A frown set in between his eyes. “Can we discuss this inside? I’m cold. The team didn’t pack us any long pants and I haven’t been home.” She hesitated, but then he did it—widened his eyes, cocked his head to the side, and bit his bottom lip. “Come on, Evie. Don’t be tired of me.”
“That’s a tall order. You’re about as tiresome as an all-night infomercial, and going all wide-eyed on me won’t change that.” She climbed out of the car.
He laughed out loud. “That’s my Evie.”
And it was. As a teenager, she’d always thrown that kind of banter at him when her feelings started marching toward her, intent on eating her alive. Not that she felt that now. Old habits die hard—or, in her case, maybe not at all. She turned on the lamps.
“Nice,” he said. “Cozy.”
“My mother did it,” she admitted. Though she seldom thought of it, Evans picked up the remote from the mantel, pressed the button, and the logs in the fireplace came to life. “I’m not very good at decorating.”
He stepped in front of the fire and rubbed his hands together. “But you’re great at building a fire.”
She laughed despite her annoyance. “This kind anyway. Putting furniture and rugs together, not so much.”
“That’s not always a bad thing. Do what you’re good at. Let somebody else do what you’re not. I don’t recommend that you take up hockey and I damn sure have no business taking up pie baking.”
“Two totally different things. I could teach you to bake a pie,” she said. “You’d have good chicken pot pie for the rest of your life. But, as you well know, I can’t even ice skate.”
When she was twelve, he’d tried to teach her. It had been a disaster.
“I wasn’t much of a teacher back then. I’d do better now.”
Evans folded her wrap over the back of a wing chair. “Sit down, Jake. We need to talk about the fall festival.” She sat on the wing chair and gestured to the club chair across from her. He ignored her and sat on the end of the sofa, close enough to her that their knees almost touched.
“I don’t intend to jerk Ava Grace around.” He let his eyes bore into hers. “Evie, I don’t jerk people around.” His lips were chapped.
“But this is a lark for you. The Laurel Springs Fall Festival is a tradition. People expect a quality event. Sure, it’s a little hokey, but that’s part of the charm. Ava Grace is going to spend a lot of money on decorations and refreshments. She’ll advertise that she’s having ghost stories told by Yellowhammer player Jake Champagne. You can’t flop in there, flying by the seat of your pants, flashing your pretty eyes and counting on your good looks to keep people from realizing you’re making it up as you go.”
He smiled when she mentioned his pretty eyes and good looks. If she could have, she would have jerked those words back like a catfish on a cane pole, but it was too late. She wondered if he had lip balm.
“I’m not going to do that, Evie.” He drew a cross over his heart. “I know I’m not as smart as you are, but—”
Not that again. It was true he wasn’t a quick study or an A student like she’d been, but his grades had always been good enough to keep him hockey eligible. “Don’t start that. You did well enough when you wanted to.” She’d assured him enough over the years. Besides, she’d never really bought that he felt inferior to her intellectually, or any other way.
“Well, whatever.” He shrugged. “But it’s not like I don’t have any communication skills. I’ve been taught how to speak to the press, and let’s not forget Miss Violet’s instructions.”
Miss Violet had been the teacher at the cotillion classes Anna-Blair and Christine had made Evans and Jake attend. Did he know about the warm feelings that encased her heart when he brought up a shared memory? Probably.
“I know storytelling is different,” he went on, “but I promise. I’ll get online, find some books.” He reached for her hand and squeezed. The warmth in her heart raced down her arm to where their fingers met. “I promise I’ll study up. It’s not like I think I can skim a couple of stories and skate through.” He gave her a crooked smile. “Though I am a better than the average skater.”
He withdrew his hand and ran it through his hair. Her hand felt lonely.
“You are that.” She had to laugh. “I know it seems like I don’t trust you...”
“You don’t.” He widened his eyes, but not in that come-hither way. “I’ve earned that. But I’ll earn my way back into your trust. I know I’ve had a weird few years, but I used to be a man people could count on. I’m trying to be that man again.”
It hurt her heart to see him so raw. “Seems like you were a man Olivia and the kids could count on this past summer.” It was only fair.
“I tried.” Pleasure crossed his face and it gladdened her to know she’d been the cause of it.
“Okay. I won’t question you any more about fall fest.” But there was another sticky wicket. “There’s something else you should know. Ava Grace isn’t available.”
He frowned and picked at his chapped lower lip. “Available for what?”
“Available—as in single. She’s been dating the same guy since she was a teenager. Everyone says they’ll get engaged at the Christmas Gala in December. So if you’re doing this for her because...” She let her voice trail off.
“No.” He shook his head. “That never occurred to me. I’m not interested in Ava Grace. If you’ll remember, I said I could tell ghost stories before I knew who wanted them, or why.”
That was true—which brought up an interesting question. “Why did you offer to do it?”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “I wanted to please you.”
“Me?” Her heart turned over.
“Yes. You were talking about ghost stories. I said I could do it to get in the conversation. Then when I found out your friend needed ghost stories for the fall fest, I said I’d do it to please you—win points.”
She was baffled—struck dumb. He wanted to please her? Once she found her voice, she said, “This has nothing to do with me.”
“It must, or we wouldn’t be talking about it now. I acted like an ass that night at Crust. You were madder than I’ve ever seen you.”
“I was mad? You picked up on that?” She smiled to take some of the sting out of the sarcasm.
“Yeah. I’m perceptive that way. It came to me when you wouldn’t let me run the Hobart.”
“You don’t know how to run a Hobart.”
“The church had one when we were growing up.”
“That doesn’t mean you knew how to run it.” She leaned back and crossed her legs.
“I am sorry—not for my ineptness with a Hobart, but for trying to throw my weight around with you. I had no right.”
She rubbed the back of her neck. “Well. I’m not lily-white in that little altercation. It wasn’t fair for me to bring up the past after I had said it was behind us. I accept your apology. I’m sorry, too.”
He smiled. “I guess we can start over from here—again.”
Again was a comforting word.
“I guess you’ve heard our parents are coming for your first game,” Evans said.
He nodded. “Mine are staying with me. I’ve got to buy a bed this week.”
“That should make things more pleasant for them. And it’ll definitely be more pleasant for everyone if they don’t show up to find us sniping at each other.”
“No kidding.” He shook his head. “I can hear my dad now. ‘Boy, where are your manners? I didn’t raise you to act like this.’”
They laughed quietly together for a moment and his laugh trailed off in a yawn.
“Someone’s tired.”
“Yeah.” He stood. “I’d better go. Early on the ice tomorrow.”
“And I start making pies at five a.m.” She walked him to the door.
“Ouch.
” He gave her a one-armed hug—the kind meant to be a friendly exchange of affection between pals. But it didn’t feel friendly—not to her. The tingle started in her gut and worked its way through her body, leaving her knees weak and her heart pounding. She jerked her head up in surprise and found herself looking into those all-night-long blue eyes. Was it her imagination or did he look as surprised as she felt? If so, was he having the same reaction? Or could it be that he wasn’t, but sensed what she felt? Either way, he rotated his body and turned the hug into a full-on frontal embrace.
This must be what it felt like to rest in a warm cloud. She worked to keep her breath even, but let her arms slip around to hug him back.
“Evie, Evie, Evie.” He sighed into her neck, and she would surely turn into warm butterscotch syrup and melt all over the floor. “It’s good to be with you, even if you do know I’m afraid of clowns. Or maybe that’s why it’s good to be with you.”
That long-ago birthday party where Jake had gone screaming from the room reminded Evans of another birthday party—Hollis Allen’s fifteenth. Jake had refused to go because Evans hadn’t been invited. The sweetness of that memory flowed through her, and she relaxed against him a bit more.
And then, abruptly, the embrace was over. She wasn’t butterscotch syrup and she’d made too much of it.
“Get some rest.” She opened the door for him.
“Good night, Evie.” He was almost out when he turned back. “Let’s just suppose—for the sake of argument—that I took you up on your offer to teach me to make chicken pot pie—”
What? “Uh...yeah?”
“Could we start with bought crusts?”
Evans’s mouth flew open. He couldn’t have surprised her more if he’d produced a doll who had dug her way out of a grave.
“I know it goes against your pie-in-the-sky ideals, but a man has to start somewhere.”
“I...” She had no doubt he would forget this had even crossed his mind by the time he stepped off her porch. She ought to brush him off, say no. “Well, yes. We could do that.”
He nodded and winked. “Good. In return, I won’t expect you to stand up on your own on your first skating lesson.” He strolled out on the porch.
Holy hell. “Hey! Who said anything about skating lessons?”
He turned back and sparkled at her. “Me. I said it. I’ll call you.”
And he got into his insect car and drove away.
She watched him go and tried not to think of the promised call that might not come.
Chapter Ten
Jake squirmed in his seat. Team meetings had never been his favorite thing, especially after practice when he was tired, sore, and in bad need of a hamburger. But it was nearly over. Coach was winding down.
And it was a good thing. He had a pie-making date with Evie in an hour—give or take. He’d told her he’d come over as soon as the meeting was over.
Pie making. He still couldn’t believe he’d done that to himself. Why hadn’t he just asked her to watch Kevin Smith movies? She never said no to Jay and Silent Bob. But pie! He didn’t want to make pie, didn’t have time to make pie. Honestly, he wasn’t going to make pie if he could get away with it. What had he been thinking?
He hadn’t been. That was the point.
It was that doorstep goodbye hug. He’d only meant to hug her in a see-you-later friendly way but, though he wasn’t sure she’d noticed, it had turned into something else. One brush against her and he was a thirteen-year-old with his first girlie magazine. Evie had been seconds away from learning his little secret when he practically shoved her away from him. The next thing he knew, he’d been babbling about chicken pot pie and ice skating lessons.
He blamed the bet. Forbidden fruit, and all that.
But was it more than that? He wanted to be the friend Evie deserved, and she didn’t deserve his lusty inclinations. From the minute he’d walked into her little house, which would have almost fit into the living room of his new condo, he’d wanted to curl up in front of the fireplace and stay there all night. The whole place felt like home, even before he’d noticed the few pieces of that Delta-made pottery on the mantel that everyone was so crazy about. But it hadn’t been about the pottery. Maybe it was because Anna-Blair Pemberton had decorated the place and he knew her house as well as he knew his own. And come to think of it, Anna-Blair and his mother saw things pretty much the same way when it came to colors and rugs and all.
So now he was making pie—but he was hoping he would be more of an observer than a participant. Though he had talked to her on the phone a couple of times to set up the pie making party, Jake hadn’t seen Evie since Saturday night and today was Wednesday. He’d considered stopping by Crust, but what with scrimmages, arranging for furniture for his condo, and reading a book called Shiver Stories, he’d hardly had time to breathe.
Plus, he’d needed a little time to get his head straight before seeing her again. His reaction to a perfectly innocent hug was proof of that. He knew the long dry spell was to blame, and his response would have been the same to anyone. But Evie wasn’t just anyone. She was his friend, and he wasn’t going to mess that up.
That irritating, teeth-on-edge microphone sound went through the room. Good. He needed the distraction.
“I trust everyone is settled and ready to face the Northern Lights in two days,” Glaz said. “If you have concerns, come see me.” His tone dared them to do that. What he really meant was, “If you have concerns, work it out.”
Not that Jake had issues. Apart from having to listen to Wingo love himself, things were going okay. And despite his bragging, Jake had to admit that Wingo hadn’t been writing checks with his mouth that his hockey stick couldn’t cash. He could keep the puck out of the net and that was all Jake wanted from him.
Glaz went on, “I will address now what I know is on your minds: captain.”
It hadn’t been on Jake’s mind. It wasn’t going to be him. He didn’t even want it to be. Who needed that kind of pressure? But now that he thought about it, he wondered how the selection would be made. With some teams, the players voted. With others, management decided.
“I cannot speak for how we operate in future, but this year the administration and coaches will make this decision,” Coach said. “For the preseason games, we will designate captains—different for each game.” That would be a reasonably good indication of who the brass was considering.
Five captains for five preseason games. After playing the Northern Lights at home this Saturday, they would travel to Winnipeg to play the Polars Sunday, then on to Minnesota on Tuesday and Buffalo on Thursday. Finally, they’d be at home Friday to play Boston.
“After Colonials game, we’ll announce final decision. For first game, it will be Able Killen, with Luka Zadorov and Logan Jensen as assistants.”
Well, hell. Maybe being an expert on Upper Wherever meat pies made for captain material. Jake might not want to be captain, but he didn’t want to be beat out by Able Killen either.
“Are there questions?” Coach asked, but did not give anyone time to respond. “Good. I know many of you have family and friends coming for the game with Vancouver this weekend. Claire Watkins has information that will be of use to you and them.”
Oh, damn. More talk, and from Claire of the iron fist. She might own only a small piece of the team, but she had to be obeyed. Before they’d gone to Six Flags, she’d lectured them for over an hour on the care and feeding of children—most of which had been common sense. At first, her silky clothes and put-up hair might fool a man into thinking she was soft, but she had a plan and, by damn, you had better get with her program. He wouldn’t put it past her to pull a throwing star out of that hair and send it in the direction of anyone who argued with her. Even now, she was approaching the podium on shoes with high heels that were an accident waiting to happen. Did her health insurance know about them? If so, they’d canc
el for sure.
She spread out her papers on the lectern and adjusted the microphone.
“Good day, gentlemen.” She scanned the room, meeting eyes. Probably someone in a public speaking class had told her to do that. Jake closed his eyes. If there was one fewer pair for her to meet, this would be over quicker and he could get out of this torture chair and on with getting Evie to make chicken pot pie with no input from him.
But when he opened his eyes again, she was staring pointedly at him. Only after he acknowledged her did she give a little nod and get on with it.
“The team building event went well. There was an article in the Atlanta Journal about the trip to Six Flags and it was picked up by several other outlets.”
Blah, blah, blah. So what? Did this woman really think that somebody in New York was going to say, “Hot damn! Those Yellowhammers went to Six Flags with some kids. I think I’ll abandon my Big Apples and become a Yellowhammer fan.”
Claire turned her paper over. “As Coach Glazov mentioned, I’ve put together some information that might be useful to family and friends traveling here for the game this weekend. You should have received it last week. In addition to a directory of dining and lodging establishments, I have included a list of events in the surrounding areas that might be of interest. I need to know how many tickets you will need for your guests for the game and for the breakfast we’re hosting on Sunday morning here at nine a.m.” Breakfast? He’d missed that part of the email.
A groan went through the room and with good reason.
Claire rapped on the podium. “I know. I know it’s early, but I expect an RSVP from every single one of you by tomorrow.” She did that thing where she scanned the room meeting eyes again. “The breakfast is a mandatory event for you whether you have family coming or not.”
It would be. This breakfast was just the kind of thing that his mother and Evie’s would chomp at the bit to attend. The only thing they liked better than a social situation was one they could go to together. Scrutinizing other people’s outfits and manners wasn’t as fun alone. But what about Evie? She was planning to go to the game, but did she know about the breakfast? He’d tell her tonight.
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