Page 1 of Little Treat

1. LOGAN

There was nothing I could do to save us right now. We were in free fall on all counts. I stared out across the rink, looking at the disappointment on all the players’ faces. I looked to the head coach, Dane. His face was like stone, unmoving. He turned to me and shook his head.

It was on me. I’d failed the team as their assistant coach for their defense training, and we’d let every goal slip right through like the other team had greased the pucks and sticks. It was a fucking failure, and all I could do was tell them we’d get them next time.

Dane’s lips twitched as he looked at me. “Take an early break,” he said.

“But we’ve got games.”

“I’ll square it with Thompson.” He shook his head. “I just can’t deal with you bringing me down right now, Logan. Take that break, go—I don’t know, wherever that rookie went. He seems to have actually got a pep in his step.” He called a player over, and even amidst the defeat, he came right up to the box with a smile, pulling his helmet off.

The owners of this place, the Thompson family, were some rich folk. Something to do with tech. Anyway, they’d funneled a lot of money into this place and our stadium. Their son, Rooney Thompson was the face, the owner of this place and our team.

“Yes, Coach?” Lucky said.

“Lucky, you might be earning that name,” he said. “Just have one question before you get called over for interviews. Where did you just go?”

His brow furrowed. “I’m—”

“With your friend.”

“My boyfriend,” he said. I loved thatkidsthese days were so open. Back when I was starting out, as a player and then coaching, there wasn’t a single gay guy in the NHL, and now they were all so open to express themselves. I envied it. “Snowflake Springs. They’ve got a great spa.”

Dane nodded to me. “There you go,” he said.

***

It was December twentieth. I should’ve been at the away game in Pittsburgh against the Penguins, and instead I was all checked into a fairly nice hotel suite. There was a nice wrap-around view of the snowy mountains and the town.

I’d only brought a small duffel bag with me, a couple of T-shirts, underwear, jeans, and whatever winter clothes I was already wearing. Dane ordered me not to watch the games but to focus on destressing, because the team could feel it when any of their coaches were stressed, and I believed that.

There was a lot to be stressed out about. There were quite a few openly gay men on the team. The Vermont Maple Kings was a fairly new team, backed by some large sponsors who’d recently pumped money into the town. Otherwise the team would’ve been defunct, just like other previous teams in this state.

I headed out of the resort and into the town. There was a happy, friendly spirit here. Snowmen had been built with hats and scarves like they were small monuments. I tried not to think about the team, even though I knew right about now they were all probably preparing for their game and rallying around with chants and screams—you know, whatever it took for them to get all the nerves out.

Kicking my boots at the snow, I hadn’t meant to get anyone, but I did—a small dusting of snow had made its way across the legs of some guy.

He stood outside a lit store with a tray of chocolates in his arms. He wasn’t dressed for the cold, with his red hair, all unruly curls, collecting snow. “You want a sample?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“Chocolate,” he said. “I made this one myself. I’m just seeing what people think. It has pop rocks in it, so they’ll fizzle on your tongue. Also rice crispies, so there’s a bit of a crunch.”

I knew I shouldn’t indulge, but I was on a forced vacation. I could reward myself with a small bite of chocolate. “You know how many calories are in that?”

“Sure,” he said, going into detail. He was so enthusiastic. The calorie content wasn’t too much of an issue, but I liked to know what was going into my body—I was preached to every day by the Maple Kings’ nutritionist. “Honestly, it’s such a small amount, and unless you’ve got an allergy or there’s like something that means you’re not allowed chocolate—in which case I’d probably skip this one—you should head inside. You’ll definitely find something you’ll enjoy.”

As I looked him over, I wondered for a single moment if he was on the menu. That was probably not where my mind should be going, but nobody knew me here, and I was feeling all the warmth tingly things I’d been putting to the side for the longest part of my life. “Cooper’s Chocolatier,” I said, reading the sign above the door. It was in all gold, somewhat etched into the ornate red wooden paneling.

“Yes, that’s us,” he said. “It’s a family business.”

“Nice. I love how—how—”

“How amazing this town is?” he chuckled. “Because I will absolutely agree with you there. Snowflake Springs is probablythe only place on earth where the calories you eat here don’t actually count on the outside. I’m kidding, of course.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. There was something about this town that made you feel like you’d been transported somewhere else, and I wanted to be anywhere else but stuck in my mind—or thinking about the upcoming game against the Penguins.

“I only came out here for a minute, so if you want, I can help you find something inside,” he said.