by Lucy Score
“And you feel like all that’s changed because she’s gone?”
She looked at him then with those sad eyes, and he felt the connection roll through him fast and deep.
“Yeah, I do,” she nodded. “Our whole lives, we were one-third of a trio. That was my identity. I don’t know who I am without those anchors.”
Beau watched her pull it back and tuck it away with the rest of the pain.
“Sorry. You came for tacos, not sob stories.”
“Don’t.” He said it softly and tucked a soft, silky tress of hair behind her ear. “Don’t feel like you’re not allowed to be sad.” He knew what it was like to keep things locked up tight, to be intensely private even when surrounded by others. Battles fought privately could take more pieces of the soul than one with an army at your back.
“Thanks, Beau,” Bristol whispered.
He indulged himself and rubbed a thumb over her full bottom lip. He loved how his name sounded from her mouth.
“Mo-o-om. I’m do-o-one.”
Violet’s dramatic announcement from the kitchen broke the spell. This time when Bristol smiled at him, Beau was treated to both dimples.
“How do you feel about hot chocolate?” she asked.
“Confused and regretful?”
Bristol laughed and led the way back to the kitchen. “Vi, do you want to help me with the hot chocolate?”
“Can I do the whipped cream?” Violet’s blonde head peeked around the corner.
“I hope you like whipped cream,” Bristol whispered over her shoulder to Beau.
He did, and he was doing his best not to think about all the ways he’d like to enjoy whipped cream with Bristol.
“Go make yourself comfortable in the living room,” Bristol directed. “We’ll bring the hot chocolate in there.”
He shouldn’t be doing this, Beau reminded himself as he stepped into the large space off the kitchen. He wasn’t here to get involved or disrupt a family. He was here to observe.
But the minute he’d laid eyes on Bristol Quinn in person, he knew he was in trouble. It had been so easy to find an in with her. Finding her flat on her back on the ice, in need of exactly what he could offer? It was almost as if fate had intervened. But he didn’t believe in fate. No, Beau put his faith in hard work and obsessive preparation. But here in Hope Falls, he felt a gentle guiding force shoving him forward when he wanted to pull back.
The tall, arched windows let in the soft glow of Main Street’s lampposts. Bristol had kept the large space cozy with comfortable, overstuffed furniture. Pictures and knickknacks, framed art—presumably by Violet—decorated the exposed brick and built-in shelves.
She’d already started decorating for Christmas. Glass trees and red berries covered the mantel of the fireplace, and a large wreath wrapped in twinkle lights and finished with a gold bow hung on the brick wall behind the quilt-draped sofa.
The bones of the loft were surprisingly similar to Beau’s own condo in Chicago, soaring ceilings, scarred floors, and the rough texture of original brick. But Bristol had made her space more homey. Home and family were her priorities. She was a caretaker, a woman to believe in and depend on.
He watched Bristol as she trayed up steaming mugs and nudged a dancing Violet toward the living room. They were both laughing, twin dimples on display, and when Bristol’s eyes met his, he felt it again, that sharp yearning for more.
They were bound together by something stronger than mere physical attraction, something she didn’t even know about yet. And he couldn’t help but start to reconsider his stance on fate.
They settled on the deep, comfy sofa and drank homemade hot chocolate while the streetlights of Hope Falls twinkled outside the windows.
“Are you coming to our next game, Beau?” Violet asked, a dab of whipped cream decorating her nose.
“Sweetie, that’s the day before Thanksgiving. I don’t know if Beau will still be in town.”
“Actually, I was thinking about sticking around for a little while. I can’t miss your first game coaching.”
“Really?” Bristol and Violet asked at the same time, their hopefulness mirroring each other.
There was no way he was disappointing those faces.
––—
It had been a perfect night, Beau thought. Not only had he gotten to know Bristol better, but he’d also got to see what her life with Violet was like. And he’d gotten an idea of who Hope had been. Her presence was still felt in Bristol’s home.
Bristol walked with him down the long flight of stairs, neither in a hurry to reach their destination.
He turned around, determined to be a polite guest and thank Bristol for a very nice evening. But when he found her stopped on the last step bringing them face-to-face, the words died on his lips.
She looked determined as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Beau felt the soft flannel of her shirt against his skin.
“Thank you for dinner.” The words came out mechanically as his brain rushed to catch up with his reality. She was giving him the go-head, loud and clear.
But Beau’s first reaction to being handed exactly what he wanted was to second-guess and strategize. On the ice, it was a different story. When the puck came his way, he was always ready, always looking for the back of the net backed by thousands of hours of practice and training.
But in this case, he hadn’t laid enough groundwork or made the right preparations, yet.
So it was Bristol who made the move, Bristol who slowly pressed those full, curving lips to his. And it was Bristol who tightened her hold, pulling him closer until their bodies sparked against each other. He tasted chocolate and sweetness and felt the heat of the kiss spread through his body, branding him.
He’d expected the sizzle—had felt it every time they’d touched—but the slow burn that built to an inferno caught him by surprise.
Then it was Beau who was pressing her against the curved wood of the banister and changing the angle of the kiss. It was Beau shifting into the aggressor as he teased her mouth open with his tongue. And when their mouths fused, when their tongues danced, he finally understood what fate was.
CHAPTER TEN
By the time Wednesday’s sun rose on the cold, clear morning, Bristol was pulling Hope’s pecan pie out of the oven and swapping it out for the stuffing she’d prepped.
She was on-call downstairs if things got busy, but she was sure Edwin and Maya could handle themselves. Thanksgiving Eve wasn’t a big day for Early Bird, but Black Friday was a different story. In the past, she’d dragged Hope out of bed to help with the rush, but that tradition was no longer possible.
Bristol studied the pie and felt the inevitable wave of sadness roll over her.
Thanksgiving, Savannah and Vince’s wedding, the first of many happy occasions that they would spend missing Hope. She’d yet to hear back from the recipient of Hope’s heart and at this point didn’t expect to. It had been a crazy whim, wanting Hope’s heart to be there when Savannah walked down the aisle.
Bristol bit her lip and stared at the pie. She picked up her phone, dialed.
“Hi, honey.” Her mom’s voice sounded tired and sad. Not at all usual for Mary Quinn, the original early riser. But a mother preparing for a family feast minus one was entitled.
“Hi, Mom,” Bristol responded in the same heavy tone. “I made Hope’s pie.”
“Oh, honey.”
That was the thing about her mom. As a romantic, temperamental Italian, the woman got things with very little context.
“I haven’t cried in a while, but looking at this pie makes me want to cry while I throw it against a wall.”
“I’ve already poured a glass of wine this morning,” Mary confessed.
“Mother!” Bristol said in mock horror.
“What? I put it in a coffee mug.”
It wasn’t a bad idea. Bristol dug out the remains of the bottle of wine that Beau had brought two nights ago. There was a stingy glass left. She poured it into the World’s
Best Almost Doctor mug she’d gotten Hope.
“No judgment here, Mom. In fact, I’m joining you.”
“There’s my girl.”
“Now, I need you to impart some motherly wisdom on me,” Bristol announced. “When is this going to get easier?”
“Hell if I know,” her librarian mother sighed. “When you’re a parent, you know that bad things can happen. That’s why all mothers are insane. We live with the constant fear that something might happen to our kids. But nothing, no amount of fear or precautions, can prepare you for the reality of losing a child.”
Bristol wiped away a silent tear with a dishtowel.
“I witnessed every moment of Hope’s life. Every smile, every tear, every award, every sarcastic comment about my cooking. And now she’s gone.”
Bristol heard her mom blow her nose noisily.
“How do you get it to stop hurting?” Bristol sniffled, then sipped.
“You put a Band-Aid on it, and you think about those lives that Hope saved. That’s what I do. I think about every person who gets another Thanksgiving with their families because of her, and I’m so grateful that Hope gave them that.”
Bristol heaved another sigh, took another sip of wine. “What can I do to help?” she asked.
“Bring your pie, your stuffing, and your game face. I want your father and Vanna to have a good day.”
“How much booze are you planning to serve?”
“As much as it takes.”
––—
Beau had himself an honest to goodness case of game day nerves. Though it had nothing to do with the game and everything to do with the “after.” He’d done nothing for the last two days but think about that kiss. She’d been clear about what she was offering and crystal clear last night.
Violet had tagged along with Bristol to their evening lesson, so there hadn’t been an opportunity for a repeat good-bye kiss. But after Violet was tucked into the backseat and the door closed soundly, Bristol had invited him to her apartment. Tonight. She hadn’t even said for dinner. In a longstanding Quinn tradition, Violet would be spending the night at her grandparents’ after the game. And he would be welcome to spend the night at Bristol’s.
His nerves were reaching Stanley Cup proportions.
There was just one small snag. Bristol thought he was Beau French, yoga instructor, not Beau Evanko, retired hockey player.
There was no way he could take her to bed under that pretense. He’d never lied to get a woman into bed, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now, not with her.
He pushed through the glass door of the rink, and everything immediately evened out. The cold, the smell of the ice—no matter where he was, walking into a rink was like coming home.
He spotted Justin Barnes, Noah’s older brother, in the crowd and waved. Behind the Polar Bears’ bench, he spotted an older couple that he recognized as Bristol’s parents. He wondered guiltily if they knew what their daughter’s plans were for the evening. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d met a girl’s parents.
Bristol was there, fortifying the early arrivals with juice boxes and crackers. She was dressed in jeans, a thermal shirt, and thick navy blue vest. Her waterfall of rich brown hair spilled out of a cute wool hat. He felt that punch in his gut when she laughed at something one of the kids said to her. The want that he felt in that moment went deeper than just sex. He’d be happy to see that smile on that face for the rest of his life.
When she spotted him, her face lit up like he was her personal hero riding to her rescue, and Beau knew then and there that he’d do anything he could to make her look at him that way forever.
It was going to have to be one hell of an explanation.
Beau pushed it aside as the kids called out greetings. Their enthusiasm gave him hope that maybe a good game would pave the way to an accepted apology.
“Hey, guys,” he said in greeting.
“Coach Beau!” A boy with a Sponge Bob Band-Aid on his jaw skated up. “Louisa forgot her shoulder pads, an’ her dad went home to get them.”
“Cool,” Beau said. With his job as chief information officer fulfilled, Sponge Bob skated off.
“Louisa’s our goalie, and Tucker plays something close to our goal,” Bristol said, sliding up next him. “And I am so glad to see you.”
“I thought you were just happy not to be in skates.”
“Cute.”
“I’m glad you think so,” he said stroking a hand through his beard and preening.
Bristol shook her head and stared out on the ice where the team warm-up consisted of seeing who could slide the farthest on their knees. She was nervous, and he found that adorable.
“You’re going to do fine,” he assured her.
“I just really don’t want to screw this up for Violet.”
“You’re not going to screw this up. I won’t let you,” he promised.
“Thanks, Beau.” She was looking at him with so much hope, so much gratitude, that he felt the guilt lodge back into place like an iceberg easing into the pit of his stomach. She arched an eyebrow then. “You’re still coming over tonight, right?”
He cleared his throat trying to dislodge the guilt that had settled there. “If you still want me to.”
“Oh, I still want you,” she grinned.
Their gazes held for a long moment before he forced himself to look away. “Come on. Let’s go coach a hockey team.”
They ran the Polar Bears through a warm-up on the ice, and Beau hid his smile at Bristol’s pep talk, an attempt to manage the team’s expectations.
“We’re here to have a good time. Remember that. We want to go out there, have fun, and do our best. You never have to be sorry for doing your best.”
The kids looked back at her expectantly.
“What do they want?” she whispered to Beau.
“They want to know the lineup.”
“Oh, crap. I didn’t do a lineup!” she hissed.
“Relax.” Beau handed her a clipboard. “It’s all here. All three periods, plus substitutions.”
She stared down at the papers and then back up at him. “You are my hero. You’re my knight on shining ice skates.”
God, he hoped she could hold onto that feeling later tonight.
Beau leaned over her. “This is the position, and the kid at the top of the list is the starter.”
Bristol laughed. “Braces, Freckles, Short One, Never Shuts Up, and Violet?”
“I didn’t catch all their names at practice the other day,” he admitted sheepishly.
“That’s okay, I think I can figure these out.” Bristol said with a wink. “I’m so going to make this worth your while tonight.”
The promise electrified the air between them, and as Beau’s cock went raging hard, he was pleased with the length of the coat that he chose that day.
“Gorgeous, you’ve got to stop looking at me like that or else we’re going to end up emotionally scarring several generations of Hope Falls residents,” he breathed.
She blushed, and when she peeked up at him again, Beau caught the flash of dimple.
“Okay, Polar Bears, listen up…”
––—
The Longbottom Frozen Zombies—they’d let the kids choose the name— was a brand new team and closely matched the Polar Bears in ability… or lack thereof.
Bristol shuffled through her papers. “Okay, Lenny, you’re going to sub in for Valerie at—” she consulted the paper again. “Right defenseman. Do you know what to do?”
Lenny shrugged his shoulders and wrinkled his freckled nose. “Keep the Zombies from scoring?” he guessed.
Bristol flipped back to the handy position dictionary Beau had written for her. “Pretty much, yep.”
“’K.”
She looked back at the action on the ice. The first period went mercifully scoreless, though not for lack of trying on the Zombies’ part. They had dominated the ice but thankfully had terrible aim when it came to shots on goal.
Louisa had deflected the handful of shots that had actually angled toward the net and made Bristol feel like the girl wasn’t in the entirely wrong position like the rest of the team. The best thing she could say about the Polar Bears was they weren’t falling down as much this period.
Beau watched the action at her side.
Suddenly the Zombies made a breakaway down the ice. The little boy with the puck couldn’t have been more than six years old, and Bristol winced when, for no apparent reason, his feet got tangled up, and he face-planted on the ice. The girl behind him skirted around his prone body like a roller derby queen and picked up the puck.
Violet and another Bear gave chase, but the Zombie, with her pigtails and fierce freckled face, zoomed toward the net.
Bristol covered her eyes and peeked through her gloves. The girl took a swing at the puck and missed, but as the crowd released a sigh of relief, she recovered and dinked it into the back of the net.
“Crap,” Bristol muttered. She set the good sportsman example by applauding politely for the other team as the players returned to center ice. “Good job, guys,” she said lamely.
The Zombies put two more in the net before the end of the second period, and it was a dejected pack of Polar Bears that skated off the ice.
Violet stepped into the box and slumped down on the bench. Not even Pops’ funny faces against the glass could cheer her up.
“What do I do?” Bristol asked Beau in desperation.
He grabbed the clipboard out of her hand and ripped up the lineup. “Got a pen?”
She fished one out of her purse and handed it over, watching him scribble away.
“Okay, Polar Bears!”
Beau’s rousing shout had Bristol jumping out of her skin.
“We’re getting beat now, but that’s okay because we were hibernating, and now we’re awake and we’re hungry!” he announced with the enthusiasm of a Japanese game show host.
The kids stared at him blankly.
“Who’s hungry?” Beau yelled.
“Uh, me. I am,” Bristol announced, raising her hand slowly. “I am hungry.”