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CHAPTERONE
Emma
Montreal is so beautiful in the fall, the leaves turning such vibrant shades of red, yellow, and orange. I look out of the cab, not even a little peeved at the driver talking on his cell phone. It’s pleasant to listen to the French in the unique Quebec accent. Dad sits across from me, looking out the window. His features are a little tight as he looks out upon the leaves.
I wonder if he’s thinking of his sister, who died in the fall. This was before I was born, but it left a significant imprint on Dad. He’s a shortish man with the kindest face, his brown hair fading like the leaves. He wears a puffy jacket that is two sizes too big for him and almost has me laughing every time I see him stuffed into it. That’s what happens when you live in California.
He spots me watching and smiles. That’s always his first reflex. “Are you excited about the game?”
“Areyouexcited to see your friend play?”
I’m not into hockey, really. I’m not big on any sports, though lately, I’ve thought I might try a little skating. Dad’s been talking about his youth with Logan Ice, a man whose surname almost made him destined to become a hockey player. Then, Dad moved to the US, which was easier since my grandmother, his mother, was from California. Dad and Logan drifted apart, but they’ve been talking on video chat lately.
Dad chuckles. “You didn’t hear a single technical detail I so expertly described then, did you, Miss Head in the Clouds?”
“As nicknames go, Dad, that’s fairly cumbersome.”
“Cumbersome. I feel blessed to have a daughter who’s so clever that she uses big words like that.”
He’s teasing me, but lovingly, with a light in his eyes. It brings me back to my childhood when he used to do the same. We’d tease each other just for the heck of it, to make each other laugh, never overstepping the mark because I knew—know—he always wants the best for me, and me for him.
“We’ll be seeing Logan soon,” Dad says. “He can tell you all about it. I think you’ll like him.”
I look out the window again. I’ve alreadyseenthe unlikely named Logan Ice. Glimpses on the laptop when they’re video chatting with each other. One time, in particular, Logan was standing shirtless in the sun on a balcony with a lake in the background. It was casual. He wasn’t putting on a show.
But for me, it seemed like a show. As the sun rippled down his chest and over his abs, I stood just behind the couch and stared. It seemed like time lasted forever as I took in his spiky black-silver hair, as though he’d recently showered. Each muscle was massive, defined, and tempting to my hand. The glint in his eyes got me the most—the brightest, most captivating blue. I wanted—maybe I still want—to grab onto his enormous arms and stare into those dreamy eyes.
“Is that okay?” Dad asks, his voice low.
I laugh awkwardly, still looking out the window at the leaves. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Maybe you wanted to have a rest after the flight.”
“I’m fine. It was only five hours. I slept for most of it, anyway. I’d like a shower, though.”
He nods, drumming his fingers against his knee, looking out the window. He even starts humming a moment later. I try to keep his smile at the forefront of my mind. How hopeful he seems, like a little kid getting ready to see his buddy. Dad works hard, owning a large contracting company. He and Mom have worked hard to raise me and my brother Eric. He deserves to enjoy this.
That means I have to swallow whatever this feeling is. If I was writing one of my stories, I might think of it like a tiny flickering candle flame growing larger the closer we get to seeing Logan. Soon, the hissing heat will expand in my belly, flow like energy through my whole body until there’s nothing else I can even think about. Not even Dad. Not even the right thing to do.
Anyway, it’s not like anything’s going to happen. I’m nineteen. I’m a virgin. So what? I’m not ashamed of it because it’s not like I’ve been trying. Deep down, I think, even if Ididtry, I’d have some problems. But I never did, content in the library, not caring I was a cliché, the curvy, quiet girl. I was—Iam—happy in my role… until Logan came along.
My mind should be a stage for the characters in my stories. Never mind that those characters are always written for children, and when I read the story aloud, I always think ofmychildren. Before Logan, I never knew who the father would be.
And I don’t know now. I can’t afford to know, deep down, as though my bones are pulsating to give me a signal. I can’t afford to sermonize melodramatically about the almighty steamy-as-hell Logan Ice. He’s so hot that it’s a shock he doesn’t melt his own last name.
I’m burning for him. That’s the truth. Sweating, literal beads flowing down my body, but I don’t let my mind go there. “Will Logan’s girlfriend be there?”
Dad tilts his head at me. “I don’t think he has one right now. Why?”
“Oh… just…” WhydidI ask that? “I don’t want to be underdressed in front of another woman.”
Hmm, what was that? It seemed like a lie. A white lie, maybe, or a justifiable one, but I don’t usually lie to my dad.
“You’re beautiful, Em,” Dad says, reaching over and touching my hand. “You don’t need to worry about things like that.” I swallow, create a box inside me, and lock away all the Logan stuff. “We’re meeting Logan in our suite. I think he’s coming alone. Well, with some security, I’d imagine.”
“Thesuite?” I say. “I thought we were getting connecting rooms.”
“They are connected via a corridor, a living room, and a small kitchen. It’s been a good few years, Em. I’ve managed to pivot at just the right moments. It’s been like dancing on lily pads, but you’re in college, and maybe Eric will get there, too. Or do anything else he likes.”
