Page 2

Present Day…

A fter I take a small sip of iced tea and set the glass back down on the tile tabletop in the café where I’m having lunch with my friend Madison, I say, “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I closed on that big-ass house out in Cave Creek yesterday.”

Madison’s bright green eyes widen as she takes a big bite of her panini.

After holding up her finger for me to wait a sec, then wiping her mouth with a cloth napkin, she says, “Wow, no way. That’ll be a nice commission.”

“It sure will be,” I agree as I spear an olive in my Greek salad. I then add softly, “God knows I sure can use the money.”

“Right?” my friend says on a long sigh. “I hear you on that one.”

Even though she was just devouring her sandwich, she pushes her plate of half-eaten panini away.

I understand why.

My appetite just went down the drain too.

We both sell real estate, and though we’ve had a number of good years, even winning multiple awards for highest sales, the market as of late has skidded to an almost stop.

Nobody is buying.

Well, they are, but not that much and not enough.

With my twenty-seventh birthday coming up, the only thing I can think about lately is how I sure could use that freaking trust fund money. I’m dangerously close to losing my small house north of Camelback Mountain.

And then there’s my poor mom. She’s been struggling for a while now too. She still lives in the same house we moved into when I was twelve, and though it’s not huge, it’s really too big for her now.

She’d be better off in a house the size of mine.

Hell, I could give her my freaking home if I had that stupid money.

Ugh!

The good I could do with that cash. And not just for myself and my mother. I’d help out others, too, including Madison. She’s been having a rough time lately as well. She rents a nice, roomy carriage house, but she’s been talking about possibly having to downsize to a one-bedroom apartment in order to save money.

Damn it, see!

I need that freaking trust fund!

But I won’t be able to access it this year. Not only am I not married, as per my dad’s ridiculous stipulation and requirement, I don’t even have a boyfriend.

There’s nobody in the running either.

As of late, I’ve been out on a string of lousy one-off dates.

That’s why I’ve pretty much given up at this point.

No man, no money, a faltering career.

Yeah, life is just peachy these days.

I wish my onetime best friend, Easton, had been serious about marrying me when I turn twenty-seven. That night, so long ago in the park on that warm desert evening, Lord knows I wasn’t kidding around.

I had the biggest crush on that kid back then. Funny how he never knew how gorgeous I thought he was.

But I did think that.

Yeah, I was constantly swooning over his chiseled facial features, dark blond hair, cool blue eyes, and hot muscular build.

But that was really only the tip of the iceberg.

Easton was a freaking hockey stud. He was the best player on our high school team, and because of him, we went undefeated our senior year.

He scored so many freaking goals that the team went to some kind of state championship. They won that, too, thanks to Easton.

Amazing.

I was at every home game, and a lot of away ones, too, cheering him on. But there was so much more to my best friend than his good looks and hockey prowess. He was the sweetest guy. At least he was to me.

We lived in the same neighborhood back then and spent so much time together. I thought we’d be best friends forever, but when he went to Boston to go to college and I stayed here in Phoenix to attend Arizona State, we began to lose touch.

Then, before Christmas our freshman year, his parents moved to Boston to be closer to their son. He had no more reason to fly all the way across the country to spend time in Phoenix.

Space and time and distance came between us.

It didn’t help when he found a girlfriend. I started dating some boy around the same time too. For me, that relationship grew serious, and the next thing I knew, our once daily calls and texts dwindled to the occasional “Hey, how are you?” message.

And then there was nothing, no more communication of any kind.

It’s sad when that happens, but it so often does.

After college, I did hear that Easton had been drafted by the Boston Bruins.

And then he was traded to a team in Atlanta.

The Thunder, I think.

I don’t know much more, though.

And that’s by choice.

It just hurts too much to follow hockey these days. It reminds me of Easton and what we lost.

It sucks, because I once loved the sport so freaking much.

We even have a professional team once again in Arizona. They’re called the Phoenix Bears, and they play at the newly built Glacier Dome.

This season, which starts in a few more weeks, they’ll be entering their second expansion year.

But that’s about the extent of my knowledge of the Bears.

Again, by choice.

“Can you believe that?” Madison says, breaking me from my trip down memory lane.

“Wait, what?” I ask, utterly lost.

She narrows her green eyes and levels me with a suspicious look. “Were you even listening to a word I was saying?”

“A little,” I hedge. And then I just flat-out admit, “Okay, no, you got me. I was zoning.”

Madison rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s not really mad. She knows I’m always getting lost in my thoughts.

Slowly and patiently, she says, “Let’s try this again, Claire.”

“Okay, let’s.” Since the waiter took our plates away moments ago, I fold my hands in front of me on the table like a good, attentive friend. “I’m all ears.”

“As I was saying,” she begins as she tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I have a very interesting showing coming up.”

“Yeah, how so?” I ask.

“Well, the house my client wants to see is in Cave Creek, not far from the place you just sold. I forgot to mention it earlier, since I was too busy chowing down.”

I laugh, then reiterate, “Okay, so what makes this showing so interesting?”

Raising a brow, she says, “Get this. The guy I’m meeting out at the property is a hockey player. Like a real live professional one. I’m talking NHL, baby.”

“Huh,” I say, nodding. “That is kind of neat.”

“Right? Anyway,” she continues, “here’s the story. This guy was a free agent this past summer and got picked up by the Phoenix Bears. When I spoke to him, he said he’s living in an extended-stay hotel at the moment that the team put him up in, but he’s anxious to settle into a house before training camp starts. He really likes this particular Cave Creek property because there’s a rent-to-own option.” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I just think it’s kind of cool overall. I’ve never had a pro sports player as a client.”

“Yeah, neither have I,” I say distractedly, as I’m wondering who this guy is. I don’t know, I just have a weird feeling, so I ask, “What team was he on before the Bears picked him up?”

Madison thinks it over for a beat, then says, “I think he said he was with the Thunder.”

Holy crap.

My heart starts racing. “The Thunder, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Sucking in a big breath of air, then releasing it slowly to calm my ass down, I ask as casually as I can, “What’s this guy’s name?”

“Easton,” she replies. “Easton Sonden.”

Holy fuck!

I need to play it cool. I’m not saying a word to Madison, since I don’t know if I’m ready for her to blab to Easton that she knows me.

But there is one certainty in my mind—I sure as hell plan to find out if he moves into that house.

And then I need to know exactly where it’s located.

Maybe, just maybe, if I work up the nerve, I might happen to be in the same area one day and show up on his doorstep.

Oh hell, who am I kidding?

Easton’s had such an exciting life since we last spoke that he probably won’t even remember me.