by Addison Fox
“It was time to let it go. And while it makes me sad, I’m also relieved. If she were still here I couldn’t have done Ireland. And I probably couldn’t have spent the time with you and Sloan over the last several months, either. She was a burden for most of my life and I’ve damn near gotten to the point where I can say that without wincing.”
“I’m glad. You did right by her and you’re entitled to a fresh start.”
“Thanks.”
“Unless you wanted a fresh second-time-around.”
“Grier!”
“I’m just saying.”
“You’re always just saying.”
Although she didn’t want to end their conversation, the need for a few moments of peace rode her, and Avery’s gaze caught on the cappuccino maker behind the bar. “I completely missed my coffee this morning. Want me to fix up some cappuccinos? I’m not nearly as proficient as the Jitters, but I’ve got some caramel sauce in the fridge I can add to liven them up.”
Grier nodded, and in the silent gesture Avery knew she saw understanding. “Sounds good.”
A few minutes later, Avery set two steaming, frothy, whipped-cream-topped mugs down on one of the tables in the lobby. “Here’s to a sip of heaven.”
“And to your mom.” Grier clinked their mugs.
Avery took a sip and closed her eyes as rich caramel flavor burst on her tongue. Grier’s thought to toast her mother had a tight ball welling in her throat and hot tears pricked the backs of her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
Avery opened her eyes. “No. It was actually a lovely thought. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Grier blew on her coffee and took another sip and Avery deliberately waited until Grier had swallowed before saying, “Roman and I got it on in the sauna last night.”
“You what?”
The slight daze that covered Grier’s face from the sugar rush of the caramel and whipped cream cleared at the rapid—and scintillating—change in subject. “You did what?”
“Um, well.”
“Don’t um me.” Grier carefully set her coffee down on the table before turning. “What happened?”
“We sort of reenacted some of our earliest relationship memories.”
When Grier didn’t say anything, just looked sort of puzzled, Avery clarified. “We used our hands on each other.”
“Oh.” The confusion lifted as Grier’s eyes widened. “How was it?”
“Shockingly satisfying, even while it wasn’t, if you know what I mean.”
“It’s sort of sweet.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Damn, but that sauna gets some action.”
Avery couldn’t help but smile. She knew Grier and Mick had put it to good use themselves the previous winter. Although she’d never gotten an explicit accounting of the evening—nor did she want one—she knew it had been the start of a physical relationship between the two of them.
“It was fairly unexpected.”
“The best encounters usually are.” Grier lifted her mug and took another frothy sip. “Are you happy with the decision?”
“I’m not exactly sorry about it.”
“Good.”
“Did you turn off the cameras?”
“Of course I did.” Avery laughed as Grier’s large gray eyes widened over the rim of her mug. “But, true to form for both of us, it didn’t end all that well.”
“What did he do?”
“How do you know it was him?”
“Because you’re my friend and you’re sitting here giving me juicy details. You’re an angel walking this earth, capable of doing no wrong and living a life of quiet perfection.”
“Wow. I’ll have to remember that. But in this case, I actually do think he was the asshat. He asked me if there’d been anyone else.”
Grier’s eyebrows rose so far they were nearly swallowed by her forehead. “Before or after?”
“After, of course. We were breathing hard and sort of feeling that lovely glow and he asked that question.”
“Surely he doesn’t think you’ve spent nearly fourteen years in celibate solitude.”
“I don’t think so, but he certainly got in touch with his inner caveman and felt the need to ask me.”
“Moron.” Grier shook her head as she licked a small spot of caramel off the rim of her mug.
“Yes.”
“Well, putting the He-Man-gene-slash-character-flaw aside, there’s really only one question, to my mind.”
“And that is?”
“When are you doing it again?”
• • •
If four hours with fourteen teenage boys was a lesson in humility and perseverance, two seemingly tipsy women in the lobby of the Indigo Blue was the icing on the cake.
“Would you get a load of the two of them?” Mick pointed to Grier and Avery where they huddled in hunched-over laughter at one of the conversation tables.
“Are they drunk?”
“It appears so.”
“I only see coffee mugs.”
“Did they put shots in them?” Mick shook his head as he crossed the room, and Roman followed, hesitant as to what sort of reception he was going to get from Avery after the way they’d left things the night before.
“Hello, baby.” Grier waved a hand at Mick before pulling him close for a big kiss.
“Are you drunk?”
Grier had the good sense to look offended as she swatted Mick on the ass. “We most certainly are not. We may, however, sink into diabetic comas in the very near future.”
Avery pointed toward the bar. “You two look like you’ve been through the war. Want a few beers?”
Roman walked up to the table, careful to take the empty seat that allowed him to keep his bad side away from the conversation. “The sugar rush actually looks like it’s got some merit.” Roman pointed toward the empty mugs, intrigued when he saw the remains of caramel and whipped cream.
A funny look came over Avery’s face before she stood up. “I’ve got another idea.”
A few minutes later, Avery returned, bottle in hand.
As soon as he saw it, Roman understood. He turned toward Avery and didn’t care if his mouth gaped open like the fish Doc Cloud liked to go after in the river. “You still have it?”
“I save it for special occasions.”
“What qualifies as special?”
Complete silence descended between Grier and Avery, and the answer hit Roman square in the chest.
All—or at least part—of the previous evening had been recounted right here in the bar.
“We were enjoying each other’s company.” Avery smiled as she said it but he didn’t miss the shot of mischief that wove through the dark depths of her eyes. “And I’d like to share a glass of some really excellent wine with my friends.”
Grier leaned forward and nearly fell out of her chair. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yep.”
“Oh my God.” Grier’s voice was a reverent whisper as she reached for the bottle. “Where did you get it?”
Roman felt Avery’s gaze land squarely on him before she shot him her usual, sassy retort. “Where do you think?”
Grier turned on him. “Okay. Where did you get this?”
What he’d initially done as something he’d hoped would make Avery happy had a rush of heat creeping up his neck. “A wine auction.”
“Wow, Roman. You’re a Renaissance man.” Grier patted him on the forearm. “I wholeheartedly approve.”
Glad the moment had passed, Roman tapped the bottle. “Avery. How much of it do you have left?”
“Nearly all of it. I split the case with your grandmother because your mom didn’t want any. I’ve only had one bottle before this.”
“You’ve really got four more of these?” It was Grier’s turn to gape, her mouth hanging down.
“Yep.”
“It was given as a gift.” Roman couldn’t hold
back the words. “To be enjoyed.”
“Oh, we’re going to enjoy it.” The teasing note dropped from Avery’s voice. “Sharing with friends will be more than worth the wait. Let’s get it open and breathing and you guys can tell us how the first practice went.”
“I’m not sure there’s enough liquor to numb the effects of the day.” Roman smiled, rapidly warming to the idea of sharing a superb bottle of wine with friends. “But it’s well worth a try.”
He watched Avery’s hips sway as she crossed the lobby to retrieve glasses, and he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather share a glass with more.
Chapter Eleven
Roman popped the cork as Avery set down the wineglasses.
“So come on and tell us. How did it go today?” Grier crossed back to their table, a fresh bowl of pretzels in hand.
“The kids have some skills and they’re good students. They ran every drill I gave them and kept asking for more.”
“That Mike’s a great player.” Mick took the glass Avery handed him. “He stands out.”
“He’s a sweet kid, too.” Avery smiled at the image of gangly arms and legs she always associated with the oversized teenager.
“Which one is he?” Grier asked.
“Ronnie’s younger brother.”
“Yep. I know who you mean.”
Roman’s back stiffened at the mention of Ronnie but he didn’t say anything. “The kid has a future if he works at it. At a minimum, he should get a college scholarship out of it.”
“Those kids were in heaven today,” Mick said. “Our Roman’s words dripped with gold as far as they were concerned.”
“I just gave them some structure. It’s up to them what they ultimately do with it.”
“It’s a good thing you’re doing.” Avery smiled at him and handed him the last glass.
“He’s really good with them, too. Gets down on their level.”
“It’s really no big deal.” Roman lifted a couple of glasses for the pour and Avery thought it was cute how he almost squirmed in his seat at the compliment.
“Oh come on, you know how important it is. You talked about Wayne Gretzky for three months after you met him at that hockey camp in Seattle.”
He added a tapping foot to the existing discomfort as his green gaze whipped to hers. “That was different.”
“No, it’s not. To them, you’re Wayne.”
For some reason, despite it being their typical behavior, she couldn’t muster the urge to tease or bait or argue with him. Instead, at the moment all she could picture was Roman running drills on the ice with a group of hero-worshipping boys.
It touched her.
And showcased a facet she hadn’t expected to see.
On the rare occasions he did come home, he was cordial and pleasant to everyone. But this was different somehow. He’d not only given these boys a memory they wouldn’t forget, but he’d also possibly given one or two of them the push they needed to work to meet their own goals.
“We need a toast.” Grier lifted her glass, gesturing toward Roman. “And since you provided this most lovely of lovelies, you should have the honors.”
Avery watched as Roman raised his glass, his smile broad as he focused on the rich red of the Petrus before turning his gaze on Mick first, then her. “To friends. The old ones who have been around long enough to remember the thrill of skating on muscles that don’t ache.” He turned toward Grier. “And to new friends. Who don’t care how achy your muscles are so long as the wine keeps flowing.”
A chorus of “Hear, hear”s went up as they clinked. Avery took a sip of the wine and closed her eyes. “Oh wow, is that amazing.”
“I’ll second that,” Grier added around her own reverent sigh.
“You can say whatever you want about my influence, Avery, but the way I hear it, you’re the one the boys have a case of heroine worship for,” Roman said.
Grier’s half-lidded eyes popped wide at the prospect of news, and Avery shot Roman a dark look at the artful shift in the scrutiny from him to her. “What’s this?”
“She runs drills with the team.”
“I run with them through town. They’re good motivators.” At the collective question she saw on everyone’s face, Avery explained.
“The boys don’t want to be beat by a girl and I’m just competitive enough to want to kick their asses. So we go running through town and see who’s got the most stamina.”
“I wouldn’t bet against you,” Roman said, his groan audible. “You kicked everyone’s ass in high school for distance.”
“Slow and steady wins the race.” Avery couldn’t resist adding the tease. “I don’t aim to be the fastest, I just hang in there the longest.”
“Every damn time,” Mick grumbled. “No matter how the rest of us tried to pace ourselves, Ms. Marks over here was the last man standing.”
“Which is why she’s got such a killer pair of legs, no doubt.” Grier winked as she took another sip of her wine.
“Which is also why she’s coming with me tomorrow.”
“Coming where?” She sat up straighter and looked at Roman. “I’ve got to work tomorrow. I still have to get inventory done and a stack of paperwork that went ignored during the wedding festivities.”
“I will beg and plead with my mother if necessary, but you’re joining me. Mick can’t help and I’m not facing all of them alone.”
“They’ll listen to you.”
“Nope. They’ll listen to you. I just have to stand there and look pretty.”
Avery rolled her eyes at that. “Well, I look pretty and I can kick their butts.”
“Which is exactly why you’re coming.”
Roman’s grin was victorious and Avery could only sigh at his artful dodge of an afternoon alone with the kids.
• • •
Their quiet foursome broke up as the happy-hour crowd drifted into the hotel, and Roman had watched with some regret as Avery got up to work the bar. The crowd was steady and it filled him with pride to see what a successful business his mom—with Avery’s obvious help—had built here in town.
But he still wished they could have had a few more quiet moments, just enjoying the time as friends.
The heavy throb of voices deep in conversation hummed around him, and his thoughts drifted to what the Indigo Blue had meant to his family.
His father had died young, just like his grandfather, and his mom had been aimless for a few years as she tried to pick up the pieces. He and his sister had been too young to fully understand at the time, but it was after his grandmother had decided to invest in the hotel that Roman saw a change in his mom.
She’d had purpose again. An outlet.
And in the process she became the hub of their very small town.
Susan Forsyth knew how to talk to people and how to make them feel welcome and she’d created a place people enjoyed coming to over and over again.
“What are you doing back here?” Avery’s eyes widened as he pulled a few beers from the fridge behind the bar and flipped off the caps with practiced ease.
“I know how to work the bar and you look like you need help.”
She pointed to the cash register. “You know the inventory system?”
“I can figure it out.”
“It’s hard.”
He leaned over the flat screen, tapped a few colorful squares, and keyed in the beers on Bear and Skate’s tab. The cost tallied up and added to the bottom line and Avery nodded in satisfaction.
“You’ve got it.”
“I know.”
He walked the beers over, a broad smile on his face, then snagged three more orders as he wove his way back through the crowded lobby bar.
A few people asked him questions and a couple of parents thanked him for his help with the hockey team. He used each stop to pump everyone up for the weekend and got a lot more folks signed on for the rink construction project.
He was back behind the bar and midway through filling an order
when the familiar scent of Chanel wafted toward him. He looked up from pouring a refill of Chardonnay, straight into the smiling face of his grandmother. “You’re a man of surprising talents.”
“I can do more than chase a puck around a rink.”
“Of that, I have no doubt, dear, but I never thought making fuzzy navels was part of your repertoire. I’m impressed.”
“You want your navel fuzzied or your tonic vodkaed, I’m your man.”
“How about a glass of that Chardonnay and we’ll call it even.”
“You’ve got a deal.”
He reached for a wineglass, the fresh row of clean ones exactly where Avery had placed them on the bar. As his hand snaked out, he misjudged the distance through the darkness of his peripheral vision. Before he could react or correct his mistake, the entire row went flying, crashing to the floor next to him.
“Shit.”
The loud crash of glasses stopped all conversation in the room and he cursed inwardly at the stupidity. He’d been moving quickly and had simply forgotten to back up a step so he could work around the issues with his vision.
Now he was facing down a room full of expectant stares, his grandmother’s the sharpest.
“Are you all right?”
Avery moved up behind him, her hand on his shoulder as she squeezed through the narrow space between his back and the wall of liquor behind him. “I’ll get a dustpan.”
A blaze of irrational anger shot off sparks inside his chest and he grabbed for her waist and bodily moved her to the side. “I’ll get it. Stay away from it so you don’t get cut.”
“It . . . it’s fine. It happens.”
“I got it.”
He stalked off, already feeling like an asshole for acting like one but couldn’t stop the rush of anger that beat through him.
This was his third mistake in as many days. All his efforts to hide his injury would be for nothing if he kept tripping up and doing clumsy things. He was one of the NHL’s top scorers for fuck’s sake. He could thread the needle, driving down the ice and scoring with the narrowest windows of opportunity.
And it was all slipping away.
“You okay?” Avery’s voice was quiet as she spoke from behind him in the utility closet.
