Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Willa

T he kitchen is my favorite place in my house—makes sense since one of my favorite hobbies is cooking and baking. It's white on white from the cabinets to the tile floor to the granite counters. The large bay windows, unencumbered by blinds or curtains, fill it with light.

I open the third can of cranberry sauce that had been chilling in the fridge and layer slices of it on a platter to join the other two cans. I also have homemade cranberry sauce, but I've done enough hosting of Thanksgiving to know some people prefer the canned stuff.

The scent of turkey, sage and pumpkin fill the air and I try to relax into the enjoyment of one of my favorite holidays. Brittany is stirring the gravy on the stove, humming a Christmas tune, and Izzy is in the den watching Bluey . I glance at the oven clock for about the hundredth time, and my nerves ratchet up more when I see King and his friends will be here very soon.

"Why are you so tense?" Brittany asks.

I glance up, pin her with a sharp look. "Who says I'm tense?"

She snickers at me and turns back to the gravy. "You are wound up tight. Surely your neck is hurting."

It is in fact stiff because she's not wrong… I'm nervous and feeling it in my neck. I give it a good roll on my shoulders and continue slicing the cranberry sauce.

"Come on… dish. Why are you so bent out of shape?" she asks. "You love to entertain, cook and have guests over. It was a sweet thing you did inviting those single guys who have nowhere to go for the holiday, and I for one am looking forward to the eye candy that will be seated around our table."

"If it were just that, sounds like a lovely time. But my looming date with King has me a little freaked," I admit. "And well… it's awkward having a social interaction before the date. And around his friends and teammates. I don't even know if they know that King asked me out."

"No," she says, turning from the stove and pinning me with a look. "That's not what's bothering you."

Ugh… I sometimes hate how well my sister knows me. Sighing, I point my knife at her. "Mind your own business."

She points her gravy spoon right back at me, a drip falling on the floor, which she ignores at the moment. "You're freaked about the age thing."

I throw one arm out. "Well, come on, Britt. I'm eight years older than him. I think I made a mistake by accepting."

"Wow," she drawls with exaggerated shock. "An entire eight years. You're practically old enough to be his… big sister."

"Bite me," I snap at her, bringing the knife to the sink to rinse it, even though I used that same comparison myself.

"Listen," she says as she grabs a paper towel to clean the gravy off the floor. "Why did you even say yes to a date if it bothers you so much?"

"Because he's a nice guy and charming and hot and you told me to go forth and date. Plus… he's a Greek god as you pointed out."

"He's such a Greek god," she murmurs with a sigh, but then shakes her head as if to dispel that dreamy fantasy. "Listen… quit stressing and just enjoy this." She turns off the flame under the pan.

I dry the knife and lay it on the counter before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "What if his friends think it's weird? I mean, it's obvious I'm older."

"It's not obvious and all they will see is the same thing King sees… a beautiful, successful woman who can totally rock dating a twenty-five-year-old." Brittany sets the spoon aside and comes over to give me a reassuring hug. "As for his teammates, I'm sure he's told them what's going on. And if not, well, they'll figure it out. You're not hiding anything and you're not doing anything wrong."

I nod slowly, starting to feel a bit more at ease. "I guess you're right."

Brittany smiles, pulling away to check on the oven. "You've been through tougher stuff, Will. Trust yourself. And hey, if things get awkward, we'll just blame it on the fact you're so old, you're senile."

I chuckle at the jab, grateful for my sister's support as well as her attempts to make light of my fears. "Thanks, Britt. I needed that."

"Anytime," she says with a wink, turning back to the oven. "And if it doesn't work out with the two of you, put in a good word for me. I am closer to his age, after all."

"Bitch," I mutter, pulling a kitchen towel off a hook and snapping it at her. It catches her square on her right butt cheek and she shrieks as it cracks loud against her ass.

She wheels around, eyes wide and mouth gaping. "You did not just do that."

I spin the towel in my hands. "Want another crack?"

Brittany's eyes dart around the kitchen and her gaze lands on another kitchen towel by the sink. She starts to lunge for it, but I step in her path, poising my towel to strike again. She halts, narrows her eyes and then spies the bowl of mashed potatoes on the counter beside the stove. There's a silver spoon beside it and she casually scoops up a large mound and turns slowly toward me.

"You wouldn't," I say in warning.

She cocks the spoon. "Oh, I would."

And then she lets it fly. The potatoes catch me right in the neck with a blob of them falling down into my shirt.

I stare in shock at her, then at the potatoes resting in my cleavage and back to her. "You're so going to pay for that," I snarl.

I rush for the potatoes and don't bother with trying to find a spoon. I grab a handful and whip them at her. She turns her body and the food catches her on the shoulder blade but satisfyingly splats against her long curly red hair.

"Score!" I yell with a fist pump. "A direct hit."

She cranes her neck to look at the mess on her back but only considers her options for a second before going for the potatoes again. She grabs a scoop and I run around the kitchen island. She lets her missile fly and I duck, satisfied as the gooey mess flies over my head and lands on the tile floor.

Laughing, I pop up and taunt, "Your aim sucks, little sister."

Only to catch a cool slice of cranberry sauce right on the cheek. Apparently, she reloaded fast.

I shriek with laughter and disgust, running around the island but I don't go for the food. Instead, I wind up my towel again and crack it at her. I miss three times but I have her on the defensive, backing her up and leaving the cranberry sauce unguarded. I pick up a piece and I'm close enough that I mash it into her face. I expect her to yield, but she scoops the red gelatin from her cheek and mashes it back into my face. She tries to grab another slice and I'm laughing so hard, I can barely stand up.

"Enough," I yell as I drop my towel and wrap my hands around her wrists to prevent her from grabbing anymore food.

"Never enough," she snarls with a giggle. "I'm going to dump that entire pan of gravy on your head if you'll just let me go."

We tussle, both of us slipping on bits of mashed potato and cranberry sauce.

"Mommy." Izzy's tentative voice freezes us both and I slowly turn my head her way.

She stands with three huge men behind her, but it's King my eyes land on. His lips are quirked as he scans me and Brittany and I cannot even imagine what we look like.

He throws his thumb back toward the door. "We rang the doorbell and Izzy let us in."

I glance at Brittany whose tongue darts out to lick sauce off her upper lip and I release my hold on her. I primly smooth the edge of my blouse, ignoring the gooey potatoes smeared between my breasts.

"If I'd known there would be a food fight, we would have brought more ammunition to replenish," King says as he walks into the kitchen.

I'm slightly mortified but only because I know I must look like a mess, but my charming hostess personality takes over. I grab the towel and wipe off my hands, keenly aware I have food all over my face. I step forward to introduce myself to the men, as does Brittany.

All three are gorgeous and highly amused over what they've stepped into. Rafferty has a pumpkin pie in hand, North a bottle of wine and King holds a casserole dish.

"Does that need to be heated?" I ask, eyeing the glass pan covered with tinfoil.

"Yeah… it's a green bean casserole. My mom gave me the recipe."

I'm touched he actually cooked something to bring, even when I told him not to. I point at the double oven. "The bottom one is free. Think you can figure out how to work it?"

"I think I can handle it." He then winks at Izzy. "Besides, I've got a helper."

Izzy beams a smile up at him. "I can help, Coach King."

"Good," I say and then wave the guys into the kitchen. "Everyone make yourself at home. I've got cold beer in the fridge if you prefer or if you want to open the wine, there's a corkscrew in the drawer to the right of the sink. I'm going to get cleaned up."

"Me too," Brittany says, scrambling over to me. She latches onto my arm and drags me out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She bumps my shoulder as we ascend, giggling. "God, that was so embarrassing."

"It will be memorable for them, that's for sure," I reply with a laugh.

"How can that many hot guys be in your house at once?" she whispers as we reach the landing.

"It's like a Christmas miracle in November." I snicker, although frankly, none of them hold a candle to King.

"I'm so taking lots of pictures and making sure Scott sees them. He's still one of my Facebook friends."

"You're rotten," I say, giving her a quick hug before we part ways into our own rooms. "But I love you anyway."

?

Brittany wasn't wrong when she said I love to entertain. I'm not sure where I get that from as my parents never had guests over because Dad was always too drunk. But I love all the planning, cooking and decorating that goes into making a welcoming environment.

The house I moved into after I divorced Scott is much smaller than what we had, but I took my time redecorating it to my taste. The dining room is a cozy, inviting space, painted in a warm taupe that complements the dark wooden furniture. I set the large dining table with care, adorned with a crisp white tablecloth and elegant silverware. Candles flicker softly in the center, surrounded by a festive arrangement of autumn leaves and miniature pumpkins. The table is laden with an array of dishes: golden-brown turkey, glazed ham, a large bowl of creamy mashed potatoes—thank God I'd made a mountain of them—savory stuffing, sweet potatoes with marshmallow on top, King's green bean casserole, and a basket of warm rolls.

We all have a glass of wine except Izzy, who has apple cider.

Brittany is at one end of the table with Izzy next to her, eagerly eyeing the food. I sit at the other end, with King to my left and Rafferty next to him, North sitting beside Izzy.

I stand from my seat, holding my glass of wine, and smile at everyone gathered around. "Before we dig into this amazing meal, I just want to say a few words."

Everyone quiets down, turning their attention to me. "First of all, thank you all for being here. It means the world to me to have each of you around this table. Brittany, Izzy, you've been my rock through everything, and I'm so grateful for your support and love. To our guests—King, Rafferty and North—thank you for joining us and bringing your warmth and friendship into our home. It's not just about the food and festivities, it's about sharing these moments together and creating memories."

I take a moment to catch my breath, feeling a little emotional. "This year has had its challenges, but it's also brought new opportunities and wonderful people into my life. I'm incredibly grateful for that."

Lifting my glass a little higher, I conclude, "So, here's to family, friends and new beginnings. May this Thanksgiving be filled with joy, laughter and love. Cheers!"

"Cheers!" everyone echoes, clinking their glasses together.

I settle back into my chair and I'm about to give the order to dig in when Izzy stands up on her chair, her little face glowing with excitement as she holds up her glass of apple cider. "Um, excuse me, everyone! I wanna say something too!" she announces, her voice filled with enthusiasm.

We all turn our attention to her, King and I exchanging a smirk. Brittany gives her an encouraging nod, and Izzy clears her throat. "I just wanna say I'm really thankful for my mommy and Aunt Willa," Izzy begins, her words tumbling out quickly. "Mommy, you're the bestest mommy ever, even though you make me eat broccoli. And Aunt Willa, you always make me laugh and you give the best hugs."

Everyone chuckles softly and I note that these three big hockey players look absolutely enchanted by my niece.

"And I wanna thank Aunt Willa and Coach King for teaching me and my friends how to play hockey," Izzy continues, her eyes bright. "Even though I keep falling down a lot, it's still really fun. And Coach King, you're really good at tying skates!"

Laughter erupts around the table, and King gives Izzy a playful salute.

Izzy takes a deep breath, clearly proud of herself. "So, um, yeah, thank you, everyone! And let's eat lots of turkey and pie and maybe not too much broccoli. Cheers!"

"Cheers!" we all echo, again tapping our glasses and laughing.

As Izzy sits down, King leans across the table and presents his fist for her to bump. He taught the kids that at the last practice. "That was perfect, Izzy. Very mature. Maybe we should make you team captain."

"Really?" she asks, eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Sure. But captains have to eat broccoli to be strong and fast."

Izzy wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. "Never mind. I don't want to be captain."

The guys roar with laughter and King bumps his knee against mine under the table. My gaze cuts to him and he leans over to me, whispering. "Thank you for inviting us. It's hardly started but this will be one of the best Thanksgivings ever."

I blush from the compliment and nod toward the food. "Dig in, everyone."

Once our plates are loaded, I look to North on my right. "So, what's your story? Where are you from and how did you land in Pittsburgh?"

North smiles. "I grew up in Laval, just north of Montreal. It's a beautiful place, especially in the winter. Lots of snow and, of course, plenty of opportunities for hockey."

"Sounds lovely," Brittany chimes in, serving herself some mashed potatoes. "Did you always know you wanted to play hockey professionally?"

"Pretty much," North replies. "My dad played in local leagues, and my mom was a huge hockey fan. They encouraged me from a young age. I started playing on the frozen ponds around our town and then moved on to more organized leagues as I got older."

"How did you end up in the NHL?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"I played in the Canadian juniors with the Laval Lynx," North explains. "That's where I really developed my skills. I was drafted by the Seattle Storm and spent several seasons there. That's actually where I met Gage Heyward, who's now a coach with the Titans. It's great to be reunited with him here in Pittsburgh."

"That's quite a journey," I say, impressed. "And what about you, Rafferty? How did you find your way to professional hockey?"

Rafferty grins, taking a sip of his wine. "I grew up in Calgary, Alberta. Hockey is a big deal there too. My dad coached youth teams, and I played for the Calgary Cougars in the Alberta Youth Hockey League. From there, I was drafted into the juniors by the Calgary Thunder. After a few good seasons, I got picked up by the Edmonton Grizzlies."

"And now you're with the Titans," I add on with a smile.

"And very glad to be at your table today. Thank you again for taking in us poor souls." Rafferty cuts a piece of turkey and waves it at me. "What's the deal with you and King?"

I almost choke on the green beans in my mouth but manage to chew while shooting a quick glance at King who just smiles in amusement. I swallow, look back to Rafferty. "We're coaching the Ice Pups together. He graciously volunteered to help me since I didn't know what I was doing."

"Right," Rafferty says, still waving the fork. I tense for the inevitable question about how we're going out on a date. "But how did you meet? He was low on details."

"Oh," I say with a laugh that I hope doesn't sound too relieved. "I believe he saw my ineptitude during a game and felt sorry for me."

"Wrong," King says with a shake of his head. "I saw her take a father to task for being too tough on his kid. The guy was a total"—his eyes cut to Izzy, then back to Rafferty—"jerk, and I knew she'd run into that again. Besides… it's fun to coach kids."

"Kids give me the willies," North says and then looks to Izzy who is following the conversation. "Except for you, of course."

Not sure Izzy really gets what he was saying but she grins at him. "My mom says I'm precocious."

Everyone at the table laughs and the conversation continues to flow. Talk turns to the two away games that the Titans had this week against the Edmonton Grizzlies and the Calgary Wild. Brittany, Izzy and I watched the games, although Izzy fell asleep before they were over.

"I saw you on TV, Coach King," she says. "It was cool. I want to play for the Titans one day."

King doesn't try to dissuade her since it's predominantly a man's sport at the professional level but instead says, "You keep hustling like you do, you'll be a great hockey player."

As the conversation continues with Brittany peppering the guys with questions, I lean over to King. Whispering, I ask, "Did you tell your friends we're going out on a date?"

His smile is mischievous and I brace, but then he shakes his head. "No. Figured you wouldn't want that known and besides that, I don't feel like them hounding me for details."

I'm not sure if I want it known or not. I suppose we'll have to get through the date to see how I feel. But for now, King's teammates seem to think this is nothing more than a new friendship born out of co-coaching little kids.

"But," King says, leaning in even closer and lowering his voice, "I have to say I cannot wait to see you tomorrow and have you to myself."

A shiver runs up my spine, his words uttered in a rumbling timbre that bears the hint of some intangible promise, one I am dying to see fulfilled, whatever it may be.

"I'm excited too," I admit and then turn my focus back to the conversation at the table.