Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Like all these days and nights with her in our home.
Before she leaves, I tell her I’ll see her later at the game.
“I’ll blow a kiss from the stands.”
“You better,” I say.
A little later, as morning skate comes to an end, Coach calls me over and I join him by the boards, my stick in hand, my breath coming fast from the workout.
“Winters is stepping down at the end of the season. I’ll need you to be captain then,” he says.
There’s only one answer. “Yes, sir.”
Pride suffuses me, along with the feeling that I’ve earned it this second time around.
When I head into the locker room, Rowan is grumbling about some date Hugo’s trying to set him up on with a friend of a friend of Melissa’s. “Dating is hell,” he says.
“He’s at it again?” I ask.
Tyler smirks. “We’re going to have to babysit him at every team function at this rate,” he says, having quickly learned that the anti-romantic Rowan is the king of grumps, especially when it comes to all things dating.
“That is not true. You don’t have to babysit me,” Rowan says, scowling.
“Denial will get you nowhere,” I say, laughing. Then, out of nowhere, I flash back to something my mom once said. About a matchmaker. An idea clicks into place—a potential solution for Rowan. One I’ll have to mention to Tyler later.
For now though, I turn to my brother, asking, “Is Agatha still on vacation?”
He sighs heavily, probably still bummed that his kid’s nanny has been so homesick for her own family, that she’s been returning to Los Angeles as often as she can. “Don’t remind me. At this rate, I’ll need to find a new nanny soon.”
“Good luck, man,” Rowan puts in. “That is never easy.”
That night, though, I put all thoughts of them aside and play for my girlfriend, who’s in the stands with her friends, wearing my jersey.
Ah, who am I kidding? She’s not my girlfriend. She’s my future wife.
Leighton
As I’m heading toward the arena for tonight’s game, I’m chatting on the phone with Isla Marlowe. “Sure, I can talk about the ideas of grandma as a matchmaker on your podcast.”
“Great,” says the upbeat woman who’s become a friend recently. “I’ve been wanting to explore all manners of matchmaking. How singles are moving away from apps and trying more tried and true ways. And your story fits.”
“Birdie is the ultimate matchmaker, that’s for sure,” I say, then pause. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before. “Do you want to come to a hockey game soon? With Sabrina and me?”
“That sounds fun,” she says.
And I smile, grateful to keep making new friends. To give back in a way. Once upon a time, Everly took me under her friendship wing and introduced me to some amazing women who are now my besties. I’d love to do the same.
We finish the call and I head inside.
A little later, as Tyler blocks a shot on goal, Sabrina cheers. “Go, Falcon!”
She’s here with me tonight, along with Josie, Maeve, and Fable. Josie lifts a curious brow at the cheer, but says nothing.
I invited Sabrina since we’ve been getting closer since I took photos for her new figure-skating coaching business.
For a moment, Sabrina’s cheer feels personal. But when Max blocks the next one, her voice rings out, clear and confident, “Nice block, Lambert.”
Even so when Tyler skates off for a line change, he glances in our direction. Or really, hers.
I glance at Sabrina and smirk. “I think he has a crush on you.”
She laughs it off, lifting her hand with the shiny diamond on it. “I’m taken.”
“And he still has a crush on you,” I tease.
“Pretty sure Leighton is right,” Josie chimes in.
Sabrina smiles again, but she won’t touch that topic, it seems. Instead, she says to me, “Speaking of being taken, maybe you can take my wedding photos?”
“I’d love to,” I say. The conversation shifts from Tyler to her upcoming wedding plans, and soon the game ends with a loss.
Shame. But you win some and lose some. After I say goodnight to my friends, I wait for Miles in the corridor, but my dad finds me first. He walks up, his gaze landing on my jersey. “Nice jersey,” he says dryly.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“But McBride would be better,” he teases, squeezing my shoulder. “It’s nice seeing you at games.”
“I’ve been to games before,” I point out.
“I know. And I like it,” he says. His voice is quieter than usual, like he’s letting me know this matters to him. We make plans to grab breakfast at our favorite café this weekend, and all feels well. I’m glad too that he started seeing someone. A kind, funny woman who Birdie—of course—set him up with.
What feels best though is when Miles and I head home together. It feels like Christmas Eve. In the morning, we pick up a grumpy little Beagle mix named Oliver. He’s ten years old and needs a foster home until he finds a forever family. We dog-sit for Miles’s mom sometimes, and we’ve talked about fostering for months. When we heard Little Friends needed fosters for senior pups, we knew. We just knew it was time.