Chapter 15

I spend entirely too long tryingto figure out what to wear to the skating rink. Harvest Hollow has finally tipped into spring the past couple of weeks, bright green buds popping up all over the trees. Even though it's still cool in the mornings, the afternoon temperatures are just warm enough to go without a coat. But skating rinks are cold. Ice-cold. So maybe I need layers?

I finally settle on my favorite Lucky Brand jeans and a cable knit sweater that happens to be Appies turquoise blue. It's actually a little weird how much of this color I have in my wardrobe, seeing as how none of it was intentional. Once I'm dressed, I spend a few minutes weaving my hair into a loose braid, then touch up my makeup. I'm ready with fifteen minutes to spare and enough nervous energy to keep me pacing circles around my living room while I wait.

I didn't see Nathan at the Summit today. I haven't actually seen him since he kissed me goodbye at the airport, at least not in person. That saying about distance making the heart grow fonder? Absolutely true. Because five days without Nathan around has made me miss him enough to stop caring that our relationship isn't real.

Tonight, we have a purpose to our date. Parker wants us to be seen together in a place sure to be full of Appies fans. That's all well and good, but for me, tonight is really about seeing Nathan again, to hang out with him like I did in Chicago.

Ten minutes later, when I open my door to find him leaning in, hands hooked over the top of the door jamb, my heart might as well jump out of my chest and plop onto the floor at his feet.

He looks good. So good. Every time I see him wearing something different, I think it might be my favorite look on him, but honestly, he just makes everything look amazing. Today, it's jeans and a faded Henley, with a light gray flannel on top. His hair is pulled back, and he looks perfectly, delectably kissable.

I've been dreading the thought of learning how to skate while a crowd is watching, but I suddenly don't care about the crowd. The more people there are watching, the easier it will be to justify doing all the things the rules say we can't do in private.

"Hi," I say.

"Hey." Nathan's eyes rove over me, his gaze piercing in a way that makes my skin prickle in a good way. "You look nice."

"Thanks." I glance at his ribs. "How are you feeling? Did you practice today?"

Near the end of his last game against the Phantoms, Nathan took a hit that was serious enough to take him out for the rest of the period. It completely stressed me out when it happened—I was watching the game online—and I wound up stress-eating an entire pint of Ben and Jerry's while I waited for Parker to text me updates. For that reason alone, it feels good to see Nathan whole and well in front of me.

"Yeah. I'm all good," he says. "A little black and blue, but I've seen worse."

I bite my lip, hating the thought of all that perfect skin marred by a bruise. It would be weird to ask him to show me, wouldn't it? I don't even know why I want him to. I just feel this strange compulsion to see for myself that he's okay.

"Do you…want to see?" he asks, his brow furrowed.

"What? No! Why would you think that?"

"Because you're staring at my ribs like your laser vision might kick in any second."

I lift my gaze to his, catching the teasing glint in his eye. "Sorry. Is that weird? I just want to know you're okay."

He breathes out a playful sigh, then lifts his shirt, revealing a grapefruit-sized purple bruise just below his right pectoral muscle that wraps down and extends under his arm.

I suck in a breath at the sight, horrified but also weirdly impressed that he's standing here like this is no big deal, fully intending to go back to work tomorrow and subject himself to the same kind of treatment.

Without really thinking, I lift a hand and trace it down the side of the bruise. "This is crazy, Nathan. Are you sure you're okay?"

Goosebumps break out across his skin, and he sucks in a tiny gasp before he reaches down and catches my hand, pulling it away as he drops the hem of his shirt. "I promise I'm okay. It's just a bruise."

I press my lips together to keep from smiling, liking a little too much that my touch has so much influence.

There's a nervous energy pulsing between us as I grab my coat and we make our way out to Nathan's Bronco. It's not awkward, really. Just new. Like we're still trying to figure out how to act around one another.

Somehow, this felt easier in Chicago, though then, we had a lot of momentum and forced proximity on our side. Have we really forgotten how to be easy around each other? Or is it just that we're both so nervous? I have to hope we'll loosen up when we're in public because like this, we aren't going to convince anyone we're already in love.

Nathan gives me a shy glance as he opens the passenger side door to his Bronco, then offers me a hand, helping me into the seat. The interior smells like leather and good coffee and Nathan's beard oil, and I suddenly feel guilty for judging Nathan and his "enormous, gas-guzzling SUV" so harshly on my first day of work.

"Are you comfortable?" he asks as I settle into my seat.

I smile and nod. "Perfect."

Nathan closes my door and makes his way around to the driver's side. Once he's buckled in, he picks up a travel coffee mug from the center console and hands it to me. "For you."

"You brought me coffee?"

He shrugs as he shifts and backs up the Bronco. "I wasn't sure if you'd be hungry. I thought we could grab some food after; this is just to hold you over until then."

I take a slow sip of the coffee, which is rich and creamy and absolutely delicious. "Where is this from?" I ask before taking another sip. "It's amazing."

"I made it at home, actually."

"What. You did not. How is it so good?"

"I order the beans from a local roaster over in Asheville. Best coffee I've had anywhere."

It's definitely the best coffee I've had, and I'm the snobbiest coffee drinker in my family. I mentally add coffee connoisseur to the growing list of things I know and like about Nathan.

If I were smart, I'd be listing things I don't like about him, shoring up my resolve to keep this thing between us completely fake. The trouble is, I'm not sure there would be anything on that list, so what's even the point?

"You know, for being so adamantly against dating," I say, looking over at him, "you're doing an amazing job at it right now."

His expression shifts, and I can tell he appreciates the compliment, even if he won't admit it out loud.

"It's not that I'm against dating," he says after a long moment of silence.

I immediately perk up. "No? You definitely made it seem that way."

He runs a hand across his jaw. "I'm just against dating right now. While I'm playing hockey."

Right,I think, my stomach bottoming out as I remember his words.

He can't do both.

I remember him saying that exact thing when we were out to dinner with the team in Chicago.

After Alec's comment about Nathan's dad, I did a deep dive into the life and death of Russell Sanders. Well. Not a true deep dive. I have the connections that, if I wanted to go really deep—hospital records, death certificates, arrest records—I could.

But the idea felt like too much of a violation of Nathan's trust and privacy, so I stuck with what a regular Google search could tell me. Nathan's dad was definitely a star in the hockey world. But once his injury forced his retirement, he basically went dark. A lot of guys go into coaching or broadcasting, but Nathan's dad didn't do either. And I couldn't find anything that verified his cause of death. Even the press release put out by the Boston Bruins, his former team, only mentioned "complications with a prolonged illness." That at least leaves room for the rumors Alec mentioned to be true, but I have no way of knowing for sure. Not unless I ask Nathan outright.

If they are true, could that be what Nathan is really saying?

He can't do both because his father never managed to do both?

I'm still getting to know Nathan, but I don't think he's giving himself enough credit, and I almost tell him as much. But something keeps me from steering the conversation too close to real feelings. Probably my desire to avoid any and all indicators that Nathan only wants this relationship to be fake.

Nathan's phone is face up on the center console, and it buzzes with an incoming text, the screen filling with a picture of his nieces. The phone must be connected to the Bluetooth in his car because an automated voice starts reading the text through the speakers.

"From Cassie," the voice says. "Allie insisted that I send you this picture. I haven't seen her smile like this in a while."

Nathan looks over at me. "Want to pull up the picture?"

I reach for his phone, and he gives me his passcode like it's no big deal. When I pull up the text, I find a picture of Allie in ice skates, her smile wide. The skates have braces that extend up Allie's legs and hook around her knees, and she's holding a kind of sled she can lean on as she makes her way around the ice.

"Oh my gosh. This is perfect," I say, holding out the phone for Nathan to see.

We pull up to a stoplight, and he takes the phone, staring at the picture. "Man," he says. "That's…" He sniffs and shakes his head, almost like he's willing away tears. "Two years ago, we weren't even sure she'd be able to walk."

"That's amazing. And so sweet that she wanted you to see."

"She's a great kid," he says.

"You must be a great uncle." We're quiet for a beat before I say, "You know what I think?"

He looks over and lifts his eyebrows.

"I don't think you're half as grumpy as people say you are. You've got this broody, frowny persona publicly, but deep down, you're kind of a big softie."

His lip ticks up to the side. "Don't go telling the rest of the team. You'll blow my cover."

I think of Alec's words before we parted ways in Chicago. I love the big idiot, so I'd like to see this work out for you. "I hate to break it to you," I say, "but I think they already know."

The parking lot at the community rink is mostly full. I'm still not excited about embarrassing myself in front of all these strangers, but Parker did say the larger the crowd, the better.

I wait next to the Bronco while Nathan pulls a hockey stick and a duffle bag out of the back. He holds out his free hand, and I only hesitate a moment before slipping my fingers into his. We're back in public, after all. Here, I'm allowed to love holding his hand. I'm allowed to recognize how right it feels to be beside him.

It doesn't take long for people to recognize him. Or—us, really?

At first, people just watch from a distance, but once the kid behind the skate counter asks for an autograph, everyone else seems to take it as permission to do the same, and a small crowd of people forms around us.

It's what we want—the whole point of coming to the rink at all. But it's just as disconcerting as it was when Riley recognized me before our meeting with Flex.

Nathan is gracious, signing hockey jerseys and t-shirts and posing for at least a dozen selfies. A couple of kids who come over are in full hockey gear, and he talks to them for a few minutes about what positions they play and what team they're on.

Finally, when the crowd starts to thin, Nathan holds up a hand. "Thanks, guys. If you don't mind, I brought my girlfriend skating, so if we can have a little bit of space and some privacy, that would be great."

My heart climbs into my throat when Nathan says the word girlfriend. It sounded so easy, so natural. So perfect. I breathe through a sudden, sharp longing that we could just forget about the fake part of our relationship and lean into this for real. But I push the thoughts to the back of my mind. Tonight, I'm just supposed to be enjoying him. I don't want to worry about anything else.

"So, where's Parker?" I ask as Nathan pays for my skates, checking the blades on a few different pairs before he finds one he's happy with. "Isn't she supposed to be here?"

"I haven't heard from her, so I assume she's still coming." He leads me over to a bench beside the rink, motioning for me to sit down before he kneels in front of me, working on the laces of my skates.

"You seem to know your way around this place pretty well," I say as I slip off my boots.

He looks up, the light catching in his deep blue eyes. "The Appies take turns volunteering with the youth leagues, doing skills clinics, so I'm here every couple of months, at least."

Oh, great. He's a coffee connoisseur and hevolunteers to teach children how to play hockey. Honestly. This isn't even fair anymore.

"All right. You ready?" Nathan holds out my skate like he's Prince Charming holding my glass slipper.

I swallow against the lump in my throat, suddenly feeling like if I put on this skate, I won't be able to go backward. If I keep spending time with him like this, I'm going to fall for him.

Nathan must read my spiraling thoughts because he puts down the skate and drops a steadying hand onto my knee. "Hey," he says gently. "You don't have to do this. It's not a big deal. We can just tell Parker we want to do something else. Or…we don't have to do anything at all. You know that, right?"

"No, I want to," I say, and a tiny pulse of relief flits across Nathan's face. "I want to do this with you." I force myself to give him a reassuring smile. "Let's do it. We're already here. I'm just letting my fear get the best of me."

In more ways than one.

"How about this?" Nathan says as I slip my foot into the skate. "We give it twenty minutes. After that, the second you aren't having fun, we stop."

Ha. If only it were so easy.

I nod, watching as Nathan tightens my laces. It's possibly silly that I'm letting him do this for me, but he seems like he knows what he's doing, so who am I to argue? "What were you looking for when you checked the blades?"

"Rust, nicks, anything that might keep you from gliding smoothly across the ice." He ties the final knot on the first skate. "How does that feel?"

I nod. "Good? I think? How is it supposed to feel?"

"Tight, but not cutting off your circulation. Can you wiggle your toes?"

"Wiggling," I say. "It feels good."

He nods and starts in on my other skate.

Five minutes later, Parker has texted letting us know she's almost here, Nathan's skates are on, and we're standing together on the ice, a perpendicular hockey stick between us. "You hold on right here, all right?" He positions my hands on the center of the stick, with his hands on either side, then gives me an easy smile. "That's your only job. I'll take care of everything else."

"So, what, you're just going to skate backward?" I say, proud of myself for sounding playful instead of scared. "How will you know where you're going?"

He smirks like he thinks my question is funny and starts to pull me forward. "I'll be fine."

I roll my eyes. "Show-off," I mutter under my breath, but Nathan only grins.

"Relax your knees a little," he says, "and lean forward the slightest bit. Try to keep your center of gravity over your knees, even if it means leaning into the stick. I'll be holding it the whole time, so it's okay if you have to push on it to keep your balance."

I nod shakily and do as he asks.

"Good. See? You're doing it."

Slowly, we make our way around the rink, Nathan literally doing all the work. His movements are effortless, his feet moving easily as he shifts and glides and slides us over the ice. When we pick up a little speed, I can't help but smile. This is kind of fun. Terrifying, but still fun.

After a few more circuits around the rink, Nathan drops off the hockey stick, propping me against the wall long enough for us to say hi to Parker, who has finally shown up.

"Look at you!" she says. "You look so great out there. Let me get my skates on, then I'll come out and film a little."

Nathan holds out his hands. "Want to try it this way?"

If it means more contact with him, I absolutely do.

He moves in behind me, holding both my hands, his chest pressed close to my back. "Instead of just gliding," he says, his voice close to my ear, "I want you to pick up your feet. Don't think of it like walking—more like you're doing a subtle high knee. Just focus on lifting and sliding the skate forward a little at a time."

"You won't let go of me?" I ask.

"I won't let go," he says. "Not until you tell me to."

He is so patient with me. And true to his word, he doesn't let me fall. More than once, he shifts his body faster than what should be possible, looping an arm around my waist just in time to stabilize me. He is impossible to jostle—sturdy and steady and solid.

He's also happy. There's a lightness about him out here, his face a little less guarded. I get the sense that Nathan doesn't just love skating. He belongs on the ice. Not like how I love hiking or listening to classical music or watching romantic comedies with Lucy. This is more than that. This is a part of him. Like it's oxygen. Not just fun, but essential.

As soon as Parker is on the ice with us, things become less about me learning and more about me looking like Nathan and I are happily in love and having fun together. She films clips of us holding hands and hugging, and she must catch me falling on my butt at least a dozen times. But I don't even care. Every time I fall, Nathan pulls me up, wrapping his arms around me until I'm steady again.

"Okay, I have to be done," I finally say, letting most of my weight shift onto Nathan. "I'm gonna be so sore tomorrow."

"You did great," he says as he guides me off the ice.

I collapse onto the bench where we left our shoes with an audible groan. "I did not do great. I skated like an old lady. There were five-year-olds out there skating circles around me."

He sits down beside me. "If it's any consolation, you didn't look like an old lady."

I don't have the chance to respond to his teasing—or is it flirting?—before a group of boys, maybe ten or eleven years old, skates over, stopping directly in front of us. They're dressed in hockey gear, sticks in hand. The tallest one is wearing an Appies jersey with Nathan's number, number twenty-three, emblazoned on the front.

"Hey, guys," Nathan says easily.

"Will you skate with us?" the tallest one asks.

He glances over at me and lifts his eyebrows. "Do you mind?"

I quickly shake my head, though I'm surprised he's willing. I've never seen him be anything but kind to his fans, but he doesn't eat up the attention like some of the other guys do. With him, it always feels slightly more obligatory.

But then, these aren't just fans. They're hockey players. Which is a very important distinction. "Of course not," I quickly say. "Go ahead. I'll be fine here."

He reaches over and gives my knee a quick squeeze. "I'll be right back."

As soon as he's back on the ice, Parker comes over and sits down beside me, looping an arm around my shoulders for a side hug. "How are you holding up?"

"Physically? Or emotionally?"

"Both?"

Out on the ice, Nathan takes a hockey stick from one of the kids and helps him with his grip. I can only see him from the side, but I have a clear view of the kid, and the awe in his expression tells me just how much this means to him.

"Physically, I'll recover as long as I get a warm bath and a few ibuprofen. Emotionally? Pretty sure I'm about forty percent in love with him already."

"Only forty? That doesn't sound too bad."

"Maybe not, but I'm worried the growth might be exponential."

She nudges my shoulder with hers. "Have I told you how much I appreciate you doing this?" She looks across the ice to where Nathan is talking to some men I'm guessing are the dads of the kids who approached him. "I know he appreciates it, too."

I'm glad they do, but the truth is, after tonight, I can't pretend like I did this for Parker or the Appies. I didn't even do it for Nathan.

I did it for me.

I ignored every rule I've ever made for myself, kicked my logical brain out of the boardroom, and gave my heart control.

Because deep down, I'm hoping that if we just spend enough time together, I'll be able to figure Nathan out.

I'll be able to change his mind.

I'll be able to turn this into something real.