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My phone buzzes for the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. I’m supposed to be working on a new display sketch for the boutique, but Jack has been blowing up my phone with texts all evening, and the butterflies in my stomach are making it hard to concentrate on anything else.

I swipe open the latest message.

I’m just saying, you might want to reconsider the whole “helmets don’t go with floral” thing. Could be the next big trend. Call it…”athleisure couture.”

I laugh, shaking my head.

I’ll let you model the helmets at the Harvest Festival if you’re so confident.

Careful what you wish for, Poppy. I’ve been told I have a great runway walk.

I can just see that, and wow, it’s suddenly so hot in my little house here in Blue Ridge. I try to suppress the giddiness bubbling up inside me and completely fail as a giggle comes out of my mouth. How has this guy—this incredibly gorgeous, superstar hockey player—managed to make me feel like a teenager with a crush after just one day of knowing him?

My phone buzzes again.

Actually…

Actually…

Can I call you?

“Call me?” I glance over to my gray tabby cat, but Mittens doesn’t care at all about a phone call from a hockey team captain.

I’m going to take your silence as a yes.

I’ve barely read the message before my phone vibrates and sings out a Taylor Swift song.

It’s Jack.

My pulse ricochets through my chest, but I manage to swipe on the call. “Hey.” I’m instantly on my feet, pacing into the kitchen, where Mittens will join me, hoping for a second dinner.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rumbly and warm and striking me right in the chest. “How about you come to the sporting goods store’s open house tomorrow night? The whole team will be there, and you can meet some of the guys. I’ll even let you judge my runway walk in person.”

I open the fridge like the contents inside will have the answers I need. An invite to a team event already? I think. That’s a little fast, right?

The milk carton just stares back at me, blank. Mittens meows.

I can’t deny the thrill that runs through me at the thought of spending more time with him. Maybe it’s just a casual thing. No harm in going, right?

“Is it a team event?”

“Sort of,” he says. “It’s my uncle’s store, right? So some of the team will be there to help bring people in. It’s an open house, sweetheart. Easy. Casual.”

Easy. Casual.

Does he want to be “easy” and “casual” with me?

“I don’t know,” I say. “The Harvest Festival is this weekend, and I need to be ready to open.”

“I’ll help you,” he say easily. “I can come all day tomorrow.”

“What about your teammates? Are they as easy-going as you?”

“Trust me, they’ll love you. But not as much as I do.”

I suck in a breath and stand up, forgetting I was bent over, looking in the fridge. I hit my head on the bottom of the freezer, and Jack laughs.

Okay, he’s joking. He has to be.

“Too soon?” he asks.

“I’ll let it slide this time.”

“So, you’ll come? Tomorrow night?”

I hesitate for a split second. But then I remember the way he looked at me earlier today, like I was the only person in the room. And the way he made me laugh, even when I was freaking out about those stupid helmets.

“Yeah. I’ll go—but you have to show up by nine o’clock and help me all day. My sweaters didn’t get unpacked and sorted yesterday because of your buffalo helmets.”

“I’ll be there at nine,” he says. “What’s your favorite breakfast food?”

“ And you have to do your runway walk before I add you to the fashion show schedule.”

“You’ve got a lot of demands.”

“You’re asking me to meet your teammates and be out in front of the whole town.”

He lets a beat of silence go by. “Don’t you want the whole town to know about you? Isn’t that the point of the fashion show this weekend?”

“I mean…yes, but it’s just—harder for me. We can’t all skate a million miles an hour and hit a puck into a tiny goal.”

He chuckles and says, “I agree to all of your demands, Miss Poppy.” The way he drawls out my name makes me weak in the knees, and I sag against the stove. “Now, tell me what to bring you for breakfast.”

The following afternoon, I’m sitting at the coffee shop around the corner from my boutique with Mia, my only friend in Blue Ridge, who also happens to be the local sports journalist. She’s been giving me the low-down on all the town gossip, including the fact that she’s known Jack for years.

“So,” she says, leaning across the table with a knowing look. “You and Jack Winters, huh?”

I groan, sipping my latte. “It’s not like that. We’ve just been texting, and he came to help at the store this morning. And he invited me to this thing at the sporting goods store tonight.”

And he brought me the most delicious ham and cheese quiche this morning too. But I keep that to myself.

Mia raises an eyebrow. “Texting, huh? And how flirty are these texts?”

I blush, and she laughs, shaking her head.

“Poppy, listen,” she says, her tone turning more serious. “Jack’s a great guy, but he’s also…well, he’s not exactly known for commitment.”

I frown, swirling the foam in my cup. “Yeah, I’ve heard the rumors. I don’t know. He’s been really sweet.”

Mia gives me a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure he has. And look, I’m not saying he’s a bad guy. I just don’t want you to get hurt, okay? Just be careful.”

I nod, appreciating her concern but also feeling a little defensive. I know Jack has a reputation, but shouldn’t I operate on my own interactions with him? And he’s been nothing but sweet and funny and kind.

Still, her words stick with me as I get ready for the open house later that evening. I find myself second-guessing my outfit—am I trying too hard? Am I not trying hard enough? Should I even be going?

But this dress is utterly fantastic, done in various shades of green, with a loose bodice, a low neckline that hints at what someone might find under there, and a cinched waist with a belt. I pair it with the most gorgeous emerald heels, and I’m ready to knock Jack’s hockey skates off when he rings my doorbell.

My heartbeat still fishtails through my chest, and I say, “Don’t you try to run out,” to Mittens as I mince my way to the door. I open it, and Jack stands there, looking effortlessly handsome in a leather jacket, dark jeans, and a Blue Ridge Buffaloes T-shirt. He flashes me that crooked smile as he inches closer.

“Wow, aren’t you the sexiest woman alive?” he asks.

I put one hand against his chest as his hand snakes along that belt I’ve put on. Part of me wants to ask if he means it, and the other part of me sees the hungry look in his eyes. So I say, “Thank you,” as he leans in closer now that I’ve impeded his forward progress.

“Smell amazing,” he murmurs. “Maybe I don’t want to take you out in public tonight.”

“You agreed to my demands,” I say, every cell in my body trembling. “And I agreed to yours.”

He pulls back, that smile on his face that surely he knows is my complete undoing. “Ready, then?”

I nod, smiling nervously. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

We drive to the sporting goods store, making easy conversation along the way. Jack’s hand rests casually on the center console, and after a few minutes, he reaches over and takes mine. His fingers are warm and strong, and I can’t help the little flutter in my chest.

The whole day was like this—easy and fun, with plenty of work getting done and plenty of chatter happening too.

When we arrive, the store is already buzzing with people—teammates, fans, and locals all mingling together. I stick close to Jack, because I’ve only been in Blue Ridge for a couple of months, and most of that time has been spent with my cat or at my store, getting things ready.

Finally, he says, “There he is. Liam.” And a tall, broad-shouldered man turns from his conversation.

Jack releases my hand and steps into his best friend and teammate to man-clap-hug him. Then they both face me. “This is Liam O’Brien,” he says. “He’s my best friend and our starting goalkeeper.”

“Nice to meet you, Poppy,” Liam says, his dark hazel eyes twinkling. “Jack’s been talking about you nonstop.”

I glance at Jack, who’s suddenly looking a little sheepish. “Has he now?”

Liam chuckles, clapping Jack on the back. “Oh yeah. You’ve made quite the impression.”

I blush, feeling a little overwhelmed by the attention. But Jack moves back to my side, doesn’t deny he’s been talking about me, and takes my hand again. He gives me a reassuring smile, and suddenly, the world, and Blue Ridge, and meeting his teammates—it all feels a little less intimidating.

Maybe Mia was wrong. Maybe this thing with Jack could be something real.