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She nodded. “Huge. Oh my God, is he here? I heard he went to school here.” She put her hand on my arm. “Are you his sister? I read he had a sister…. Macayla. Mac. Right? Is he coming here? Well, I guess he can’t right now. But when the season’s over?” She inhaled a breath and continued, “Did you see the game the other night? He scored five goals and two assists.”
I didn’t watch any of his games. I didn’t like hockey, period, and Ethan wasn’t coming here if I could help it. And Vic agreed not to tell him about us yet. But I couldn’t stop him forever, and I was worried about next summer when he would have time off.
The front door burst open, bringing with it a brisk breeze of cool November air.
“I’m here. I’m here,” Addie said. She wore her coveralls but had taken off the top part and hitched it around her waist like she always did to reveal a white long-sleeved V-neck.
“Hey, Wells!” Addie shouted over the music that tat girl had thankfully turned down.
The guy at the far end crooked his head and glanced at us. He said something to his customer and set his tool in a stainless-steel tray. He rose from the swivel chair to stand at his full six-foot-something height.
There was nothing flowery or sweet about Welland. He was a magnificent iron sculpture molded into a work of art.
Ink was scrawled from his wrists up his forearms and disappeared under the sleeves of his black T-shirt. Intricate tattoos. Not the kind that are done impulsively in some guy’s shoddy basement and regretted the next day.
His eyes drooped slightly in the outer corners, offering a hint of casual playfulness in the hazel, sun-streaked depths. Mid-twenties. Stubbled jaw. Pierced left brow.
“Red,” he said, striding across the marble floor toward us. “I got this, babe.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Freckles smiled at us and flitted away, her black heels clinking on the hardwood as she disappeared into the back room.
Addie kissed Welland’s cheek. “Welland, you remember Macayla. She’s my friend from summer camp.”
“Right, the all-girls’ horsey camp,” he said.
“Ah, Wells, I’m flattered you remember me going to camp,” Addie said.
“Hard to forget when you came home smelling like manure,” he replied. He chin-lifted to me. “Good to see you again, Macayla. I saw your gig at Zero Crow a few weeks back. You rocked it. Do you write your own music?”
I smiled. “Thanks. And yeah, I do.”
“It’s great stuff.”
“It’s amazing stuff. How’s business?” Addie asked. “You get the town’s approval yet?” She turned to me. “He wants to expand the place and add on a coffee shop.”
He nodded. “Yesterday.” His brows lifted. “And I’m guessing I have you and Hettie to thank for the quick approval.”
Addie shrugged. “I may have mentioned something to Hettie about you beating the crap out of Darren Templeton when he cut my hair.”
He chuckled. “In grade five.”
“Payback doesn’t have an expiration date,” Addie said.
“Thanks,” he said, a slight twitch in his jaw. “Means a lot. I’ll drop by Hettie’s to thank her.”
“She’d love to see you. But a word of warning: she still bitches about that tattoo you did.”
My brows lifted. Hettie had a tattoo?
The tension left his jaw and the lines around his eyes disappeared. “I told her I’d fix it up.”
Addie looked at me. “One of the first tattoos he ever did was on Hettie. You were about what? Fifteen?”
“Fourteen,” Welland corrected.
“Fourteen. It sucked ass.”
Welland snorted. “It wasn’t that bad.”
