4. Teddy

CHAPTER 4

TEDDY

M rs. Cagle gives Harlow and me a thorough tour of the Heart Haven Cabin, which is best described as tiny for a person of my stature. We enter the living room with an overstuffed loveseat heaped with red, pink, and white pillows.

“Accommodations are through there,” she points to the left. “Here we have the washroom and the kitchenette. Off the back was Carl’s favorite, the jacuzzi. It’s red and shaped like a heart.” Her lips bunch up and her chin trembles slightly. “He had back trouble.” She sighs. “Constant knee pain, bursitis in his elbow, a bad rotator cuff, several bulging disks, and a hernia, but the man never stopped working a day in his life.”

Harlow shifts awkwardly, and I’m certain she’s thinking of her father who she lost a week after we graduated from college. Of course, that’s different from losing a spouse, but her father never stopped working a day in his life either. She lifts her hand like she wants to offer Mrs. Cagle comfort, but then draws back as if remembering she’s not the touchy-feely type.

“I think you’ll find everything you’ll need for the weekend, but if not, I’m just a phone call away,” Mrs. Cagle continues.

“Thank you for showing us around,” I say because we can take it from here. It was hard enough focusing on drills when Harlow was taking photos of me playing hockey. I certainly don’t need anyone encouraging the idea that we’re a couple.

“Do make yourselves at home. Young love is such a delight,” Mrs. Cagle says.

I study the darkly stained wood rafters, the lacy white curtains with polka-dot style hearts, and the general heart-themed décor—heart-covered dish towels, salt and pepper shakers, and a plaque on the wall that says Love Lives Here .

As if reading my mind, Mrs. Cagle says, “Carl preferred a rustic look, but when I reimagined this place for couples, I couldn’t resist.” She chirrups a laugh. “My friend Mary-Ellen McCluskey, you’ll hear her name around here if you stick around, suggested I change it up for the various holidays and seasons, since it’s fall and all, but I opted to stick to the heart haven theme. She has opinions on everything and everyone.” Mrs. Cagle snaps her mouth shut as if she’s said too much.

“It’s inspired,” Harlow says as if forcing herself not to poke fun at the cheesiness of it all.

“The gift certificates and information for the couple’s massage and dinner for two along with a directory for Maple Falls are in an envelope on the table.”

“Thank you,” Harlow adds .

Mrs. Cagle moves to the door. She peeks around the side and says, “Maybe it’ll inspire you.” Then she’s gone.

The impossibility that Harlow thinks of me as anything more than just a friend is real. An awkward silence permeates the small space. Or maybe it’s just me.

“I’ll grab our luggage,” I say, needing a moment in the crisp fall air.

She wiggles a bag slung over her shoulder.

“You traveled light,” I say.

“Always do,” Harlow says as I exit to the driveway.

I know her well and have an inkling she has commitment issues. She’d tell me that it takes one to know one—not that I ever talk with her about my love life, er, lack of one. Sure, I date but have never done anything to take it to the next level. Weekends away, meeting the parents, and exchanging anything beyond phone numbers are no-go zones.

I still need to reply to my brother, but I haven’t yet taken my phone off airplane mode. Hidden away up here, maybe I’ll go off-grid for a few days.

As for Harlow and me, since college, our visits are never more than a weekend. Typically, she doesn’t date guys longer than a week. The lucky ones get a couple of months. There was only one that made it to the seven month mark. She cycles through her favorite coffee drinks, restaurants, and television shows, never sticking with one for too long.

At the moment it’s chai, a place in Tulsa that serves specialty grilled cheeses, and a sitcom about a parks and recreation department. It’s a wonder we’re still somehow friends decades in because in general, I hold on and don’t let go except when it comes to romantic relationships. Then again, the favorites we’ve always shared remain at the top of the list— The Princess Bride and the best burrito joint in Tulsa, My Big Fat Burrito, for example.

When I haul in several suitcases and duffel bags, Harlow says, “I forgot, you’re the king of things.”

Some guys are minimalists or maybe seem that way and have a secret room filled with brand-new sneakers. Not me. I’ve always had a lot of stuff—clothes, shoes, gadgets, gizmos. We’re opposites like that. Once I find things I like, they stick around. I still have my first hockey stick, movie stubs circa middle school, and every single thing Harlow gave me. It’s not an obsession, it’s a collection so I don’t forget the good parts when I look back in fifty years.

“Don’t complain. I’ll share the goodies in my welcome basket.” I present the treats that would’ve been in my room if I were staying at the Hawk River Lodge, hosting the rest of the guys.

Harlow pitches an eyebrow at me. “Your welcome basket? Aren’t you fancy.”

“Sort of. Not really. Because I lagged in accepting the offer to join the Ice Breakers, a chipmunk family took up residence. Troy and Kelly’s kids requested a “rehoming,” which might take a while so to be on the safe side, after this weekend, I’ll be at a SkyBnB nearby.

“Don’t think I missed the fine print. This also means that you went rogue, going against the Knights coach’s orders to stay off the ice?”

Yeah, I realize it sounds a lot like I have something to prove. Maybe there’s a lesson in that. “You know me. Shoot first. Aim later. ”

“But your knee injury will have the last word.”

“It’s fine.” I turn to the basket. Inside is a brochure of Maple Falls, a T-shirt with the Ice Breakers puck with cracked ice that looks like a mountain on it, energy bars, nuts, water, and a commemorative hockey puck.

“Ooh. Homemade maple syrup scented soap and a Krispies treat. Don’t mind if I do.”

“You always find the good stuff,” I say.

With slightly less fanfare I pull out a rumpled paper bag for Harlow. I should take some packaging cues from Troy and his wife Kelly who put this together. “I also got you something.”

She wrinkles her nose.

“I know, I know. You don’t like gifts. But to celebrate the completion of my advanced physical therapy in North Dakota, and because my best friend wouldn’t visit me while I was there, I couldn’t resist?—”

She sets her jaw. “You know how it is at the firm. The only time I ever got away was for those dumb conferences—and the wedding. You could’ve played for the OK Thunder and stayed closer to home.”

“But I didn’t because it’s all in the name. They’re just ok ay.”

She half-rolls her eyes because it’s true. “And what about the Knights? Have you made a decision?”

I grunt because I don’t want to think about the huge offer from the Los Angeles Lions to return to the ice right away, versus waiting for Coach Badaszek’s go-ahead that my injury is fully healed and stay with the Knights.

“Tulsa misses its number one hockey player.”

I wish she did too .

Booping her nose, I say, “How could I say no to the Knights?”

“Then you’re going to stay with them?”

I lift my shoulder. “Still undecided. The team physical therapist thinks we’re made of lug nuts and rubber. If he could get away with it, he’d use duct tape to keep our ligaments connected, but Coach is another story.”

“Makes you tough,” she teases.

“Yeah. Hockey tough. But while in North Dakota and learning how to use my rehabilitated knee properly, instead of relying on brute strength, I got you a little something.” I jiggle the gift bag, eager to change the subject.

Harlow’s long eyelashes graze her cheek as she peers in the bag and pulls out a white mug that says Do not pet the fluffy cows over an illustration of a buffalo. She giggles—something I’ve only ever noticed she does with me. Everyone else gets a more general laugh or none at all.

It’s like the puck slid into the net, her laughter lit the lamp, and turned on the goal light. “Ice Ice Baby” choruses in my head.

“Let’s see. This leaves Alaska—” She counts off on her fingers.

“Working on it and Hawaii.” Two places I’ve yet to visit. Hockey games typically remain in the contiguous US or Canada.

“Don’t forget Delaware and Rhode Island.”

“Funny, people always seem to.”

When I signed with the Knights and started traveling for games, I decided that Harlow needed a collection, and I needed a way to stay connected to her. Figured mugs from every state in the Union would be a good way for me to think about her lips. I mean, not to think about them on the mugs, sipping her nightly tea.

“This makes forty-one mugs.”

I tip my head because that doesn’t add up.

“I have two from Nebraska because you got me the one that’s state-centric and then remember when the Knights came out with a line of cocoa mugs?”

“Ah yes, with the marshmallow roasting on the end of a sword.”

Giggle incoming.

She opens her arms and announces, “Thank you hug for the mug.”

I pull her in tight, wishing it included a thank you kiss too. I mean, I don’t. That’s why it’s good we limit our visits to long weekends and phone chats. I don’t need to make this something it can never be. But like before, Harlow settles into the embrace.

I could get used to this.

Then she abruptly pulls back with a sniff. “Teddy, we have rules in this friendship.”

My face falls because it was an innocent hug. Mostly. I stutter, “No going barefoot in public places. Beaches and pools don’t count.”

She frowns. “No. Well, yes. But the other one.”

Concern seizes me. What did I do? Say? She can’t read my mind, can she?

Holding her nose and pointing toward the door, she says, “Stinky gear bag. Outside.”

Relief washes through me along with a tsunami of laughter. “Sorry, forgot about that.”

When I return from the mudroom, she asks, “So, how was your knee today? ”

“Are you suggesting we play doctor? Thought we learned that lesson.” I can’t resist what the puck bunnies call my trademark smirk.

Harlow’s lips part with surprise that I went there. We’ve had an unspoken agreement never to discuss when Tim, my brother, caught us kissing at age six. In our tiny minds—or at least mine—I thought like in the movies, if I kissed her, we’d grow up and get married. It was merely a chaste kiss on the lips. Hardly even a peck.

One of our parents said something about us playing doctor, whatever that means. I wasn’t embarrassed at the time, but on the few occasions when it’s come up since, blood rushes to my face. Same as when we were at the arena earlier and I fumbled my comment about Harlow being the original old man, telling pesky kids to get off his lawn. Except for the man part. She’s all woman with feminine curves. Lots of those. I swallow and the swoop in my stomach is probably because I’m hungry.

Ding dong.

Saved by the bell.

“Expecting someone?” Harlow asks.

I jog toward the door, tip the driver generously, and deeply inhale the scent of carne asada , melted cheese, and warm-ish tortillas.

“Honey, I’m home,” I say, returning with the bag stamped with the My Big Fat Burrito logo. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

Harlow’s eyes widen when she glimpses the bag. “We’re in Washington. Unless Jenny and Juan opened a restaurant here, how did you get?—?”

“One of the benefits of being me.”

Setting out two foil-wrapped burritos, containers of beans, rice, salsa, guacamole, and a huge bag of chips, it would spoil the excitement to explain I placed the order earlier, paid someone to fly here with a warming bag, then drop it off with another guy I hired to pick it up and deliver it.

Yeah, the chorizo burrito is worth a grand at least. So is seeing Harlow’s hungry and appreciative expression.

I add napkins to our spread on the coffee table and drop onto the loveseat. “We’re celebrating—my return-ish to the ice.” And Harlow finally getting rid of Chad-Phoenix. But I don’t say that part.

But she does. Then she adds, “Ignore Mrs. Cagle and all her hearts. To being best friends.” Harlow lifts her bottle of Topo Chico.

I add, my voice slightly uneven, “Besties.”

“Yeah. BFFs.”

“Best friends forevah ,” I add in a terrible Boston accent.

Twirling a piece of her hair, Harlow doesn’t dig into her favorite menu item, a beef burrito smothered in red sauce, right away.

Hope surges that maybe she wants to toast to us being more, nudging things out of the just friends zone.

Instead, she blurts, “Actually, I quit.”

I’m mid-bite and scramble for food not to fall out of my mouth. She took the conversation in the dead opposite direction than I’d hoped, expected. Is she quitting our friendship? I stammer with my mouth half full.

Harlow clears her throat. “I quit my job.”

I slouch back into the loveseat and let out the longest breath. “Oh, I thought you meant you were—never mind.” I pass her a tortilla chip. “Here. Have a friend chip .”

She giggles .

It’s music to my ears—I kind of get the airplane therapy person. If I could turn the volume up on Harlow’s laughter and hear it more frequently, I would. Taking a sip of Topo Chico, I almost do a spit take as her statement sinks in. “Wait, you quit your job as a lawyer for Preston & Lemieux Legal Logistics?”

“I heard they’re downsizing, anyway.” She stiffens with panic “Poor money management, probably. There’s only so much I can do. But don’t tell anyone that.” She stuffs the chip in her mouth.

I press my lips lightly together to keep my jaw from lowering. “I didn’t hear a thing. You know me. I play an honest game.”

As if we’re both digesting this information, we eat in comfortable silence for about ninety seconds.

“You quit,” I repeat.

She nods as if not quite believing it herself.

“That’s huge.”

“It might be . . .”

I finish the thing that’s likely scary for her to say. “Especially if you decide not to go back to law.”

Her nod is hesitant. “I’m not sure what my mother will do.”

I know the story, the meaning is implied. “Your mother gets paid the same salary your father did.”

“But she spends it on my sister’s pageants, trips, and shopping.”

Feeling a mighty strong sense of defensiveness for Harlow, I say, “Sounds like that’s their problem.”

“The house is paid off. Her cost of living is low.”

“Even if your mother doesn’t get a whopping check each month, if she’s squirreled away some of the cash or invested it, she’ll be fine.”

Harlow sighs like the pressure of holding the family together financially weighs heavily on her. I know the feeling.

“Your mom could always get a part-time job for some extra spending money.”

“She hasn’t held one since 1998.”

“The mechanics of it are much the same: apply, do the work, get paid.”

Harlow snorts a laugh, then closes her eyes for a moment. “I just don’t want them to?—”

“You didn’t have a problem upsetting the person on the airplane.”

“This is different.”

Is it though? Harlow has been doing the work of a partner at the firm while her mother gets that salary and she gets what amounts to squat. Not that money is everything, but she has interests and dreams of her own. Plus, she has to put up with Penn Preston. The guy is a butthead and that’s me using my polite, off-ice words.

“There’s always Sereni-Tea.”

“I didn’t bring any.” Wearing a my eyes are too big for my stomach smile, Harlow plops some guacamole onto her plate.

Thankful that she’s enjoying the meal, I risk asking, “Have you ever thought you were holding back? Hiding behind a shield? Avoiding your mother’s disappointment if you take a different path than the one she said your father wished for you?”

Harlow tucks her chin. “Me, hiding? You’ve met me, right? ”

Yes, yes I have.

“Have you considered that you’re confident in every way and don’t hold back in life except for this one area?” It’s a bold but valid question.

She chews slowly as if contemplating. Of course, we’ve skirted the topic and Harlow is smart and perceptive. I imagine she’s thought a lot about it. Maybe obsessively, ever since I proposed the possibility.

I shoot my shot. “Harlow, you’re fearless.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Seems you are too, speaking your mind and all.”

“That’s what friends are for. You can thank me later.”

“Teddy, we both know there is something that scares me.” For the briefest moment, her gaze darts to the jacuzzi on the deck.

She’s fearless except for large bodies of water. Pools. Bathtubs. Jacuzzis? I formulate a plan to do something about that. Not only because I want her to be free from the trauma and enjoy her life . . . I want to hear her laugh more too.

“Only a friend could be so honest,” she says dryly.

“It’s because I love ya.” Popping a chip in my mouth, I add, “One of the things I love about ya is that we pick up right where we left off.” I’m careful not to fully enunciate the word you . That could result in a food fight or worse, send her running out of the cabin.

Love isn’t part of Harlow’s vocabulary as demonstrated by the varied and short-lived boyfriends she’s had.

But the corner of my lip hitches because I know her love language even if she doesn’t.

“Teddy, you have that rascally look like you’re about to?— ”

Grabbing the throw blanket from the back of the loveseat, I wrap it around her and then roll her up, moving away from the food and avoiding table legs, and hollering, “Blanket burrito.”

It’s something that I used to spontaneously do because it’s hilarious, makes Harlow laugh, and is a good excuse for us to be close. Wrapped in the blanket, I have full access to her neck which is ticklish. With her arms tucked in, she can only wiggle and giggle.

I love it. She does too even though it’s the best kind of agony.

Her lowered brow Grumpy Cat seriousness disappears and her expression contorts all giggly and adorable.

“You are the only human on the planet who could get away with this,” she says through laughter.

“I know.”

She adds, “I hate laughing.”

“You don’t. It’s good for you. I consider myself your laughter doctor. This is your daily dose of laughs for medicinal purposes. Take one and call me in the morning.”

This changes the shape of her laughter slightly because the comment genuinely tickles Harlow’s funny bone, as they say.

Snuggled close to me, I peek at her. Our gazes drift together and something twists in my chest. She presses her lips together, probably holding back more laughter. The moment lengthens and then snaps as we burst into another fit of hilarity as I roll us on the floor like a giant, runaway burrito.

“There better be dessert,” she says at last.

“Churro everything,” I say, my voice a bit deeper than usual as I inhale her cinnamon spice scent at close range .

A daring and dangerous thought enters my mind. This could be the norm—closing the distance, cuddling, kissing . . .

But I know better. It would ruin our just friendship. Right then, I do everything in my power to talk myself out of making a play for Harlow.