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"A hug is so powerful, and mine are amazing—or so I’ve heard."

James Adler

Elizabeth Bowen is a woman who ages like fine wine.

Every time I see her, she's more beautiful than the last. I'm reminded of that fact again as I saunter into Rise & Grind for my morning cup of coffee.

She's grabbing something from a high cupboard, her shoulder-length blonde hair shimmering under the sunlight, her velvet skin as flawless as ever.

“Good morning,” she says, flashing her stunning smile as she spins around, but it turns into a grimace when her gray-blue eyes land on me.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

“And a very good morning to you too! You always make me feel so special when I come in here.”

“Oh, forgive me.” She flicks a towel over her shoulder. “I forgot I was supposed to bow down in the presence of a Stanley Cup champion.”

“Well, it certainly wouldn’t hurt.” I give her a wink. We did bust our butts for that trophy. Not that Elizabeth Bowen cares. But that’s precisely what makes this woman so interesting.

“Hey,” Marissa calls out, hustling from the backroom with a bright smile. “Where’s Aaron?”

“Good morning, Mrs. Miles,” I say with a little bow, then step aside to reveal her beau standing outside. “He’s taking a call.”

“Got it. So, what can we get you? The usual?” Marissa asks, and I nod. I’m not really a huge coffee fan like Miles is, but stopping by Rise & Grind is still my favorite moment of the day.

“Already on it,” Elizabeth says, placing a large paper cup under the espresso machine.

The bell on the door jangles, and Aaron Miles struts inside, greeting the girls.

“Hey, you,” he croons to Marissa as they both lean over the counter to kiss. But it lasts a little longer than a quick peck.

I clear my throat. When they still don’t break the kiss, I sigh. “Oh, come on! This is a place of business. Food is served here!”

“Don’t mind him,” Miles says to his wife, kissing her again. “He’s just jealous.”

I shake my head and avert my eyes, pretending there isn’t an ounce of truth in his words.

“Okay. Here you are,” Elizabeth announces, placing the to-go cup in front of me. A new design is printed on it, with the sentence “Best Coffee in Brooklyn” scrawled proudly above their logo. I pick it up and smile. “Nice cups. Congrats again, ladies.”

“Thanks,” they both say in unison, since Marissa and Miles have finally detached. “It’s been amazing getting all this recognition,” Marissa adds. “Wonderful for business.”

“And well deserved,” Miles chimes in, handing Marissa his own glittery pink cup. He lost a bet to her years ago, and now he has to drink from the glammed-up tumbler every day.

“So, Elizabeth,” I begin, lea ning on the counter as I take out my wallet.

Her scarlet lips purse. “It’s Beth.”

I ignore her, preferring to use her glorious full name. “How about that date?” I ask, waggling my eyebrows.

She bites her lip to contain her smile. “Never gonna happen, James. You must have taken too many pucks to the head. I already told you. I have a boyfriend.”

To my utmost displeasure. But I wouldn’t be a top player in the NHL if I wasn’t persistent. Besides, I know she enjoys our banter. I can see it in the way her eyes gleam when we’re chatting.

Marissa and Miles both laugh at our exchange as she hands him his coffee.

Before I can open my mouth again, Elizabeth’s phone rings, and she glances to the counter to check the screen.

Gone is the gleam in her eyes, replaced by a flash of sadness.

It only lasts an instant, but it’s there.

She's good at putting up a front—we’re similar in that way—but I see right through her facade.

I wish she’d let me in, but I know she’s not ready yet.

And with every week that passes, I begin to wonder if she’ll ever be.

“Excuse me for a second,” she whispers before picking up the phone and walking to the back.

Clearing my throat, I force a non chalant smile and nod to Marissa.

“Well, we’d better get going,” I say, my eyes drawn to the Raptors merch on the small table.

Aside from being the best coffee shop in town, Rise & Grind is also an official vendor of the New York Raptors merchandise.

I suppose it’s kind of a given, since Marissa is Coach Martin’s daughter.

“Have fun at practice,” Marissa says before gathering her strawberry blonde hair into a ponytail. After the two lovebirds kiss again, we’re finally ready to leave. I try to catch one last glimpse of Elizabeth, but she’s nowhere in sight.

We shuffle out to the small pedestrian street, then continue to our hockey arena.

“What do you think she sees in that guy?” I grumble, taking a sip of my coffee as my mind wanders back to her. “Elizabeth and Rogers, I mean.”

He arches an eyebrow. “What, besides the fact that he’s a popular hockey player?”

“Right.” Looking away, I take another sip.

I never really understood why they were together.

She's not that type of girl. Hockey means nothing to her, and the guy doesn’t exactly possess other redeeming qualities.

“He treats her like crap, though,” I say, Elizabeth’s expression from earlier flashing in front of me again.

“I just wish she’d get out of that toxic situation. ”

Elizabeth has been with Rogers for pretty much the entire time I’ve known her, and he’s always been a total loser.

And I’m not just saying that because he plays for the Sharks—the other New York hockey team and our biggest rival—but because they’ve been more off than on.

The guy cheated and bails on her every other week.

Miles snickers, adjusting his Raptors cap on his head. “Yeah, we all know you’ve got it bad for her, dude. But even if she dumps him, that doesn't mean she’d suddenly be interested in you.”

It’s like he just dropped an ice bucket over my head. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Just looking out for you, bro.”

I snap my head toward him, narrowing my eyes. “Dude, what gives? I thought you’d be all optimistic and pro-love now that you’re a married man.” Marissa and Miles got hitched a few months ago in a surprise wedding.

He flashes me a bright smile. “I am.”

“Clearly,” I scoff.

We steer the conversation to hockey, and I try to push Elizabeth to the back of my mind.

I can’t afford any distractions. As the defending champs, we have even more pressure to win this year.

We’re still in the pre-season, with the first official game kicking off the season tomorrow night, but we can already feel the weight of all those expectations.

From the media, the fans, the coaching staff, and most of all, from ourselves.

Winning the Stanley Cup was a dream come true, but we’re all hungry for more.

As we arrive at the practice rink that’s next door to the arena, we notice a few fans clamoring near the entrance. Raptors fans are the best fans in the NHL, and it always puts a smile on my face to meet them.

“Hey, guys!” I boom, suddenly animated. “Thanks for coming out this morning.”

They’re all smiles, stoked to meet us. As Miles and I sign jerseys and snap some selfies, I’m in my element.

I smile, tell bad jokes, and entertain them the best I can.

Hockey is a sport, but we’re also known for putting on a great show.

Ultimately, we’re entertainers. A good number of fans also ask me for a hug.

That’s my thing. I love hugging. A hug is so powerful, and mine are amazing—or so I’ve heard.

“See? You don’t even need Beth,” Miles teases as we’re walking into the building. “You can pick out pretty much any girl in New York, and she’ll go out with you for the hug alone.”

I just roll my eyes, though he’s not totally wrong. My teammates and I do get a lot of attention from fans. But there’s only one woman I’m interested in.

We reach the cafeteria, and when we arrive, everyone is still chowing down on breakfast.

“There you are!” shouts Maxime Beaumont, the other starting winger. “Thought you’d never come.”

“Relax, Frenchie Boy,” Miles says, sitting down across from him. “We know you guys need us. Adler just had to fill his hug quota for the day.”

Caleb Hawthorne—our captain—shoots me a sly grin, raking a hand through his dark brown hair. “Have you started charging yet?”

“Haha, very funny. It’s called being friendly and showing gratitude to our loyal fans,” I say, snatching some bread. I admit, it does take a bit of time to get through all those hugs, but like I said, I love hugging people, and I don’t want to disappoint fans who’ve been waiting hours for me.

“And anyway, it’s Miles’ fault we’re cutting it close. He was all over Marissa this morning.”

A chorus of “Ohhh” echoes around us as our teammates snicker.

“Shut up,” Miles says, his face reddening. Yep, six-foot-two, two-hundred-pound defenseman Aaron Miles is blushing.

But he doesn’t seem one bit bothered by our teasing, and I get it.

We might give him a hard time, but Aaron Miles has everything he wants.

The o nly one who comes close is Beaumont, who’s getting married next month.

Professionally, we might have it all, but as I get older, I’m starting to think winning the Stanley Cup is not the most important thing in life .