10. Hank

10

HANK

E lmwood loved hockey. We established that, right? But I had no idea their love of the sport was borderline cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Seriously, Denny's homecoming was unlike anything I'd ever witnessed. The town pulled out all stops for their NHL hero and then some.

Check this out: A welcome home banner spanned the width of Main Street, and every storefront pasted his number on their door. The Hendersons named a brownie for him—Denny's decadent brownie, in case you're curious. Ivan and Court gave a free "drink of choice" for a day at Rise and Grind, and all the baristas wore Denny's jersey.

And they might as well have renamed the diner Denny's Diner. The menu was revised so that every item began with "Denny's." Denny's pancakes, Denny's waffles, Denny's burger, Denny's fries, Denny's pot pie, Denny's…everything.

But Elmwood Rink might have outdone them all with their supersized poster, a photo of Denny in action that covered the entire side of the building. I was told there was another one at the high school rink, but I hadn't seen it yet.

I walked through town with my mouth open in awe of the outpouring of love and support. I'd never seen anything like it. This wasn't corporate-sponsored rah-rah bullshit. This was a community effort, funded privately by proud citizens who'd rooted tirelessly for Denny all season and wanted to thank him for representing Elmwood. It was unbelievably cool.

Yet all I could think was…

"He's going to fucking hate this," Annie grumbled.

Yeah, what she said.

I stared up at the welcome sign and rocked on my heels. "It's nice."

She sighed. "They'll do the same thing for Jake. We don't play favorites here. Well, I do, but he's my grandkid, so who cares?"

"Understandable."

" Mmhmm . He's loved and appreciated. That's not the worst thing in the world, is it?"

Sounded amazing to me. But hey, I was the outsider, dodging suspicious glances on the regular, so you know…perspective.

Okay, things had improved slightly for me over the past month or so.

I'd hired a couple of employees at the mill. I had another ninety places to fill, but it was better than nothing. The personnel issues had calmed just as a slew of newly constructed homes were slated to break ground. That was a relief, for sure, but at the rate the orders were coming in, we'd be forced to transfer employees from Denver to handle the overflow.

"Trust me, you don't want to do that," our new manager, Cooper, warned. "We need locals. I'll help you as best I can."

Good. I needed help.

Hiring Cooper McMurry was possibly my greatest contribution as CEO of the Wood Hollow Mill, or whatever the fuck my temporary title was. Cooper was a single dad in his late thirties originally from Fallbrook who'd worked for the Larsons since he was a teenager before taking a job in Upstate New York.

But he was back, and thank fuck he was also extremely qualified to lead hardcore lumberjacks. His expertise was forestry and trust me, everything about him screamed legit. Cooper was gritty and fierce-looking with a bushy dark beard, sharp eyes, a barrel chest, and biceps that tested the integrity of his T-shirts on the daily.

I felt like a plaid-shirt and faded-jeans-wearing wannabe in comparison. I'd overheard a tall guy with shaggy hair and tats named Niall refer to me as a GQ model posing as a blue-collar worker to his shorter, heavier-set friend, Micah. Yep, those fucking billboard ads had been unearthed by an intrepid Internet sleuth and let's just say, Wood Hollow wasn't impressed. No one mocked me outright, but I felt like I had a target on my head.

These idiots obviously had no idea that it took a lot more than a few suspicious looks and whispered character assassinations to rattle me. But I wondered what Denny would think if he knew his high school buddies were some of my biggest haters.

Not important. It was static noise. I ignored it and tried to concentrate on the little wins. For instance, Emily still fucked up my calls on the regular, but she didn't try to leave before five and to her credit, she'd actually stayed late to finish a work order the other day. So…better.

Elmwood was kinder to me. Bill poured a beer for me the second I walked into the bar, Ivan greeted me warmly every morning at the coffee shop, Penny sneaked an extra maple cookie into my orders, and JC found a new topic for us to debate whenever I stopped by the diner.

Like today.

"Why do you order zee scramble with no mushrooms?" JC demanded in his melodic Quebecois accent, hovering at the counter with his arms crossed. "Mushrooms add zee flavor and interest. You take them away, what do you have?"

Jean-Claude was a big dude with reddish hair and a quirky sense of humor. Some days I couldn't tell if I was on the cusp of starting a war or if he simply enjoyed making me squirm.

"A better omelet," I snarked. "I hate mushrooms."

He narrowed his eyes as if sizing up the enemy, then shrugged. " C'est la vie . I will give you leeks instead."

"That's okay. I don't?—"

And he was gone.

The man filling saltshakers at the end of the counter chuckled softly as he glanced over. "Unless you're allergic, I'd go with the flow if I were you. JC speaks in food. It's his way of welcoming you. And possibly a reminder that as part owner of the diner, I should formally do the same."

I swiveled to face him. "You're Nolan Moore."

Of course, I knew who he was. This town was the size of a thimble, for fuck's sake. I'd nodded a greeting to Nolan a few times and he'd been perfectly pleasant, but he'd seemed busy too, and I hadn't pushed it.

"Yes." Nolan brushed salt from his palms and offered his hand. "Welcome to Elmwood."

It might have been my imagination, but I swore there was a beat of silence in the room before the regular hum of conversation resumed.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Hank Cunningham."

"I know. We're neighbors. My husband, Vinnie, and I live across the creek from you. If you see two kids skipping rocks or trying to catch frogs on your side, they probably belong to us. Feel free to send them home."

"No, no. I wouldn't dare disturb them," I replied. "How old are they?"

"Alec is almost seven, and Ava is four and a half. They take after Vinnie for sure. He's the king of jumping first and hoping he remembered a parachute later." Nolan's eyes creased with paternal pride as he described the harrowing reality of parenting two mini daredevils.

Okay, this was a pinch-me moment. I'd grown up watching Vinnie Kiminski play hockey for Seattle along with JC's husband, Riley Thoreau. And I'd met both men courtesy of my diner and coffee shop habit. They'd been cordial for sure, but I hadn't had a real conversation with either of them. More like surface pleasantries you spared for strangers.

This felt…sincere, and after months of feeling as welcome as a fart in a spacesuit, it was almost embarrassing how much I appreciated it.

"Sounds like you have your hands full," I commented, chuckling at Nolan's faux-exasperated nod. He was a handsome man in his early forties, lean and toned with kind eyes and a winning smile. I liked him immediately.

"They're nonstop. Alec is playing Mighty Mites hockey this summer, but Ava is still too young for hockey camp. Wish me luck finding something to keep her—" Nolan stopped abruptly and waved at someone over my shoulder. "Whoa! Well, look who's here."

I didn't have to. I sensed Denny's presence like a warm breeze and a slice of sunshine on a cool day. The accompanying surge of butterflies surprised me, though.

Fuck, I missed him, and I hadn't expected to. Not like this.

Sure, I watched the games, and maybe I'd been more invested in Denver's win than normal, but I'd chalked that up to Elmwood's playoff fever.

We hadn't communicated much over the past few days, but our last thread from earlier this morning read,

Just got home last night. What are you doing?

Going to the diner , I'd replied. Meet me?

Denny had sent a thumbs-up emoji twenty minutes ago, and I'd been nursing a coffee I didn't need while waiting for him, wondering why I was so churned up.

I swiveled on my stool to get a glimpse of the hockey god slapping high fives and shaking hands with his hometown fans. I studied Denny as he paused for a selfie, admiring his quiet grace under pressure. His flushed cheeks and the twitch in his jaw were the only indication that he was wildly uncomfortable with the attention.

To his credit, he only flinched a teensy bit when the diner erupted with, "Hotshot! Hotshot!"

He was better at peopling than he credited himself for, I mused as Denny made his way to the counter. He hugged Nolan and Dierdre, the waitress, and fist-bumped JC, who set my omelet on the counter and immediately pulled Denny into a crushing embrace.

Everything in me wanted to jump up and greet him with a monster hug too, but there was no way to do that without inviting a lot of questions. So I admired his broad shoulders, his tight ass in his black joggers, and willed my cock to behave when he raked his fingers through his unruly hair. Those fingers had been in my ass, for fuck's sake. I wanted so much more. I wanted?—

Denny flopped onto the stool next to me and bumped my knee with his. "Hey."

"Hey, yourself." My grin split my face in half. I picked up a fork to give my hands something to do and gestured to the omelet. "Hungry? The food's pretty good here."

Christ, I'd lost my game.

"Pretty good?" JC huffed incredulously. "It is tres bon . Eat your breakfast. You will love. If not…you will try the mushrooms. You will notice zee menu is Denny's menu. Choose whatever you like, and zee new guy will pay for it. I am kidding! It's on the house!"

" Merci ." Denny scrunched his brow as if in deep thought. " Je prendrai l'omelette au fromage, s'il te pla?t ."

JC beamed like a proud papa, patting Denny's shoulder before skirting the counter, spouting rapid-fire French on his way to the kitchen.

"You speak French?" I cast a wide-eyed look at Denny, my voice dripping with the sort of reverence befitting an astronaut landing.

"My mom was from Montreal," he replied, glancing over at Nolan, who was hovering curiously nearby.

"So you two know each other?" Nolan asked.

Denny nodded. "Yeah, we've been friends for a while."

Once again, a slight hush fell over the diner.

Was it me, or was this what the dawn of acceptance in Elmwood felt like? A welcome from Nolan and an acknowledgment of friend status from one of the town's hockey heroes. Wow, I could practically hear an angelic chorus from on high.

Voila . You're in the door, Hank. If you don't fuck this up, you might be outta here by the end of summer.

Nolan inclined his chin. "Cool. Glad to have you home, Den. Rest up. Camp starts next month, and you know Vinnie is ready to go. If I were you, I'd lay low or he'll volunteer you to deal with registration."

Denny widened his eyes comically. "I'll hide."

"Good idea." Nolan chuckled. "I have a stack of paperwork calling my name in the office. Enjoy your breakfasts."

I speared a bite of omelet and darted a sideways glance at Denny, cradling a cup next to me. "I think the poster of you on the side of the diner is twice the size of my cowboy billboard. Just sayin'."

"No way. Yours is huge."

"Why, thank you," I teased.

He snorted and lowered his voice. "I love these people, but the celebration stuff is over-the-top. I mean, we lost. I shouldn't be celebrating at all."

I kicked his shin lightly. "Don't be a buzzkill. You're a lucky dude. No one ever named a hamburger after me."

"Too bad. Hank's hamburger rolls off the tongue."

"True." I took another bite of omelet. "Happy to be home?"

"You have no idea." He sighed. "It always takes a few days to acclimate, but I'm looking forward to doing absolutely nothing."

"Really? I can think of a few things I'd like to do with you…and to you," I whispered.

Denny choked on his coffee, casting a wicked glare at me as soon as he could breathe again.

"Not here. Geez, this is harder than I thought it would be. I wish I could…touch you," he admitted softly.

I rested my calf against his. "You will."

His lips parted and his nostrils flared. Of course, my dick noticed. Before I could say anything clever like, "Fuck breakfast, let me eat you," Dierdre showed up with his scramble.

Denny cleared his throat and thanked her, setting a napkin on his lap…possibly to hide his own boner situation.

We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, legs pressed inconspicuously.

Don't ask why, but the innocent contact felt as intimate as holding hands. It made me less stabby about the constant interruptions: autographs, more selfies and congratulations. It was a lot of one-sided "You're the best" speeches that were probably really gratifying to be on the receiving end of, but damn, I couldn't wait to have Denny Mellon to myself.

I wanted to lick his muscular, sexy body from head to toe, trace the planes and valleys of his abs with the tip of my tongue, suck his balls, lift his legs over my shoulders and taste him while he begged me for things we hadn't done yet.

I fucking burned for the hockey boy. Yep, I was hard and horny. I was also stuck at a diner counter in a wholesome town with a stiff cock and a head full of pornolicious thoughts, unsure how to make a graceful exit without scandalizing the masses and earning an unflattering new nickname.

The Bone, Stiffy, Woody Cunningham?

Meh, fuck it. I paid for my breakfast, brushing against Denny's arm as I stood, mumbling a barely intelligible good-bye.

Head down, I moved to the exit, my fingers flying across my cell screen. I read my text once and pushed Send.

See you at my place. Hurry the fuck up.