by Avery Flynn
They went to a walk-through coffee joint a few blocks down from her place and a few blocks up from the Carlyle Building. He told her about the extra-hot hot sauce they’d gotten a rookie to drink in Atlanta, and she told him about the rush order she’d gotten for thirty-six miniature antelopes. They were laughing trying to come up with the most ridiculous miniature scene they could think up that would require that many antelopes when they turned the corner to the Carlyle Building and nearly ran right into Lucy.
“Oh, just look at this good boy! You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” Lucy asked, turning into a nearly unrecognizable softie in the presence of Anchovy, squatting down and giving the dog the kind of attention he clearly thought he deserved. “I don’t know what you did this time, Stuckey, but if you always bring this boy over to my office, I will find a way to fix it.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he said. “We had an appointment.”
Lucy turned her attention from him to Zara, giving her an assessing once-over. “Are you going to introduce me to the woman who saved your ass?”
Caleb rolled his eyes. “Zara, meet Lucy Kavanagh, the most sought-after crisis management public relations person in Harbor City. Lucy, meet Zara, who not only saved my ass but happens to own Anchovy.”
“Nice to meet you. Have you worked in this building long?” Zara asked. “It’s my favorite one in the city.”
“A few years,” Lucy said, looking at the skyscraper that seemed to reach up and touch the sky. “The Carlyles are big Ice Knights fans, and when the office came open, I was able to sweet-talk my way into a lease.
“But I’m guessing you two aren’t here to talk buildings,” Lucy said. “We have Bramble business. Zara, are you coming up, too?”
“No, Caleb just rescued me from my workaholic ways long enough to grab a walk and some coffee,” Zara said with a laugh. “And this is probably presumptuous, but have you ever met Helen Carlyle?”
Lucy shook her head and gave Anchovy a scratch under the chin. “Usually people want to know about her sons, Hudson and Sawyer, but no, I haven’t met her.”
“Too bad. I was hoping for some insight.” Zara looked up at him, an embarrassed flush making her cheeks pink. “She’ll be at the charity ball I’m going to next week and she’s a huge miniatures collector. I was hoping to be able to make a connection so I wouldn’t make a bunch of conversational fumbles like I did at the barbecue.”
He squeezed her hand and ran his thumb across her knuckles to reassure her, but there was no missing the worry in the tightness around her mouth. With the ball coming up, he knew her stress level had to be at a peak. She wasn’t one who ever seemed to want to let herself dream—and he couldn’t blame her after she’d told him about all of her dad’s schemes.
“Sorry I couldn’t be of help.” Lucy gave Anchovy one last pat on his head and stood.
“No worries,” Zara said. “Well, I know you two have a lot to talk about and I have a piece to finish.” She turned to Caleb. “Talk to you later?”
Their schedules had been at odds lately, and he was hitting the road tonight for a four-day west coast trip, but he’d always have time for her. Lifting her hand, he kissed the trio of freckles on the inside of her wrist. “Without a doubt.”
…
“So what happened after that?” Gemma asked the next morning as she ate a bite of double-caffeinated, triple-chocolate doughnut with rainbow sprinkles. “He just went up into the building? He didn’t carry you away on his horse into the sunset? He didn’t even kiss you properly, only on your wrist like a rakish Regency duke?”
Zara almost choked on her sea salt and caramel doughnut with coconut flakes. “Oh my God, warn a person before you say something so ridiculous! He’s not my boyfriend. It’s just a mutually beneficial partnership with one date left to go.”
She looked around at the other customers at the Donut Emporium on Sixty-Eighth Street who were all noshing on Harbor City’s best carb and sugar concoctions. No one paid them any mind.
It was a Saturday-morning tradition to meet Gemma and do some carb loading for the definitely-not-doing-a-marathon activities ahead of them. It was also the best time to catch up on everything they’d been missing. Between Gemma doing all her wedding planning and Zara working her ass off to finish her latest piece before the ball—not to mention going out on as many dates and non-dates with Caleb as possible—it had been hard to get together with her best friend. So this morning she’d pushed aside the unusual disappointment at waking up in a bed by herself—unless she counted Anchovy snoring beside her, which she did not—and had leashed the Great Dane. They’d walked the four blocks to one of the best outdoor eating spots in her neighborhood, where all dogs were welcome as long as they stayed on the outside of a short iron fence that surrounded the tables.
“Okay, fine.” Gemma took a sip of her hot tea, the steam floating up into the air of the first crisp fall morning of the season. “He can carry you off into the sunset on the Ice Knights’ Zamboni.”
“Not everyone gets a happily ever after.” Unease settled into Zara’s belly, turning the coconut flakes and sugary goodness into something acidic and foul, which pretty much made her the worst friend ever, considering she was sitting across from her best friend who was only a few months away from wedded bliss. “I mean, you do, obviously, because you and Hank are perfect for each other.”
“You don’t think there’s anyone perfect for you?” Gemma asked.
“I have to be realistic.” Zara reached over and gave Anchovy a few pets on the top of his head, his smooth fur settling her nerves. “I’m happy with a couple of orgasms and a good time.” Her fingers trembled, so she wrapped them firmly around her paper cup, letting its heat seep into her. “Isn’t that what the whole point of this Bramble date thing was? To clear out the cobwebs, not find forever.” She took in a deep breath, willing that stupid clock that always seemed to be ticking away in her subconscious to shut the hell up. She was getting exactly what she wanted and she was thrilled. Her throat burned, but she was determined to get the last bit out. “Well, I’m happy to report that they’re gone.”
Gemma raised an eyebrow. “So why do you sound like you’re about to cry?”
“I don’t cry. It’s allergies.” She wrinkled her tingly nose, blinking extra-hard to clear out the pollen that must have come out of nowhere. “And I’ll have you know that I don’t expect some knight in shining armor or Prince Charming to come rescue me from my life. I like my job. I have a goal I’m working toward.” She shoved a bite of doughnut into her mouth with more effort than necessary, part of it crumbling in her fingers. “Things were going well before Caleb Stuckey and they’ll go well after date five.”
“Which is why you’ve made sure to schedule that last date,” Gemma said, nodding as if Zara’s explanation made perfect sense while her eyes all but screamed that her pants were on fire.
Date five? She had six notifications from Bramble to schedule it. She’d ignored every single one like it was a dirty plate someone else had put in the sink instead of the dishwasher—resentfully and often.
“We’ve been busy.” No, that didn’t sound lame at all.
Gemma scoffed, dropping any pretense at believing any of the bullshit was real. “Why can’t you just admit that you really like him? That you finally found someone who you feel safe with? Who you aren’t going to have to worry will spring life-changing surprises on you in an effort to change the world in one fell swoop? Are you afraid it’ll just make all of this too real?”
“It’s not that.” It’s totally that, you big liar. “I mean, look at my history. It’s been one undependable guy after another in my life, from my dad and his crazy schemes to every boyfriend I’ve had.” Fear and panic and worry and a million other emotions went to battle inside her, leaving her bleeding and aching and wondering if she could survive this. “Is it really smart for me to fall for a guy who travels ten months out of the year? One who only dated me because his mom picked me out of a digital lin
eup? One who lives by the philosophy of going with his gut instead of solid, hardcore planning? What about any of that sounds like it could be forever?”
“You gotta let yourself believe.” Gemma reached across the table and laid her hands on top of Zara’s, giving her a gentle squeeze. “Have a little faith that something good can happen.”
But would it? The idea of answering yes was nearly overwhelming, leaving her lungs tight with anticipation and an elusive hope that began to feel a little more real with each day she spent with Caleb.
Chapter Seventeen
It was day two of Caleb being on the road, and Zara was dragging. Nothing felt right. She kept forgetting what she opened the fridge to get or that her female authors dollhouse was already packed up and waiting to be displayed at the Friends of the Library charity ball, so she couldn’t even make little last-minute adjustments. When it came to her art, nothing was ever finished, she just ran out of time.
And now her life seemed to be nothing but time. She should be out at a museum or taking Anchovy to Fido’s Café or meeting Gemma for drinks. Instead, she was wandering around her tiny studio apartment wondering what Caleb was up to and sneaking glances at her phone to make sure she hadn’t missed his call. She hadn’t. The damn thing had been obnoxiously silent. She’d shot off a few gif texts—feeling as awkward as a fourteen-year-old messaging her first crush—but hadn’t gotten anything back. Not even a K or an emoji.
“Not that it matters. It’s not a relationship,” she told Anchovy as he watched her pace from one end of her apartment to the other. “He’s just busy. Working. Having team dinners with the other players. Sleeping.”
There. It all made perfect sense.
Unfortunately, that lizard part of her brain that held on to every fear and unquenchable worry she’d ever had in her life was reminding her with each passing minute of all the times she paced waiting for her dad. When she was ten waiting to see if his sure-thing pony had come in first like his buddy had sworn he would. When she was fourteen and he’d gone off to sweet-talk their landlord into floating them another week on the rent. When she was seventeen and he’d been so sure that taking out a loan for an oxygen bar was the winning idea he’d always been waiting on. The other day, when she’d waited for two hours for him to stop by to help her pack her author dollhouse for the ball and he’d never shown, leaving a voicemail later telling her he’d ran into a friend from the neighborhood. In each of those instances, she’d come last, been his lowest priority. Oh, her dad had never meant to make her feel that way, but it didn’t change anything.
Now here she was again, wearing a hole in her apartment’s carpeting while the person she loved left her hanging without any communication.
She jolted to a stop, all the oxygen in the room gone.
Loved.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. She’d skipped over breaking rule number one and had landed smack-dab in the middle of falling in love.
The white-noise static filling the space between her ears where her brain had been previously was so loud, she almost missed the chirp-chirp sound of her incoming text notification.
Caleb: New phone. Left mine in the truck before we left. Just got replacement and downloaded contacts from the cloud.
All the pent-up ugly in her whooshed out in one deep exhale.
Zara: That’s crazy.
Caleb: Miss you.
She wasn’t goofy smiling. She wasn’t goofy smiling. She was totally goofy smiling.
Zara: Miss you too.
Caleb: Gotta go, plane’s about to take off for Vancouver. Can’t wait to see you when I get back.
All the bounce returned to her step, and she did a shimmy dance move across her apartment. She was in love and in trouble and so far out of her comfort zone, she didn’t know what to do, but for tonight, at least, she’d go with it, let herself go with her gut. Feeling like she did right now, it didn’t seem like anything could go wrong.
…
Caleb couldn’t explain it, but the ice smelled different when the clock had ticked down to almost regular season. He moved faster on the ice, checked harder when it counted, and got the puck like it was meant for him. At least that’s how it usually went. During today’s game, though, he was sucking wind.
He sat on the bench in front of his locker with his forearms resting on his knees and the towel draped around his neck. Something was off, making it hard to concentrate, but he couldn’t figure out what. He hadn’t changed his skate laces. The tape on his stick was the same as he always used. He’d even put on his socks left and then right, just like always.
“Is it the tape?” Phillips asked, because if there was one thing that united all hockey players besides their love of the game, it was their belief in the power of superstition and routine.
“Nah,” Caleb said. “I put it on myself.”
“How about Zara?” Petrov asked, no doubt still grudge-holding about the no-trade thing. “Has she finally kicked you to the curb?”
He glared at the center, who was dripping everywhere because the asshole never bothered to use a towel, preferring to air-dry. “She’s not available for other dates.”
“Has she agreed to that? If not…” Petrov shrugged. “By my count of the videos, you guys only have one more date.”
Caleb wasn’t going to take the bait—he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He fell into it anyway, all but snarling at the other man and all but hearing a countdown clock on his time with Zara. “That’s not how it’s gonna go.”
“What are you going to do to make that happen?” Blackburn asked as he sat on the bench opposite and tied his street shoes.
“I have no fucking clue.”
And wasn’t that the case. The rules had made perfect sense in the beginning. Neither of them wanted to be there. Now, he didn’t want to stop being with her. Everything was better when Zara was there.
Christensen, fresh from the shower, stopped in front of his locker next to Caleb’s. “You need help winning a woman? I have the answers.”
Everyone in the locker room laughed. On the ice and off it, the forward was known for playing fast and loose. Taking advice about women from Christensen was just asking for trouble.
Petrov chucked an empty water bottle at their line mate. “When was the last time you were with someone for more than three dates?”
“Survey says never,” Christensen said, not sounding like he cared. “But that doesn’t change that I am a man who has serious game. The ladies love me.”
“Oh yeah,” Phillips said. “Right up until they’ve spent more than forty-eight hours with you.”
Christensen flipped them off, but before he could launch into another defense of his studliness, Blackburn stepped into the fray, crossing the locker room to stand in front of Stuckey.
He looked at all the players and gave a disgusted huff. “Seeing as how I’m captain and I’m the only one of you chuckleheads in anything like a relationship—no offense, Phillips, but whatever it is that you have with Marti is too messy to be called a relationship—I believe I’m the only one here who can comment on what Stuckey should be doing to fix his Zara problem.”
Denying that he was in deep was useless. These guys knew him too well for that. Between the months of September and June, they spent more time with one another than their own families. That was the hockey life. He’d chosen it. He wouldn’t change it for the world. Now he just wanted to add Zara to it.
“So what do I do?” he asked, almost desperate enough to take advice from Christensen.
Blackburn crossed his arms and gave him a hard look. “What’s the goal?”
He didn’t even have to think about it. “I want to be with her.”
“For a night or for longer?”
“The second.” Without a doubt.
Blackburn rubbed his chin for at least a ten count, then just when Caleb was convinced the other man was going full vow-of-silence monk on him, he shrugged and said, “Then find a way to make that happen.”
/> Fucking A. He could have come up with that shit advice all by himself. “That’s what I’m asking you to tell me how to do.”
“I don’t want to date her; I don’t fucking know what specific thing will apply to her,” Blackburn said. “You gotta figure it out.”
Caleb considered strangling himself or Blackburn with the towel but just balled it up and threw it at the captain instead. “You are horrible at giving advice.”
“But I’m really good at telling people to get their head out of their ass, which is exactly what you need to do.” Blackburn dropped the towel in a laundry bin and picked up one of the new mini pucks the marketing department would be handing out when they got back home to all the fans on opening night, tossing it to him. “Figure it out, Stuckey.”
Then he walked away, leaving Caleb staring at the tiny puck that wasn’t even half as detailed or clever as it would have been if Zara had made it. She would have painted the team logo on it and given it some scuff marks as if it had been used in a game. She would—
How in the hell did he convince Zara that being with him, going beyond—way beyond—five dates was worth it, that taking a chance on love was worth it? Lucky for him, he knew just the Miss Fix It to consult.
…
Caleb walked out of the Carlyle Building the next day with part one of his game plan completed.
He’d gotten a promise from Lucy for tickets to the Friends of the Library charity ball in a few days. Once he was there, he’d be back up in case Zara needed help getting an introduction to Helene Carlyle. His secret weapon there? The fact that both Carlyle sons were huge Ice Knights fans. He’d get Phillips and a couple of the other guys to come with him to help smooth the way for Zara with some Carlyle meet and greets, but only if she needed it. Knowing her, she wouldn’t, but he wanted to be there for her just like that safety net had been at their obstacle course date.
Hooking a left and heading toward Zara’s apartment, he slow rolled when he spotted a limo at the corner with a well-dressed older woman standing nearby.