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“Well, he wanted Axel to follow. I’m more of a supporting role.”

“To David.” He glances over and I avert my eyes, suddenly feeling hot and distracted by his overwhelming scent in the boxy cab.

“Yeah.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him about breaking up with him, but it also still doesn’t seem real. Or maybe I don’t want it to be real? What if I made a mistake?

I focus on the view outside the window, and not my crumbling life, and the streets turning more commercial until I see a strip of shops up ahead.

He parks on the street, but even after Reid turns off the engine, I can’t bring myself to open the door. “You ready?” he prompts.

“Just bracing myself for the arctic blast.”

He rolls his eyes, but says, “Here.”

I watch as he shrugs out of his jacket. “What? No. It’s fine. I have this coat.”

“Yeah, well, it’s obviously not enough and I’ve got on layers.” He’s wearing a sweater with a shirt underneath and the beanie covering his head. “I’ll be fine.”

He holds it out in the small space between us, the expression on his face unwavering. I take it and say, “Thank you.”

He exits the driver’s side and I pull on the oversized jacket, engulfed not just in his lingering body heat but more of that intoxicating scent. I’ve got my nose pressed against the collar when he opens my door.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell him, dropping the collar quickly. “I can get down easier than up.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not taking any chances.” I slip my hand into his larger one, and he pulls me to the edge of the seat. I don’t miss the way his eyes skim over my legs. “You’ve really got to get some pants,” he mumbles as he helps me to the ground.

‘“I know. It’s top of the list.” I shift under the heavy weight of the jacket. “After a new coat.”

We’ve just started walking down the sidewalk when someone calls out, “Good game, Wilder,” followed by another, “Can’t wait to see you in the playoffs.” Soon a small crowd has gathered to grab handshakes or even ask for a selfie.

“Is that your girlfriend?” one fan asks, looking over to where I’m standing a few feet away.

“Just a friend,” Reid replies, looking back at me and giving me a wink. He takes the phone into his hand to get a better angle for the camera.

“Thanks man,” the guy says, grinning at the image on his camera.

“Anytime.” They bump fists. “Thanks for the support.”

I turn to him. “Does everyone know who you are?”

“I know you’re from the land of football, but yeah, most people know who we are. Hockey is big up here, especially when we’re winning.” He smirks. “And if you’re uncomfortable with the attention, I suggest you keep your distance from Reese and Axel in public. Those two are the real celebrities.”

He sounds modest but there’s a cocky swagger to his stride as he leads us to a small boutique. “You don’t have to come in with me,” I say, just outside the door. “I’ll hurry.”

“Nope. Not a chance.”

“What do you mean?” A gust of air stings my nose.

“Remember how I told you I’d help you start living a little? Well, this is it. New clothes is step one.” He grabs the door handle and pulls it open. “And I just happen to have excellent taste.”

He gestures for me to walk in first. I duck under his arm and enter the warm, cozy shop. It’s filled with different styles. There are racks of vintage coats, a wall of well-worn jeans, and cubbies filled with T-shirts.

“I just need a few warmer things, Reid, not a whole makeover. This isn’t a teen drama.”

I point to a coat that looks like the afghan throw on my grandmother’s couch. “And there’s no way I’m wearing something like that.”

“I want you to feel yourself, find what you like. There’s a dozen different styles in here rather than the cookie cutter stuffat the mall, or,” his eyes sweep over me, “wherever it is you got these boring clothes.”

“They’re not boring,” I snap, but I know it’s not true. My mother picked them out, lined up to my father’s specifications. I look down at my knee length skirt and sensible shoes. They’re modest. Neutral.Appropriate. I sigh. “Fine. They’re boring.”