Page 19

Chapter

Nineteen

Grace

Friday morning, Grace stepped outside into the crisp morning air, her boots crunching softly against the thin layer of frost that had settled overnight. The sky was pale and cloudless, the sun just starting to warm the tops of the houses, making glistening black circles on the snow-dusted roofs. Her breath curled in front of her as she pulled her coat tighter and wheeled her suitcase toward the top of the steps.

Country’s truck idled in the drive. She clicked the button to drop the handle of the suitcase.

"I've got it."

Her head snapped up.

André sauntered toward her, hands in his jacket pockets, that lazy, cocky grin already curving one side of his mouth. His dark hoodie peeked out from beneath a slate-colored canvas jacket, and the wind tugged at his hair making it look deliberately tousled.

Grace froze. Her grip on the suitcase tightened. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Jenna said she and Country would pick her up.

He stopped at the base of the steps, tilting his head up to her. "You coming or planning to stand there until Hope starts kindergarten?"

Grace’s heart kicked hard against her ribs. She glanced past him and realized her mistake. That truck was weathered navy, not black. “You’re driving?”

André stepped forward and plucked the suitcase from her hand like it weighed nothing. "I told them you’d be thrilled." He walked toward the bed of the truck, and Grace followed, still in shock.

Inside the cab, Country sat in the back seat, a car seat between him and Jenna. Hope’s fuzzy pink blanket was draped over the side, her tiny feet kicking beneath it. Jenna leaned out the window, brows lifted in apology. "Country’s alternator started acting up yesterday. We didn’t want to risk it on the highway. André offered to drive. Hope that’s okay?"

Grace’s throat went dry. It wasn’t like she’d said anything to Jenna. How would they have known that spending three hours trapped in a vehicle with André sounded worse than being waterboarded?

She inhaled through her nose and forced herself to smile. “Of course. No problem.”

André closed the truck bed and looked up just as she reached the passenger door. His grin was still in place, maddening and smug.

“How are you always available?” she asked.

André frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I get how Country can take time off. He has Polk and his parents at the ranch, but it doesn’t feel like you ever have to work.” She’d been chewing on this since brunch. Jenna said he was a welder, but she’d never seen him turn anything down for his job.

“I’m like you. I run my own business.”

Grace climbed in, careful not to let her coat snag on the frame. The seat was warm from the heated cushion, and she adjusted the belt as André slid into the driver’s seat. “But I can work from anywhere. Don’t you have to be on location? Or in a garage or something?”

“Sometimes. But mostly in my home studio.”

Studio. That sounded more artsy than she expected. Grace set her purse to her left just as André put the truck in reverse. Their fingers brushed as he lowered his arm, and she jolted, quickly folding her hands in her lap.

“I keep telling him he should open an Only Fans and he wouldn’t have to work at all.” Country piped up from the back.

“Right.” Andre shot her a look. “Because of my huge dick.”

Grace snorted.

“Wow. Is that how this drive is going to be?” Jenna rolled her eyes in the rearview.

“I actually enjoy what I do,” André added, a slow blush on his cheeks.

“Yeah, so do I, but c’mon. You already have an audience.” Country picked up a rattle from the diaper bag and waved it in front of Hope’s carseat.

The truck rumbled to life, easing down the block as the sun rose higher behind them. In the back seat, Jenna and Country started talking playoff predictions.

“An audience?” Grace asked.

André waved her off and launched into hockey talk. It felt purposeful, and Grace pulled out her phone. What was he trying to hide?

"I’m telling you," Country said, "if the Leafs can keep their top line healthy, they’re taking the East."

Grace played it off like she was answering emails as she typed “André Leclerc hockey” into her search bar. She angled her phone low enough to stay out of Jenna’s line of sight in case she peeked over the seat.

Google spat out exactly what she expected. Elite League. Calgary Snowballs. There were rosters, stats, a few old interviews, and photos.

She clicked Images.

One tap and it was all action shots. Him shouting after a goal, his face lit up like a firecracker, grin wild, helmet half off, sweat on his brow. There were team images, some from an article GCBN did for Hockey Evening in Canada.

He looked good. Grace discreetly crossed her legs.

André scoffed. "That’s cute. But have you seen what Boston’s been doing? They’ve got depth in all four lines. No chance the Leafs push through."

Jenna leaned forward slightly. "You’re all dreaming. If the Oilers lock in a wild-card slot, they’re dangerous. You give McDavid a sniff of the Cup, and he’ll run the table."

"Only if their goaltending holds up," André shot back, tapping the steering wheel. "That crease is a mess."

Jenna groaned. “Please don’t use the word crease.”

Grace tuned them out and continued to scroll until an image made her freeze. Her mouth went dry. What the hell? It was André. In black and white. All abs and thighs, shirtless and pressed up against—was that Melanie Tress? He wore Calvin Klein’s, half-covered in sheets, one arm slung around her shoulder.

Her pulse kicked like it was trying to punch through her throat. She clicked on the link and started reading, digesting each sentence like she’d been starved for a week. He played in France? Lyon? The stats meant nothing to her, but the commentary did. All-star. Most sought after bachelor.

No shit, he had an audience.

“What about you, Grace?” Jenna leaned forward in her seat. “Did you see the Prime Minister’s speech yesterday?”

Grace fumbled her phone, then stuffed it in her coat pocket so fast she nearly gave herself carpel tunnel. “Uh—what?”

Country grunted. "Yeah. Still don’t buy the energy transition plan."

Grace nodded, not quite sure what she was agreeing with. She glanced at André, then quickly turned back to the window. All-star? Lyon? How had he never brought that up before? If he was trying to make himself look good, wouldn’t that be top of the list?

She drew a deep breath, trying to recover from the mental whiplash. He was not what he seemed, but she couldn’t figure out what he was. More importantly, why was she an absolute trainwreck when she was around him? Couldn’t she just be normal?

Grace circled back on her fight with him in the street. She’d been an ass. So had he, but she had no control over that. Twice she’d typed out an apology text, but never sent it. She had communication skills. She knew how to diffuse an argument, to take the higher road. But somehow with him, everything went out the window.

She sipped from her water bottle and stared out the window as fields and frost-covered fences rolled by, tuning back into the conversation.

André shrugged. "Alberta always ends up eating it."

"Carbon tax is killing ranchers.” Country shifted in his seat, holding up another toy for Hope to swipe at.

Grace perked up. "There’s a constitutional challenge underway. If it succeeds, the tax authority reverts to the provinces. But they’ll still have to come up with their own climate policies."

André glanced at her, eyebrow arched. Grace turned back to the window, hoping he couldn’t see her blush. Jenna and Country were chatty, and their conversation filled the truck with warm, easy energy. It carried them all the way to Red Deer, until Hope started fussing in the backseat, her cries rising like a slow crescendo.

"She hates being strapped in too long," Jenna murmured, trying to soothe her with a stuffed giraffe.

Country leaned over awkwardly to reach her. "Maybe we need to change her?"

Jenna nodded. "Maybe. I’ll try a bottle first."

The truck rolled on, engine humming, the heat just high enough to fog the corners of the windshield. The bottle bought them a little time, but when they reached the outskirts of the city, Hope's fussing had turned into a high-pitched, breathy cry that wouldn’t settle.

"Let’s pull off.” Jenna’s voice was tight. “Sorry.”

André nodded and took the exit, merging into city traffic before pulling into a Tim Hortons off Gaetz Avenue. They all got out, Jenna carrying Hope and heading for the bathroom to use the change table.

Grace, André, and Country found a table in the corner near the window. André grabbed them each a coffee, and Country told her not to bother when she tried to pay. “He loves taking care of people.”

Grace put her wallet back into her purse as André finished up at the counter. “Doesn’t seem especially wise.”

Country gave her a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

She motioned between the two of them. “We’re the ones with steady income. If anything, we should be paying for him.”

Country’s brow pinched, but before he could say anything, Jenna approached the table. "She feels warm. Like, really warm. I know we’ve been in the truck, but I think she might have a fever."

Country leaned in, pressing the back of his hand to Hope’s forehead. "What do you want to do?"

"We should get her checked. We’re going to be in Edmonton all weekend, and if it’s more than a cold . . . "

André stepped up next to her, setting their coffees on the table. “She’s not feeling well?”

Jenna nodded. “Might be an ear infection or something? She’s been rubbing the side of her face.”

They finished their food quickly, then drove to the nearby Red Deer Regional Hospital Centre’s urgent care. There were only five people in the waiting room but after twenty minutes with no movement, it wasn’t looking promising.

Jenna worried her lower lip. “Maybe we should just go? See if we can find something in Edmonton?”

André shook his head. “Stay. We can just go wait in the truck.”

Grace swallowed hard. This wasn’t about her. Jenna was obviously stressed, and it would only make the situation worse for them to be sitting there looking bored.

They walked outside and Grace settled into the passenger seat again, clutching her coffee. He turned the truck on, and the heater hummed softly as snowflakes drifted lazily down, blurring the windshield.

The quiet between them stretched, thick like taffy. Finally, André shifted in his seat, glancing sideways at her. "You mind if I crash for a bit?"

Grace shrugged, a little too quickly. "Do whatever you want."

He grinned faintly, reclined his seat slightly, and pulled his toque lower over his eyes. Within minutes, his breathing evened out.

Grace dug through her tote bag and pulled out her book. She cracked it open, the familiar scent of library pages calming her nerves. The silence in the cab now felt warmer, softer.

"What are you reading?" he murmured, not as asleep as she’d thought.

She held up the cover. It was Tessa Bailey’s newest release.

He peeked out from under his hat. "Romance?”

Grace nodded once and settled back in the seat, trying to ignore his eyes still on her.

“Hmm.”

She wet her lips, not able to focus on the words in front of her. After a few seconds, she lowered the book. “‘Hmm’, what?”

André shrugged. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No, you just sighed with judgement.”

He turned his head. “I guess I just find it interesting. You like to read about love but not experience it?"

She barked a laugh. "Are you seriously going to comment on my love life?”

“I’m just saying.” He crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.

Grace fumed but couldn’t think of anything to say that wasn’t reminiscent of a high-school rant with her parents. She was glad she hadn’t texted him an apology. Asshole. Yes, he had his moments, and yes, he was a damn good kisser, but she was soooo glad she hadn’t fallen for any of it.

Maybe she was learning. She mentally patted herself on the back and started chapter three.

_____

Hours later Grace jolted awake, blinking as she tried to orient herself. There was a tap on the window, and she turned.

Jenna. Right. They’d been at the urgent care. Grace fumbled for the window control, but André beat her to it. He lowered the glass. What time was it?

Jenna looked exhausted. "We’re good. They gave us something to keep the fever down and to use if the diarrhea gets worse. Should be fine."

Diarrhea? Grace straightened her clothes and checked her hair. Everything seemed to be intact. She turned to find André watching her.

“What?”

He shrugged. “You’re cute when you sleep.”

Something pinched behind her ribs. Thankfully, Jenna and Country provided a distraction by opening the back doors and piling in, locking Hope’s car seat into place. André took off his toque and ran his hand through his mussed hair.

Grace kept her eyes trained out the windshield.

_____

They didn’t reach Edmonton until nearly seven. André parked close to Fantasyland Hotel’s side entrance. The mall was lit up with evening lights, its giant marquee glowing over the snow-covered lot. They stepped out into the cold, hauling bags from the bed of the truck. André didn’t even pretend to let her get her own bag.

Inside, the hotel lobby was hopping. Music from the late nineties pumped through the speakers and laughter echoed from the open restaurant. André and Country went to the front desk.

Grace followed, and once they’d checked in, she stepped up to the counter. “Checking in, Grace Fairbanks.”

The attendant typed. Paused. Typed again. “How do you spell that?” She gave him the letters of her last name, but a moment later, he was frowning. "I’m not seeing anything."

“I booked last week.” Grace opened her phone and navigated to her email. She typed in the hotel name and frowned. She tried “reservation” and “Edmonton” but got nothing. No confirmation email. “Sorry, just taking a second.”

She swiped to her browser and searched through the open tabs. Maybe she’d saved the confirmation there? Forgot to have it emailed?

Spotting the Fantasyland Hotel logo, she tapped on the screen, relieved until she saw the words “Your session has timed out. Please refresh to begin a new reservation.”

Her cheeks heated. Had she seriously gone through every page and not clicked book?

“Ma’am?”

Grace exhaled. “I don’t think it went through.” She dropped her phone. “It’s fine. I’m happy to book whatever you have now.”

The attendant’s fingers flew over the keys. He winced as he looked at the screen. "Unfortunately . . . it looks like we’re completely full. There’s a hockey tournament, the Oilers game, and an oil and gas conference this weekend." He gave an apologetic smile.

Grace’s fingers stilled on the countertop. Full. Okay. That was fine. Maybe she could find another hotel close by.

Jenna was already pulling out her own phone. “There has to be something.”

Grace stepped back, arms crossing tight over her chest. The lobby bustled with families and players, suitcases and duffel bags dragging behind them.

Jenna’s face twisted, and she turned her screen toward Grace. “Closest thing I found is twenty minutes away. And it’s only three stars.”

“That’s fine,” Grace said quickly. “I’ve survived worse.”

“No,” Jenna said firmly, already shaking her head. “That’s not acceptable. You are not going to be the only one off-site in a crappy hotel. We’re supposed to be doing stuff together all weekend.”

Country stepped up, resting a hand lightly on Jenna’s back. “We’ve only got the king bed.”

“Okay.” Jenna started thinking aloud. “What about—Keltie and Sean? Do they have two queens?”

Country shook his head. “Even if they did, it’s Sean. Do you not remember the tent debacle?”

Jenna snorted. “I heard about it.” The wheels turned in her head, and Grace went down her own mental list. Tyler and Emma. Suraj and Rashi. Aelin and Ryan. Why the hell were there so many couples?

Jenna grabbed Country’s wrist. “What about Rhonda? Didn’t she say Anne wasn’t able to come?”

Country scrolled on his phone. “No, she ended up coming. They texted last night.”

“You guys, it’s really fine. I can leave early and get over here?—”

Jenna turned, her eyes glistening. “There’s got to be something. I just—you know it’s not going to be the same. You’ll have to leave early, you won’t be able to get drinks after the games. It just sucks, and—” Jenna froze, her eyes turning on André. He stood off to the side, arms crossed, waiting with her bag.

Grace’s pulse fluttered under her skin. “No.”

Jenna winced. “I mean . . . you could .”

“I absolutely could not.”

“It’s just for two nights,” Jenna said softly, her tone switching to diplomatic now. “It’s not ideal, but . . . ”

Not ideal was an understatement. Not survivable was closer. She’d barely gotten through the drive with him, and now Jenna wanted her to sleep in the same room? She couldn’t even look at him without wanting to throttle him. Or . . . something.

She turned to Jenna, but all her words died on her tongue.

“Okay.” Jenna’s lips were tight. “No, you’re right. I get it.” She blinked fast, the stress, the exhaustion, the sheer hope that this weekend would be exactly right when everything else was so wrong, all evident with the tears welling in her eyes.

Grace’s chest caved in. She swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “André, what kind of room did you book?”

André glanced up, doing a good job playing oblivious if he had been listening. “Two queens. Why?”

Jenna’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t ask?—”

“It’s fine,” Grace repeated. “It’s not a big deal.” She walked toward André. “There isn’t another room available right now and the closest hotel with vacancy is across town. Would it be alright if I crashed on your extra bed?”

André’s lips twitched. “Sixty-forty.”

Grace huffed and grabbed her bag, heading for the elevators.