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JESS

I’m practically out of breath by the time I get to my car. If I were to sum up the last few hours in one word, it would be horrible . Terrible. No good. Very bad.

That’s a lot of words but I’m not known for brevity, especially when I’m flustered.

Liam Ellis is a brat. He has no idea how blessed he is. I fire off a text to Cara, telling her as much but then I delete it and will myself to be more positive and try again.

Me: Who knew a guy they call The Beast could be so extraordinary? A delight. A gem of a human being.

Cara: Are we talking about the same person or are you having some sort of post-jilted-bride break with reality?

Me: Both?

Cara: Meet at the Fish Bowl.

O’Neely’s Fish Bowl is a local eatery by day and a hockey pub by night. It’s ground zero for all things hockey outside of the Ice Palace. Stan, the hockey super fan, owns it. I knew his niece, Heidi, in high school and wonder what she’s been up to.

Even though it’s been a while since I’ve stopped in, unless something has changed, every available surface is covered in hockey memorabilia. Stan’s photo is in the dictionary next to the phrase puck head .

I text a reply and agree to go, but only because Cara is buying me a double order of loaded potato skin pub pucks even though she doesn’t know it yet.

While still in Los Angeles, I went on a hunt to find something comparable at the local restaurants, but nothing tops the crispy little twice-baked potato boats served at the Fish Bowl. They’re cooked, then split in half, and then hollowed out. The potato gets mashed with butter and cream. Then it goes back into the potato skin and is topped with cheese until it’s both melty and crispy. Before serving, they drown it in bacon, sour cream, chives, and if you’re feeling wild, jalapenos.

I’m feeling wild.

At the door, Leah greets me with a, “You’re back,” squeal and a big hug.

Half the restaurant turns to see which of their favorite hockey stars arrived, but it’s just little ole me. The girl who showed up in Cobbiton her senior year and refused to talk until Grandma Dolly drew me from my shell with sign language and cookies like you would a cat with a can of tuna.

Leah, a local who also went to Clarkson High, and a hockey super fan who works here stops at at our table. “How long has it been? Don’t say a year. That’s too long.”

“It’s been a year and one failed engagement later,” I lament.

My usual megawatt, high-voltage energy flickers until I remember how much this town gave to me. Then why did I leave? Because I wanted to boast that I made it in the big wide world when I hadn’t been able to before. It was a leaving-the-nest kind of challenge and possibly stoked by pride.

Leah shows me to Cara’s table in the back. She sits with a few women I recognize and others I don’t. She’s sipping on a soda through a straw and introduces me to Brandt, Reddford, Savage, and Hammer.

I know some of the women, but say, “First names, please.”

Cara gives her head a shake. “Oh, right. Sorry. I forgot to close my work tabs. This is Gracie, Whit, Delaney, and Margo. She’s a wedding planner.”

I cast Cara a dark smile. “It’s so nice to meet you all. I’m just going to borrow Cara for a minute.” I lead her to the corner near the dartboard.

She eyes it warily.

“How could you do this? Why would you think I’d work for him?”

She pats the air with her hands for me to calm down. “You seem upset. I take it things didn’t go well.”

“He’s a living, breathing beast.” I give her a quick recap.

“You left out one important thing. Objectively speaking, he’s handsome.”

“Cara! In no world is that what I’m thinking about right now. The wedding gown is still warm!”

“But you didn’t love Rexlan.”

I frown but don’t disagree. “How would you know?”

“Because you didn’t even like him. If you truly did, you would’ve introduced us. And that’s why I’ve forgiven you for not telling me about the wedding.”

I tilt my head from side to side, realizing there’s really some truth to the whole hindsight is twenty-twenty saying. “Yes. No. But that’s not the point.” I wave my arms, flustered. “Liam outright said that he doesn’t like me.”

Cara’s mouth forms a perfect O , but before she can say more, the servers bustle by with trays of food and we return to the table, complete with potato pucks.

“Look! I ordered your favorite!” Cara exclaims. “Peace offering?”

“This conversation isn’t over.”

Gracie, who seems like she was born with a ray of sunshine beaming over her and didn’t have to cultivate it, says, “I hear you’re Liam’s new assistant.”

My answer is a grunt and not because he’s already rubbing off on me. My mouth is full of buttery, bacony, potato goodness.

Delaney says, “The guy is a lightning rod for controversy.”

“And so handsome in that authority ’stache kind of way.” Leah waggles her eyebrows.

I nearly choke on my next big bite. “Do you mean like a mustache?”

“She’s still looking for love in all the wrong places,” Cara says.

“Says the woman who married a hockey player.”

Whit breaks in, “Oh, speaking of, you have to stop by The Milk Mustache truck on Sunday.”

I lift my shoulder. “Liam could use a cookie.”

Whit shakes her head. “I mean with your grandma. We’re working on a whoopie pie together. I cannot get the cookie consistency right.”

“I’ll help you taste test,” Gracie says.

My reply comes belatedly because I was thinking of Liam and the cookies at his house. “Of course.”

Delaney tells a story about how Ellis got a penalty for what looked like an open ice hit with the shoulder to a rival player on the Titans named Henri Valjean.

“He injured someone? Is that why he was out for two weeks?” Margo asks.

Cara says, “No. My father had another reason. But an official investigation concluded that Valjean’s injury was preexisting and he staged the whole thing.”

“Aren’t there measures in place to prevent that for preexisting injuries?” Delaney asks.

“I thought Liam was the goon, so that came with the territory,” Whit says.

“He doesn’t date and he’s a thug?” I ask, recalling what Cara said yesterday and what I’ve gleaned about the guy.

“Just your run-of-the-mill grouch with anger management issues,” Gracie says breezily like it’s no big deal.

“Is that common?”

Margo elaborates, “The Knights claim several verified grumps: Vohn, the assistant coach, and Gracie’s husband; Beau, my guy and the goalie along with Liam. There are a few others to varying degrees. But Beau is relatively misunderstood. He’s more of a stoic than a true grump.”

I recall the books on Liam’s shelves.

“Not Vohn,” Gracie says with a smile.

“What do they put in the water here or is it the ice?” I murmur.

The conversation shifts from hockey-playing husbands to non-toxic home décor that’s suitable for children. Given my new job and KJ living in what amounts to a nicely appointed bachelor pad, I take notes.

When the ladies discuss a shopping trip to Omaha, through gritted teeth, I say to Cara, “I’m seeing multiple red flags flying in the wind.”

“Not with Liam. Trust me. But we’ll talk later,” she says with a smile.

I devour the loaded potato skin pub pucks and everyone slowly filters out, leaving Cara and me at the big table amidst the dinner desolation.

Looking around to make sure Mrs. Gormely, the town gossip, isn’t within earshot, I tell Cara about my first two encounters with Liam Ellis. “I didn’t realize he was the same guy from the bakery until today.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t recognize him since Grandma Dolly is obsessed.”

“When have I ever paid attention to hockey?”

“Let’s see, April before we graduated high school you had a crush on Lane Sheridan.”

“That was fleeting and there’s no way I’d even entertain a flirtation with a married man fifteen years my senior. Speaking of, where is Liam’s wife?”

Cara frowns. “What do you mean? He’s very, very single.”

“They divorced?” I ask, probing.

“He’d have to have been married first. I told you, the guy doesn’t date.”

“Then he must have flings.”

Cara practically snorts soda out of her nose. “To do that, he’d have to go out. No, Ellis is married to hockey.”

“But what about?—?”

Cara waves her hand dismissively, but I don’t think she knows about KJ, otherwise, she’d mention it or would’ve suggested I work as a nanny rather than an assistant since it’s more in my wheelhouse, having studied early childhood education before dropping out of college.

After crushing a piece of ice between her teeth, Cara says, “Here’s the Ellis family dossier. Liam’s father is Rainer Ellis, a German hockey player who was big in Europe and then transferred to Canada in the nineteen nineties.”

“Oh, so he has a family legacy thing going on.”

“Big time. There, Rainer met Belinda Bell, a showstopper, according to the old-timers in the league. She was turning heads and he won her hand. When he retired, they settled down in her hometown of Brookking Sound to raise a family. The eldest you know who, plus Ingrid and Hendrix of the Toronto Titans.”

“So his brother plays in the NHL too?”

“Right forward. They’re super competitive. Both of them are very physical players.”

I recall Liam working out in the middle of the day like his life depended on it.

“Liam played for Saskatchewan and then the Warriors, I think, before joining the Knights with a no-trade clause. With the kids grown up and out of the house, their parents moved to California. Then there’s Grannie Bell and Aunt Goldie. They’re really sweet with a side of sass. I’ve met them a couple of times at games. They’re all super supportive.”

“So no major family drama? No mommy or daddy issues?”

“Nope. They’re solid.”

I scratch my temple, unsure why he has daddy issues, well, as a father. It seemed like he could hardly be in the same room as his child without having a crisis.

“I’m sorry things didn’t go well today. There’s always tomorrow.”

“That’s my line.” I absently hum a few songs from the play and feature film, Annie . No one knows the entirety of my past, not Cara and not even Grandma Dolly, but they both have enough pieces of the puzzle to get the picture. I always counted on tomorrow being better.

I wipe a bead of condensation on my plastic cup of soda. “Yeah, tomorrow. Did I mention he made up all these dumb rules?”

Cara shrugs. “Not surprising. As you know, for reasons unclear, my father made him captain. He tried to lay a bunch of rules on the team. Too much too soon.”

I roll my eyes.

Cara gets a glint in hers. “But you could break the ones he made.”

“Aren’t you the coach’s assistant?”

“And daughter.”

“So shouldn’t you be trying to protect him and the team? Sounds like you’re suggesting subterfuge.”

Cara laughs. “Friends first, but I wouldn’t suggest anything that would compromise his ability to play hockey. Perhaps you could even enhance it.”

My eyebrows pinch together. “Doubtful, but what did you have in mind?”

Cara leans in and we conspire about how I could break Mr. Meanie’s rules when I realize I already did.