Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Ella

"You sure you'll be okay?" I ask, body swaying forward to press against the strength of his.

He brushes his fingers over my cheek, ignoring his father practically vibrating with impatience behind me. "I'll be fine, chérie ."

We had apple fritters. We listened to his dad complain about the early flight and the cold air and the snow still on the ground. Oh, and the table was sticky, there wasn't enough glaze on his fritter (not possible, I practically get a cavity every time I eat one), and the sun peeking out from behind the clouds is too bright.

"I'm not sure I've seen a glimpse of the good side of your dad yet," I whisper as he turns to glare at a kid who's accidentally bumped into him.

Riggs sighs. "I'm not sure either." He leans in, brushes his lips over my forehead. "But every time I think he's gone permanently, my old dad makes a reappearance."

I resist the urge to narrow my eyes at Todd Ashford, grumpy old man who I've yet to see anything positive from. Instead, I focus on what's important.

On Riggs.

"I can free up some time," I tell him. "Can have lunch with you and?—"

His palm flattens against my cheek, tipping my head up, and he kisses me lightly. "I'm going to eat early, chérie , and then get a nap in before puck drop. He"—a tilt of his head over my shoulder toward Sir Grumps a lot—"can't argue with my game prep, so it'll give me a buffer before I head to the rink."

My heart squeezes at the pinched look on Riggs's face. "And then I'll swoop in with my charm, escort the old man to the game, and maybe we'll get a glimpse of something that isn't grumpy."

Riggs smiles and it's so fucking beautiful, it takes my breath away. "Don't hold your breath, baby. You can take the old, grumpy man to the ice rink, but you can't take the grumpy out of the old man."

I snort then exhale, dropping my forehead to his shoulder. "I don't like leaving you with him."

Fingers in my hair, lacing through the strands, pressing me lightly to him before he tugs lightly.

I lift my head.

"My Ella," he whispers. "I love you so much."

How this man, who I thought—in the months before I really knew him—was taciturn and closed down can raze me with just a few words, I don't know.

There's part of me that's still worried he might leave, might one day look at me like I'm unworthy, but…

I'm addicted.

I know that softness in front of me, have had the soft glow of it shined in my direction, and I won't be able to let it go.

Not until I'm forced to.

"Hey, Ella!"

I freeze, turn to see Donna, my first appointment of the day, coming up the walk in front of the salon. She stops next to us and looks Riggs up and down. "There's that hot hockey player again."

Riggs's cheeks go pink.

"How's the haircut?" she asks and I don't miss her eyes going wide, likely seeing the bald patch I'm responsible for.

"Fantastic," he says before I can come up with an excuse.

And Christ, I like this man.

My heart flutters, fear warring with those big feelings, but I step in, shore up my Adler spine, and save my man from further prodding. "What'd you bake up today?" I ask, nodding at the tin in her hands.

"Zucchini bread." She lifts the container. "Want a piece?" she asks Riggs, pulling off the lid and offering him a slice.

He takes the piece she all but thrusts at him and shoves it into his mouth whole. "Delicious," he says around the massive bite.

I grin at him then decide to put him out of his misery, lifting on tiptoe and kissing him lightly."I'll see you later, honey," I murmur before I take Donna's arm and start drawing her toward the salon. "Bye, Todd-o-Rama," I call sweetly as we walk by Riggs's dad.

Realizing I know the grumpy old man, Donna starts to stop, to make another offering of zucchini bread, but I save us all the hassle by snagging a piece, thrusting it into his hands and ordering, "Enjoy."

Something I doubt is actually possible.

He grunts in reply but I don't delay, just toss him a jaunty wave and lead Donna up the stairs to the salon.

"Um," she says as we walk. "Who was that?"

"Riggs's dad."

"His dad ?" Donna asks, brows shooting up. "That's a big step for my Ella who never sees a guy more than once."

There those nerves go again, twisting and twining and making my knees quiver. "Riggs is different," I tell her—and myself. Because I don't want him to be another guy—because he isn't. And because I'm not going to lie to myself and pretend otherwise. Yeah, I'm shaking in my boots because I care far more than I should, but…

The feelings are there.

I'm not going to be able to shut them off.

What else can I do but ride that Adler courage and see this through to the end?

"Yeah, sweetie," Donna says, resting her head against my shoulder for a second and sighing. "I had different once too." A beat. "Hold tight to him, okay?"

My heart squeezes and I don't like the sad in her voice. I want to see her giddy, want to see her smile again. So, I ask, "How was your date with George?"

Now it's Donna's turn for her cheeks to go pink.

" Pooh ," I tease lightly. " I may have a hot hockey player, but you have a hot silver fox."

She swats at me and we're both laughing as we walk into the salon, but my laughter stoppers up in the back of my throat when I see Kit standing at the front desk, holding court in his domain…

And doing it while looking like shit.

Pale skin. Dark circles. Puffy eyes.

I freeze, barely hearing Donna as she continues talking.

My eyes are on my friend. On another person I hurt because I'm so fucked up inside that I?—

A pat on my hand draws my attention from Kit. "I'm going to pass these out," Donna says softly, holding up the tin and disappearing further into the salon, though not before leaving a slice on top of a napkin on Kit's desk. Voices lift and exclamations about the deliciousness of her yummy baked goods reach my ears, but I just stand there like a lump, struggling with what to say, how to make it right.

Then I know there's not anything that will make this easier.

So…I start with what I owe him most.

"I'm so sorry."

His shoulders hitch up around his ears, and I wait there in front of the desk, my feet all but glued to the floor, hoping that he'll lift his head and look at me.

He doesn't, not for a long moment, not for long enough that the guilt starts tearing through my insides again.

Then he does, his eyes finally coming to mine.

Cold and unyielding and everything I deserve.

"I'm so sorry," I say again. "I—" I shake my head. "Some bad stuff went down, my head wasn't right, and I took it out on you." I take a step forward, reach out to take his hand, freezing, my heart wrenching when he jerks out of reach. "I'm sorry. I know it's not enough and you're not under any obligation to forgive me?—"

He snorts, looks at the computer, unceremoniously dismissing me.

And…I don't blame him.

"—but you're my friend and I was a jerk and I am really, truly sorry."

I wait for him to say something, to look at me again.

Instead, he just keeps his focus on the computer screen and I hear clicking as he starts typing.

Right.

I've apologized. I know I can't push this further.

"I'll see you later," I murmur and then I go to my station and give Donna the best blowout she's ever had.

After that it's a blur of one client after another, my schedule doubly packed because I've slotted in several clients that I rescheduled from yesterday, but when I finally get a break and head to the front of the salon, running through the possibilities of what I can say or do or how many apple fritters I can buy him to smooth things over…

Kit's gone.