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Bennett walks past us, muttering, “Too late. He’s already pulled something in his brain.”

Joely giggles beside me, and I swear I want to bottle that sound. Hell, I’d give up goals if it meant hearing her laugh like that every damn day.

We reach the bottom of the hill again, where kids and parents are regrouping. A few little ones from the Mega Mites spot me and start waving, shouting things like, “Coach Foster!” and “Show us your moves!”

Joely nudges me. “Looks like you’re famous.”

“Not for my hockey skills, apparently.”

Bennett, standing nearby, doesn’t miss a beat. He deadpans, “Yeah, kids—watch close. Maybe you’ll learn how to trip over your own feet and miss an open net just like BroFetti.”

“Bennett,” I growl, “you wanna maybe not incite a riot?”

“Don’t look at me,” he says, unbothered. “You’re the one who brought your secret girlfriend to a public sledding event full of children and my dumbass teammates.”

Shep slides up—literally. He skids to a stop at my feet like a deranged penguin. “Somebody saysecret girlfriend? Because that’s giving main character energy.”

“I swear to God—”

Shep grins and plops into the snow like it’s a La-Z-Boy. “Relax, lover boy. I think it’s cute.”

Joely’s standing beside me, frozen. Not from the cold. From the attention. Her eyes dart to mine, unsure. A little wide. A little terrified.

I take her hand again, loud and clear. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says. But her voice cracks a little.

“Hey,” I say, stepping closer, my breath visible in the frigid air. “Forget them. This is still our night.”

A soft smile tugs at her lips. “Then let’s make it count.”

We head up the hill together, kids still giggling behind us. Bennett’s yelling something about sledding being a metaphor for emotional commitment. Shep’s asking if someone can pull him up like a sled dog.

This town. These people. This girl.

Yeah.

Let’s make it count.

The cocoa is lukewarm now, but Joely’s hand in mine is anything but. We walk side by side down the snowy trail that leads back to the parking lot, leaving the chaos of Bennett, Shep, and a band of hyped-up kids behind us.

Before we hit the truck, I tug her close and press a quick, secret kiss to her temple—just to prove this moment is ours, not theirs. She squeezes my hand in answer, and suddenly, the world’s a lot quieter.

“I still can’t believe they followed us.” She shakes her head.

I groan. “They’re like raccoons. You feed them one time and suddenly you’re running a wildlife preserve.”

She laughs again, and yeah, that sound? It’s got me wrecked. I don’t even try to hide how I’m watching her now—her cheeks flushed from the cold, her eyes soft and glinting with humor under the streetlamp glow. This thing between us is getting bigger by the second, snowballing out of control, and I don’t even want to stop it.

“Wanna come back to my place?” I ask, my voice low.

Her eyebrows lift. “What, more hot cocoa?”

“Sure. That. And maybe a bonfire.” I pause. “And definitely less Bennett.”

She tips her head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm. That’s tempting.”

“Come on,” I nudge her. “Bonfire. Quiet. Just us.”