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“I think I might be melting,” Sadie says next to me, shoving the sleeves of her deep green sweater up to her elbows. “It’s so fucking hot.”

I bite my lip to keep back the tiny smile.

Of course it’s hot. Not just because we’re both used to spending ungodly amounts of time in the tundra that is the Stand’s rink.

It’s September in Quarry Creek. The weather won’t turn until at least mid-October, but recently it’s been staying warmer longer.

“I-it m-might be the s-s-sweater.”

Sadie gestures in front of her. There’s a small crowd of people, wearing similar fall-themed clothing, all clutching brown papers bags with the orchard’s logo printed on the side.

“It’s fall.” Sadie sniffs, pulling the knit away from her chest to fan herself. “Look.” I follow the direction she’s pointing, grateful for something other than her breasts to hold my attention. “Tristan’s dressed for fall. She gets it.”

That isn’t the ringing endorsement she thinks it is.

Yes, Tristan browbeat all of us into correct formal wear for events and meticulously plans player wardrobes for photo shoots, but I’m also fairly certain she has ice water running through her veins.

I don’t think she’s ever broken a sweat.

The closest I’ve seen her come to perspiring, is when she discovered she’d married our captain, Vic.

Vic, who like me, is wearing a t-shirt and jeans.And honestly, it looked more like panic and rage than sweat.

“You c-could take off the s-scarf?”

Her nose crinkles up at me and I want to press the tip of my finger to it. Like she’s a tiny, hissing kitten.

“Or d-don’t.”

I fight a smile as she rolls her eyes. So far, I’m not having an awful time.

Or, at least, not nearly as bad as I thought I would.

When Sadie first suggested a birthday party, I had visions of screaming kids, a pinata shaped like some unidentified cryptid, and mountains of sugar sending said kids into a tailspin of noise and chaos.

Aka, something I’d like to avoid at all costs.

When I was first drafted into the NHL, my team captain invited me to his five-year-old’s birthday party.

I went because it seemed like the right thing to do.

In hindsight, that was my version of having to moon the trainer. It was that bad.

This I can handle. I hadn’t realized Tristan’s little sister wasn’t…

little. And I don’t just say that because she’s taller than Tristan by at least half a foot.

Sometimes I forget that my family looks nothing like most others.

Decades of an age-gap between siblings isn’t the norm.

Dead parents aren’t the norm either. Or a brother who lives out of the country and didn’t come home to pick up the slack.

Other times, it’s the only thing I can think about.

“It’s apple picking.” Sadie plants her hands on her hips. “Sweaters and boots and fall fits are basically a requirement. But now, if I take off the scarf, I’ll have to carry it.” She says the word—carry—like she’s talking about a Petri dish of Ebola. “It’s fine. I’ll live.”

“Incoming wagon,” someone calls out, and I hear the rumble of a giant green tractor before I see it. It rounds the corner of a wide-open field, kicking up dust from the dirt road.

I take an automatic step back and Sadie’s hand touches my waist. Her fingers scorch my skin through the cotton of my shirt, which does absolutely nothing to stop the pounding of my heart.

The wagon is packed full of people, all carrying overflowing bags of ripe, red fruit.

The volume alone could rival the Strand during playoffs.

It’s overwhelming, not being able to hide behind my mask.

The hand on my back begins a steady trip up and back down my spine, rubbing in soothing circles.

“Th-hat’s a lot of p-p-people.”

Sadie’s hand rubs harder.

“It is.” She agrees.

“We’re gonna walk,” she calls out to the group, and I let her lead me down the dirt road instead, sidestepping the tractor.

We stick to the ruts along the side, waiting for the wagon to load up and rumble past us, kicking up more dirt as it goes.

Her hair swings in a thick rope above the curve of her butt. I try not to stare. I swear.

I fail.

“S-sorry,” I try to say, both for ogling and for making us walk in the heat, but she looks at me over her shoulder, smiling. The sun glints off the pink glitter embedded into the frames of her glasses. “W-we could h-have—”

She shakes her head, no.

“B-but wouldn’t it…it b-be good p-practice?”

This time she shrugs.

“Today will be practice enough.” She uses one hand to wipe the sweat beading on her forehead.

“I thought this might be an easier start. You’ve met almost everyone here, even if just peripherally, and they’re good people.

Plus, we can always duck down our own row of trees under the pretense of finding the good stuff if you need a break. ”

I almost stumble over my sneakers because she’s right.

Vic and Robbie are here, our team captains.

Vic’s brother Erik. Their significant others are here, Tristan and Quinn.

I don’t know our social media manager’s little sister, Maddie, but I’m aware she’s one of what, five?

She smiled and thanked me when I handed her a card.

Not at all confused about my presence at her celebration.

“Besides, give it ten minutes and I’m sure Spags will say something so inappropriate to Maddie that we’ll either be forgotten in the laughter or we’ll have to leave so we don’t witness his murder and have to testify in court. You’re already doing great.”

It’s my turn to nod.

“Who d-do you think-ink will do the h-honors?”

She stops in her tracks, clearly pouring over my words, and I almost plow into the back of her. The warmth of her body seeps through my t-shirt. It’s like standing too close to the wood stove at Amma’s. It’s delicious. So hot it scalds. I don’t step away.

“ Sorri .”

We’re so close she has to tip her head back to stare at me.

Big dark eyes blink once. Twice. Her tongue wets her bottom lip and I fist my hands at my side before shoving them into the front pocket of my jeans.

I’m the one who told her this wouldn’t be an issue. That my crush wouldn’t cause problems.

“I—” she licks her lips again, eyes dropping to my mouth, then flying back up to meet mine. “I forgot what I was gonna say.”

Every breath is heavy. Am I swaying toward her? I need to take a step back, put some distance here. I promised her back in the diner I’d keep my head on straight. And here I am, ogling her at the first opportunity. Forget Maddie murdering Spags. I’m the one who needs flattened.

“I th-think Tristan will k-kill him.” I dart a glance up and over her head.

Her shoulders drop as she takes a breath. She exhales with a chuckle.

“Nah.” She shakes her head. “Mads will take care of it all on her own.” She holds her hand out to me, wiggling her fingers. “Come on. I changed my mind. We definitely don’t want to miss the show.”

I hesitate. My heart hammers against my breastbone, knocking the wind out of me with each beat. Then I slide my palm across hers, trying to remember how to breathe as she curls her fingers around mine.

We walk the rest of the way in silence, which works for me. Every facet of my brain is laser focused on where our skin touches. The way her hand is a solid weight in mine. Her skin is warm and dry and soft.I hate noticing at all, but can’t seem to force my mind away.

We reach the copse of gnarled apple trees faster than I would like. The rest of the party has already grouped on and started picking fruit, and I brace myself for Sadie to drop my hand. I tell myself it’s the loss of grounding support I’m preparing for. It’s not. She doesn’t let go.

Spags is batting his blonde lashes at the birthday girl.

Tristan’s sister has her arms crossed over her chest, one dark brow raised as she stares him down.

It’s the kind of expression that should have Spags ducking and covering his sensitive bits, but he doesn’t.

He grins, leaning even closer to whisper something into her ear.

I notice the twitch of her lips—like she desperately wants to smile—before she smacks the back of her hand across his chest.

Sadie’s fingers tighten around mine. Squeeze, let go. Squeeze, let go. Squeeze, let go.

When I turn my head, she’s right there.

“This is the easy part,” she says. “Smile when someone looks at you.”

I frown.

“Th-that’s it?”

“To start.”

“I-isn’t that w-w-what I always d-do?”

Smile silently in the corner? Make commentary in my head?

She winces, and I sigh.Apparently not.

“Let’s just work on the smiling, kay.” She pats the bulk of my biceps.“And if someone asks you a question, answer it. And ask one back.”

It all sounds deceptively simple.

Twenty minutes later I have a bag full of apples, my cheeks hurt from forcing myself to smile, and I still haven’t said a word to anyone other than Sadie.

To be honest, I’m not even picking the apples.

I’m holding the bag while Sadie carefully twists each fruit free and places it inside.

To be more fair, I think she’s the only person I’ve smiled at since she also is the only person I’m watching. I should work on that.

I’m trying to push the warmth of her touch out of my mind, but it’s harder than it should be. Especially when the heat of her still lingers in the air between us.

Friends. Platonic. Coworkers.