Page 3

ELLIOTT

The thrum of bass and chatter hits me like a wave as Oscar and I step into The Social Bar. The local is packed, bodies swaying to the beat, faces illuminated by the warm glow of large bulbs dangling from exposed beams. I inhale deeply, savoring the mingled scents of craft beer and wood polish.

"Look alive, Iceman," Oscar says, clapping me on the back. "Time to defrost that victory smile of yours."

I roll my eyes, but can't help grinning. "You know I hate that nickname."

"Which is exactly why I use it," he quips, steering me towards the bar. "Come on, let's get you a celebratory drink. Maybe it'll melt that frosty exterior of yours."

As we weave through the crowd, I notice several heads turn our way. A few people nod in recognition, and I return the gesture, feeling a mix of pride and self-consciousness. The win against the Auckland team is still fresh, adrenaline humming beneath my skin.

Oscar, ever the social butterfly, is already waving to familiar faces. "Kia ora, Tom! Hey there, Sarah!" he calls out, his easy charm on full display.

I shake my head, amused. "How do you know everyone?"

He winks. "It's a gift, little bro. Some of us play rugby and go out and about."

We reach the bar, and Oscar flags down the bartender with practiced ease. "Two IPAs, thanks mate." He turns to me with a mischievous glint in his eye. "So, Elliott, ready to show these city slickers how we farm boys celebrate?"

I laugh, despite myself. "I think your idea of celebration and mine might differ slightly."

"Oh, come on," he nudges me playfully. "Live a little! You're allowed to enjoy yourself off the field, you know."

I sip my beer, savoring the crisp taste. "I am enjoying myself." A mild protest.

Oscar raises an eyebrow. "Right, because nothing says 'party animal' like nursing a single beer in the corner."

I'm about to retort when a group of guys recognize me and approach with excited grins. Oscar smoothly steps aside, giving me space to chat with the fans. As I sign a napkin and pose for a quick photo, I catch my brother's proud smile.

Maybe he's right. Maybe I could stand to loosen up a bit. The thought both thrills and terrifies me, but as I look around at the vibrant energy of the bar, I feel something inside me start to shift. Just a little.

I'm about to take another sip of my beer when a burst of laughter catches my attention. My eyes are drawn across the dimly lit room, and suddenly, I forget how to breathe.

She's radiant. Dark, wavy hair frames her face, and her smile... God, her smile could outshine the sun. She's chatting animatedly with a group of friends, her hands moving expressively as she speaks. Even from here, I can see the way her warm brown eyes sparkle with mirth.

"Earth to Elliott." Oscar's voice breaks through my trance. "You still with us, bro?"

I blink, realizing I've been staring. "Yeah, sorry. I was just..."

Oscar follows my gaze, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. "Ah, I see. Looks like the Iceman's about to melt."

"Shut up," I mutter, feeling heat creep up my neck. "I was just... admiring the decor."

"Oh, is that what we're calling it now?" Oscar chuckles. He leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "You know, we could go say hello. I happen to know her name's Liv. Runs that new Italian bakery down the street."

I hesitate, torn between curiosity and my usual caution. "I don't know, Oscar. She's probably just trying to enjoy her night out."

"Come on, where's your sense of adventure?" Oscar grins, already steering me towards her group. "Trust me, I've got a good feeling about this one."

As we approach, I silently pray I don't make a complete fool of myself. Rugby, I can handle. But this? This is a whole different ball game.

"Liv!" Oscar calls out cheerfully, effortlessly inserting us into the conversation. "Fancy seeing you here! Have you met my brother, Elliott?"

I try to channel my on-field composure as Liv turns, her radiant smile now directed at us. My heart does a little stutter-step.

"I don't believe I have," she says, her voice warm and slightly accented. "It's a pleasure."

I extend my hand, hoping it's not as clammy as it feels. "Likewise," I manage, surprised at how steady my voice sounds.

As we shake hands, I notice a smudge of flour on her wrist. It's oddly endearing.

"Elliott just led our team to a big victory," Oscar announces proudly. "Thought he deserved a night out."

Liv's eyes light up with recognition. "Oh! You're *that* Elliott Snow. The rugby star."

I feel my cheeks warm. "I wouldn't say star..."

"Don't let his modesty fool you," Oscar interjects. "He's being scouted for the national team."

Liv raises an eyebrow, impressed. "That's quite an achievement. Your family must be thrilled."

I hesitate, thinking of my father's measured reaction. "They're... supportive," I say carefully. "But it's a far cry from the family farm."

Something flickers in Liv's expression. "I understand that feeling," she says softly. "When I told my mom I was opening a bakery instead of going to law school... let's just say it wasn't all congratulations and champagne."

I lean in, intrigued. "But you did it anyway?"

Liv nods, a determined glint in her eye. "Some dreams are worth fighting for, even if it means disappointing a few people along the way."

Her words resonate deeply, and I find myself nodding. "I couldn't agree more. It's not always easy, though."

"No," she agrees, her smile turning wistful. "But the best things in life rarely are."

As we continue talking, I'm struck by how easily the conversation flows. Oscar fades into the background, and it's just Liv and me, sharing stories of family expectations and the courage it takes to forge our own paths.

I can't remember the last time I felt this... seen. This understood. And as Liv laughs at one of my terrible attempts at a joke, I realize I'm in serious danger of falling for her faster than I've ever tackled an opponent on the field.

I catch myself staring at Liv's smile, my usual icy composure melting like butter in the oven.

Her warm brown eyes meet mine, and I feel a flutter in my chest that has nothing to do with post-game adrenaline.

I try to mask it with a sip of my drink, but my hand trembles slightly as I set the glass down.

"So, Elliott," Liv says, leaning in conspiratorially, "want to hear about the Great Cupcake Disaster of 2024?"

I raise an eyebrow, grateful for the distraction. "Do I ever."

Liv's eyes dance with mischief. "Picture this: It's my bakery's grand opening. I've spent weeks perfecting these lavender-honey cupcakes. They're my pièce de résistance."

"Sounds fancy," I offer, a hesitant smile tugging at my lips.

"Oh, they were. Until..." She pauses dramatically. "The air conditioning broke."

Oscar leans in, intrigued. "Uh oh."

"Uh oh is right," Liv continues. "By the time I noticed, I had a case full of sad, melted cupcake puddles. And my first customer was due any minute!"

I wince sympathetically but can't help chuckling at the mental image. "What did you do?"

"The only thing I could do." Liv grins. "I grabbed some spoons, slapped a 'Deconstructed Cupcake Sundae' sign on the case, and prayed."

The laughter bubbles out of me before I can stop it, surprising even myself. Oscar's eyebrows shoot up, and I realize it's probably the most unguarded he's seen me in public in years.

"And?" I prompt, genuinely curious about the outcome.

"They sold out in an hour," Liv says triumphantly. "Sometimes disaster is just an opportunity in disguise. Or, you know, a mess with a fancy name slapped on it."

As I dissolve into laughter, I feel the last of my defenses crumbling. Liv's resilience, her ability to find humor in setbacks – it's intoxicating. I find myself leaning closer, drawn in by her warmth and the feeling that's blooming between us.

For the first time in longer than I can remember, I'm not thinking about rugby, or expectations, or maintaining my carefully crafted image. I'm just... here. Present. Enjoying the company of this fascinating woman who turns cupcake catastrophes into triumphs.

When our laughter fades into comfortable conversation, I sink lower in my seat, closer to her. I'm in no hurry for this night to end.

Oscar's hand claps my shoulder, and I glance up to see him giving me a knowing wink. "I'm gonna grab another drink." He nods towards the bar. "You two good?"

I feel a flicker of panic. Is he abandoning me? But Liv's warm smile steadies me.

"We're great," she says, and I find myself nodding.

As Oscar melts into the crowd, I turn back to Liv, increasingly hyper-aware of how close we're standing. The fairy lights strung across the bar cast a soft glow on her olive skin. I want to reach out and touch her cheek.

I clear my throat. "So, uh, baking. It's a bit like rugby, isn't it?"

Liv's eyebrows shoot up, a laugh dancing in her eyes. "Oh, absolutely. I'm constantly tackling my sourdough starter."

"No, I mean–" I fumble, feeling heat creep up my neck. "The precision, the timing. One wrong move and everything falls apart."

Her expression softens. "I hadn't thought of it that way, but you're right. There's an art to both, isn't there? Reading the play or reading a recipe. Knowing when to push and when to let things rest."

I nod eagerly, warming to the topic. "Exactly! And the teamwork – in rugby, it's your mates on the field. In baking, it's?—"

"The ingredients." Liv’s eyes sparkle. "Flour and yeast working together to create something greater than the sum of their parts."

"Like a perfect scrum," I murmur, lost in the metaphor and the way her hands dance as she speaks.

"Though I imagine there's less flour in your face at the end of a rugby match," she teases.

I laugh, picturing my teammates covered in flour instead of mud. "You'd be surprised. Things can get pretty messy out there."