Page 4 of Second Chance with the Enemy CEO (Second Chance Hockey Players #1)

Chapter three

Hazel

T he hum of voices, the occasional crackle of the loudspeaker, and the faint smell of jet fuel mixed with the cooler scent of fall envelop me as I step off the plane at Bayfield Regional Airport.

It is not the sprawling chaos of a major city terminal - far from it - but the small-town charm of the airport feels both welcoming and unnerving. It is quaint and efficient.

I am not in Autumn Cove yet. Bayfield Regional Airport is the closest I can get, and from here, it is a nearly two-hour-long drive into town.

I roll my suitcase past a family of four, trying to wrestle with an overstuffed stroller, and glance around at the simple layout of the terminal.

The exit is already in view - no sprawling corridors, no endless lines of gates, just a straight shot to the doors.

The cab stand is easy to spot; I mean, who would miss a line of yellow and black cars idly parked while their drivers check their phones or chat amongst themselves?

And guess who didn’t order or book a ride? Me, the genius. Oh well… I slide into the back of a clean black sedan, and the driver glances at me through the rearview mirror.

“Where to, miss?” He asks, his tone friendly but neutral.

“Autumn Cove,” I reply, my voice quieter than I intended.

He nods and pulls out of the lot, merging onto a two-lane road that stretches endlessly ahead.

After 30 minutes, the scenery begins to change, urban sprawl giving way to rolling hills, the occasional farmhouse breaking up the endless expanse of amber fields.

It is peaceful, too peaceful. I lean my head against the window and watch as the world rushes past, the weight of what I am headed into is starting to sink in.

The cab slows as we enter Autumn Cove, the tires crunching over gravel as the town’s familiar streets unfold in front of me.

It has been years, yet the sights are both comforting and unnervingly bittersweet.

My chest tightens as I catch glimpses of the past - the bakery where I’d spend hours with friends, the bookstore I worked at, and the looming shadows of memories I thought I’d left behind.

Some buildings have changed, newer storefronts replacing the old, but the essence of the town remains untouched.

The sky is painted in hues of amber and gold, a perfect reflection of the season.

There is a faint chill in the breeze, carrying with it the scent of fallen leaves and earth - quintessential Autumn Cove.

The nostalgia hits me unexpectedly, wrapping around my chest. This air, this town…

, it is like coming home and walking into a memory at the same time.

I force myself to breathe. This is temporary, Hazel, I remind myself. Temporary. Just six months. You can do this.

The cab driver glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Almost there, miss.”

I nod, clutching the strap of my bag like it is a lifeline. “Please, drop me off at this address,” calling out the address to him. My stomach churns, part nerves, part exhaustion.

As we turn down a quieter road lined with towering oaks, the tension in my shoulders begins to ease. My driver points ahead. “That must be it,” he says, nodding toward a sleek modern estate framed by lush greenery.

My chest tightens again - not with unease, but with a strange sense of wonder.

The property stands like something out of a magazine.

The main house is an architectural masterpiece: clean glass walls that shimmer in the sunlight, nestled against a backdrop of towering oaks.

A guest house, smaller but equally stunning, sits a short distance away, with its own charm - modern lines softened by ivy creeping along the edges.

The cab comes to a stop, and I climb out, clutching my bag as my shoes crunch against the gravel driveway.

A man in a tailored jacket waits near the gate.

He is…, say, in his mid or late fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a clipboard in hand.

He is a professional, don’t-mess-with-me yet approach-me demeanor immediately gives off, “I’m the property manager. ”

As I approach, he waves with a polite smile. “You must be Ms. McKee?” His voice is warm but professional.

“That’s me,” I replied, shaking his hand. His grip is firm and businesslike.

“Richard Parker,” he introduces himself. “I am the property manager. Welcome to your new home.”

He gestures to follow him. “Shall we?”

I follow him through the gates, taking in the grounds as we walk.

“I know this would be inappropriate for me to say, but I have a tendency to compliment people or things I find beautiful. My wife says it’s a good and bad thing. So, allow me to say you are beautiful, Miss McKee, and your hair, I love the color.”

I am taken aback, but I smile. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“Please don’t be offended,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

“I am not. Thanks for that. You are quite good-looking yourself,” I say, to which he chuckles.

Is it possible to find an old man cute? Because the ducking of his head to hide his flushed face was cute.

The grass is lush and green despite the season, and I catch glimpses of small garden paths winding around the estate. “It’s beautiful here,” I say, more to myself than to Richard.

“It is,” he agrees. “The owners take pride in maintaining the property. You will find the guest house just as impressive. I have to say, you really are lucky getting the place. Most houses in Autumn Cove are either occupied or tied up in long-term leases. For the length of your stay, a hotel would have cost a fortune.”

Right…! Lucky...!

Back at home, I had spent an hour scrolling through listings, frustration growing with each passing minute.

Nothing seemed right, well, there was nothing at all.

Then, as if fate had intervened, I stumbled across the guest house listing.

Fully furnished, its own pool, and in Autumn Cove?

The pictures looked too good to be true, but then, it felt like it was meant for me.

I called Richard, who confirmed the house was still available but warned that a couple was also interested.

My heart dropped at the thought of losing it, so I asked if I could pay a deposit with the promise of a refund if it did not meet my expectations.

He agreed, and within minutes, the deal was set.

Now that I am here, seeing it all, I can only say this: Hazel, you are one heck of a smart cookie.

As we move closer to the guest house, it becomes more breathtaking. It is surrounded by flowering shrubs, compact but elegant, its dark wood exterior and wide windows exude warmth and charm.

“I wasn’t expecting it to be this..., beautiful,” I admit, my voice soft.

Richard chuckles. “You would be surprised how often I hear that. It is fully furnished, as mentioned, so you will not need much to settle in.”

The moment I step inside, I am hit with the scent of polished wood and a faint trace of vanilla, probably from a strategically placed diffuser.

The interior is as impeccable as the exterior - neutral tones, cozy furniture, and light flooding in from large windows that overlook the estate.

It feels like walking into a dream, too luxurious for the six months I plan to spend here.

I nod in approval as Richard leads me through the space, pointing out small details: “Washer and dryer in here, kitchen stocked with the basics, and this is the bedroom.”

The bedroom is a serene escape with soft lighting and an enormous bed that practically begs me to collapse onto it. My fingers graze the plush duvet, and for a brief moment, I can imagine myself finding peace here.

The pool is at the back, and I take a look outside the window, and I am in love. Although it is small, it’s beautiful. I can already picture myself sitting by the pool, letting the stillness of the place calm my restless thoughts.

“Perfect,” I say, turning to him. “I’ll take it.”

“Wonderful,” Richard replies. “We’ll just need to sign the agreement, and you’re all set.”

We move to the dining table, where he pulls out a folder. I skim through the document, and every line is a reminder that this is real. This is not some fleeting thought; I’m back in Autumn Cove, renting a guest house on an estate that looks like it belongs in a movie.

When the papers are signed, and the payment is made, Richard stands and offers his hand again. “Welcome to Autumn Cove, Hazel. If you need anything, do not hesitate to reach out.”

“Thank you, really,” I say, genuinely meaning it.

Once he is gone, silence settles over the house.

I take a deep breath, letting the stillness wrap around me.

Dropping my bags near the door, I wander to the large windows in the living room.

From here, I can see the main house more clearly - the modern glass structure standing proudly against the landscape.

It feels alive somehow like it is watching over the estate.

My gaze shifts to the gardens, vibrant with bursts of orange, red, and yellow.

The colors of Autumn Cove have always been magical, a kaleidoscope of warmth.

I close my eyes, letting the memories trickle in - afternoons spent walking through the streets, the laughter of my friends after pranking old man Goldman, and…

I shake my head, snapping myself out of it. “No time for that,” I mutter, moving to unpack. After about two hours, I collapse onto the plush couch, sinking into the cushions with a sigh. My gaze drifts to the ceiling.

I pull out my phone and text my best friends, “I have a surprise for you,” I type, smiling faintly at the thought of their faces when I surprise them. They will be at Grace’s house since it is her turn to host the weekly Monday evening hangouts.

But for now, it is just me and this house.

I light a candle - lavender and cedarwood, and start a playlist on my Spotify, sinking back into the couch.

The hum of the estate surrounds me, faint and soothing.

The world outside these walls feels like it is holding its breath, waiting for me to step out and face it.

Tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow.