Page 7 of One Good Puck (Denver Bashers #5)

Abby

M y eyes almost pop out of my head when I make it to the front door of Gavin’s massive house in the Belcaro neighborhood of Denver—one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the whole city.

This place is massive.

I glance down at Emma, who’s staring up at the exterior of the house with wide, unblinking eyes.

“Whoa! This place is cool,” she murmurs.

“It really is.”

I gaze at the modern farmhouse-style house.

It’s made of sleek gray stone and siding that’s the same color.

It’s two stories high with a massive driveaway that could probably fit a half-dozen cars.

A second driveway splits off and winds along the other side of the property to a small guest house about a couple hundred feet away.

“There are two houses here?” Emma says.

I tuck a chunk of her sandy blonde hair behind her ear. “Looks like it.”

Her eyes are big. “I didn’t know you could have two houses. ”

I smile at the awe in her voice. “You can have two houses if you make enough money to pay for them.”

“Does your friend have a lot of money?” Her big green eyes are curious as she looks up at me.

“Yeah, I think he does. But hey, let’s not ask him about that, okay? It’s not polite to talk about money.”

“Okay!”

“Wanna ring the doorbell?”

She nods and hits the button.

I give her hand a soft squeeze. “Remember to take off your shoes when you walk inside, okay?”

“Okay!” She glances down at the glittery pink sneakers she’s wearing and does a small hop, her tell-tale sign that she’s excited.

A few seconds later, the door opens. Gavin smiles at me. “Hi.” He looks down at Emma. “You must be Emma. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Gavin.”

“I know your name,” Emma says brightly.

He chuckles. “You look just like your mom. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were twins.”

I laugh. So does Emma. She shakes her head. “Nah, my hair is way longer. Almost to my waist.”

She tugs at the long braid over her shoulder.

“Oh, right. Good point.” Gavin nods like he understands completely.

I laugh again. “We get that twin comment a lot. Sorry we’re late. Traffic was a little hectic.”

“Not a problem. Come on in.”

We walk in, and he shuts the door behind us.

“Whoa…” Emma gazes around the massive foyer. “It’s so shiny in here!”

Gavin and I both laugh.

“The cleaners came this morning, and they left it sparkling clean,” he says.

I try not to gawk too hard as I take in the gorgeous stone floors. They must have cost a fortune.

I kick off my heels and turn to remind Emma, but she’s already in her socks. I flash her a thumbs-up.

We follow Gavin through the foyer toward the main part of the house.

“Your house is huge. Like, as big as a castle,” Emma says as she skips along.

“I guess it is pretty large,” Gavin says.

He leads us into an open concept living room, dining room, and kitchen.

I try not to gawk again, but I can’t help it.

This place is stunning. Like something out of Architectural Digest .

And it’s beautifully designed. The color scheme of the furniture and fixtures is soft whites and creams. It’s so clean and cozy at the same time.

I take in how seamlessly each room flows into the others.

The kitchen has all-white cabinets and white marble countertops.

The island is massive, with six barstools along the side.

The dining room is pretty simple, with just a long table made of blonde wood that’s lightly weathered.

Eight cushioned and upholstered dining chairs surround it.

The living room has two plush sectionals and a massive flat screen TV above the fireplace.

“Mom, can I sit on the couch?” Emma asks excitedly.

I glance over at Gavin. “Would that be okay?”

“Absolutely. Make yourselves at home.”

Emma runs over to the couch, hops on, and then lies down. She instantly sinks into the plush padding of the cushions and giggles.

Gavin walks over to the kitchen. “Want something to drink? I have bottled water, sparkling water, grapefruit juice, tea, coffee. Oh, and some juice boxes. Fruit punch flavored.”

“Juice box,” Emma says.

“Juice box, please,” I correct.

“Juice box, please.”

Gavin chuckles and walks over to the ginormous stainless steel fridge, opens it, and grabs a juice box.

“And for you?” he asks me.

“Water’s good. Thank you.”

He hands me a bottle, then walks over to Emma and hands her the juice box.

“Emma, honey, what do you say?”

“Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” Gavin says with a smile.

“Honey, sit up when you drink that, okay? And be really careful so you don’t spill it.”

My nerves go haywire thinking about Emma spilling bright red fruit punch all over that couch, which probably cost several thousand dollars.

She sits up and sips from the straw, then sets it on the coffee table before lying back down on the couch.

“Even if she does spill, it’s fine,” Gavin says, walking back over to where I’m standing by the kitchen island.

“That couch has slip covers. They’re easy to remove and machine washable.

You wouldn’t believe the number of times I’ve spilled on that couch.

And really bad stuff too, like red wine and coffee. ”

I let out a relieved breath. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. I’m famous for the messes I make.”

I chuckle, then sip from my water bottle. “Your home is beautiful.”

His smile is warm. He starts to roll up the sleeve of his dress shirt, revealing an impressively muscled forearm. I try not to stare. Muscular forearms are my weakness.

“That’s kind of you to say, thank you. It didn’t look like this when I bought it. I’ve remodeled a lot over the years.”

He rolls up his other sleeve, and I almost drool at how thick and veiny his forearm is.

I tear my gaze from his body so I don’t come off like a creep and take in the view of the backyard through the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the house. There’s a massive patio with a fire pit, sitting area, and built-in barbecue grill.

“How long have you lived here?” I ask.

“Just over ten years,” he says. “It’s honestly way too much house for what I need, but Sophie loved it when we looked at it, and I could afford it, so I figured, why not?”

I smile, heartened that he bought the house because his daughter loved it. My gaze catches on the framed photo at the far end of the mantle above the fireplace.

“Oh wow.” I step closer and take in the image.

It’s a photo of Gavin when he was younger—probably mid-to-late twenties.

He’s decked out in full hockey gear and is standing on the ice of an arena, holding a toddler-aged Sophie in his arms. She’s giggling and he’s smiling wide.

The background is unfocused, which makes the image of him and Sophie that much more striking.

My chest aches at how sweet the image is.

He walks up next to me, his smile turning warm when he looks at the photo. “That was when I played for New York, when we won the Stanley Cup. It’s my favorite photo of me and Sophie.”

“It’s so beautiful,” I say.

Gavin is quiet for a second as he stares at the picture. Almost like he’s reliving the moment in that photo .

“I used to have more photos of Sophie on this mantle, but she made me take a lot of them down, except for that one. She said it looked like I set up a shrine to her.”

I laugh. “I get it, but I don’t blame you at all. I have a million photos of my daughter all over the place.”

He smiles and takes a few steps back. “Feel like a tour?”

“Sure.”