jax whoops. "Coach finally found his heart."

"Found his common sense," Bishop corrects.

"Same thing." Beau chuckles.

"Not even close." I murmur.

We skate toward the tunnel, the sound of blades cutting ice giving way to the louder scrape of skate guards on rubber mats. Relief ripples through the group. Everyone's eager to beat the weather, get home, settle in before the city shuts down completely.

I keep my reaction to myself, but satisfaction hums under my ribs.

I can get back to the lake house sooner than I expected. Back to Anna.

I strip off my gloves and unlace my skates, already thinking about heading north.

Ishove the last of my gear into my bag and head for the exit, still warm from practice despite the cold air that pours in every time someone opens a door. The locker room empties fast. Everyone wants to beat the storm home.

Outside, snow falls thick and steady, already piling up on windshields and hoods. I brush snow off my vehicle with my jacket sleeve, unlock it, and slide into the driver’s seat. The engine turns over smoothly. Heat kicks in. I’m pulling out my phone to check the road conditions when it buzzes in my hand.

I smile before I open the message.

Unknown:

Anna Winterfield. If you’re stopping for groceries, I can make dinner. Need: chicken breasts, heavy cream, garlic, parmesan, pasta (penne or rigatoni), spinach, lemon, butter, white wine if you drink it. I’ll work with what you have if this is too much.

I read it again, smiling now. She’s staying, and she’s offering to cook for me.

The thought warms my chest in an unexpected way. I picture her in the kitchen, making herself at home, and have to remind myself I’m sitting in a parking lot, about to drive through a storm.

I type back.

Me:

Not too much at all. I drink it. Anything else?

Her reply comes fast.

Unknown:

That’s everything. Thank you.

Me:

You don’t have to cook.

Unknown:

I know. I want to.

My fingers still on the screen. Four simple words, and I feel the corners of my mouth lift again. She wants to do this. I drag a hand over my jaw, then send my reply before I can overthink it.

Me:

Okay. See you soon.

I pull out of the lot, wipers working overtime to clear the falling snow. Traffic crawls through the city, brake lights glowing red through the white haze. I make it to the grocery store near the highway, park, get out, hit the remote start to keep it warm, and grab a cart.