1. Sara

SARA

"Yikes! I can't believe how late I am." I wince, powering through the familiar streets of Sugar City as I make my way toward my favorite café. It's a tiny hole-in-the-wall coffee house that serves a delicious caramel latte and double-chocolate muffins the size of my face. Yum!

It's probably the best thing about being back in my hometown after four years of college in New York. I mean, I love my family and all, but there's just something about being back in my childhood bedroom that feels a lot like failing. And as someone who has always been a high achiever, any perceived step backward sucks balls.

And it's not like I had much of a choice in it, either. With my dream job falling through and my bank account dwindling, moving back in with my dad was the only option I had until I could figure out my next steps. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad, but living under the same roof as the coach of the Sugar City Nighthawks isn't exactly conducive to carving out my own path. He's very…how do I put this politely? Oh, he's hands on.

With a sigh, I adjusting my grip on my laptop and notes, hoisting the thick book I've been reading to get my mind off things against my chest. I really need a laptop bag or something, but that would only add to my drama. I'm literally down to my last couple of hundred, so anything beyond a small treat would mean asking my dad for money, which would mean admitting to him that I'm broke, which would lead to him insisting I go to work with him at the arena where he'd check on me five thousand times a day. No thanks, I'd rather eat grass.

Besides, I have this job interview with an awesome marketing firm in Chicago, and I'm just sure I'm the right fit for it. I'm going to nail it. As long as I get there on time…

As I round the corner toward The Cozy Bean, I glance at my watch and curse under my breath. I'm cutting it close. Crap!

I pick up my pace and instantly slam into what feels like a solid wall of muscle. Hot coffee shoots up between us, drenching my blouse and sending scalding droplets onto my face. I yelp in pain and stumble backward, my laptop and papers slipping from my hands and hitting the pavement with a sickening crunch. My heart sinks.

"Fuck," a deep male voice mutters as I drop to the ground and try to salvage what I can.

"Don't yell at me, OK? It was an accident," I say, trying to keep the stinging in the backs of my eyes at bay as I pick up my coffee-stained papers and just stare at my laptop that now has a dent on the corner of it. I'm scared to pick it up, but silver lining—my book is fine.

"I'm not going to yell," the voice replies, deep and rumbling with concern. "Are you OK?" I peer up through my glasses, now slightly askew, and my heart skips a beat when I recognize the muscular wall as Emile DuPont, the Sugar City Nighthawks' latest recruit. This is my first time seeing him in person. But I've probably watched just as much of his game footage as my dad has. My father has a habit of bringing his work home with him and monopolizing the TV with it.

"A little scalded, but I'll survive." I brush off the front of my blouse, and it does nothing to fix the coffee stains on the white material.

Emile kneels down next to me. "I'm so sorry about that," he says, helping me gather my scattered belongings. "Here, let me help you."

He picks up my laptop and it separates from the base, revealing a broken hinge. My heart sinks even further as I watch the screen flicker on and off before going black entirely. "Oh no..."

Emile's eyes widen and he bites his bottom lip. "I can have it fixed..."

"It's OK, really," I say, unable to meet his gaze. "It's beyond repair now, and..." I sigh as I glance at my watch and my stomach drops. "Since my interview started five minutes ago, I'm pretty sure I'm toast, anyway."

"Oh shit! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean… Fuck. Is there any way you can reschedule?"

Trying to keep my composure, I shove my things into a pile and get to my feet. "I don't know. It was a big opportunity…I…I have to go. Thank you, but I need to get going." I turn and start to rush away, wishing I could just disappear into thin air.

"Wait!" Emile calls out, jogging after me. "Let me make this up to you, at least. I'll buy you a new laptop, top of the line. And I'll personally call the company and explain what happened. Take full responsibility."

I'm touched by his offer, but I can't accept it. "That's very kind of you, but a new laptop is too much. It was an accident, and it's not your fault I wasn't looking where I was going."

Emile looks at me, his hazel eyes searching mine. "At least let me buy you a coffee. One you can drink instead of wear. And maybe a muffin or something to go with it?"

"After the morning I've had, if you can make it an Irish coffee, you've got a deal."

He gives me a relieved smile and I share a brief, wry grin in return. "But just one drink. Then I need to figure out how I'm going to break the news to my dad."

"Is he the one who yells at you?"

"What? Oh no! My dad's a teddy bear—overbearing at times, but a teddy bear at heart. I just spent four years in New York. The yelling happened there. Lots of angry people rushing around."

"Gotcha." He flashes me a dazzling smile that almost makes me forget about my ruined interview. Almost. "So you're not from around here?"

"I am. I grew up here, but I'm back now and…well…it's a long story."

"Lucky we're about to go and have a drink, then. You can tell me all about it," he says, taking the pile out of my hands and carrying in only one of his. "I'm Emile, by the way."

"Emile DuPont, I know," I say, tucking my hair behind my ear as we start to walk toward the closest bar. "You play in the Nighthawks's frontline."

Emile's brows lift, but he's smiling when he looks at me. "She knows her hockey."

I laugh. "Kinda. But you'll understand once you realize who my father is."

His brow furrows as he searches my face. "Who is your father?"

I stick out my hand to shake his. "I'm Sara Belanger. Nice to meet you."

"No way…" Emile says, coming to a halt. "As in, the coach's daughter?"

"Yep, Robert Belanger is my dad."