Page 4

As we talk, I feel something unfurling in my chest – a lightness I haven't experienced in years. With Liv, I'm not the 'Iceman' or the rugby star. I'm just Elliott, trading baking puns and sports analogies, marveling at how easily our worlds seem to blend.

The bar's ambient chatter fades to a distant hum as I lean in closer, drawn by Liv's infectious enthusiasm. My heart quickens, not from exertion on the rugby field, but from a different kind of thrill.

"You know…" My voice is surprisingly steady considering the nervous energy coursing through me. "I'd love to see your bakery sometime. Maybe you could show me the ropes?"

Liv's eyebrows arch playfully. "Are you asking to knead my dough, Elliott Snow?"

I nearly choke on my drink, caught off guard by her cheeky response. "I, uh... that is..."

She laughs, a warm, rich sound that sets butterflies loose in my stomach. "I'm teasing. But yes, I'd love to show you around. How about next Saturday if you’re still in town?"

I blink, realizing I've just stumbled into asking her on a date. My usual calm deserts me as I stammer, "Saturday? Yes, Saturday would be... that'd be great. We’re still around for another week, then back to Christchurch, then back here. A bit of a yo-yo going on for the next short while."

"Excellent," Liv says, her eyes twinkling with amusement and something else – anticipation, maybe? "I'll put you to work, mind. No slacking just because you're a big rugby star."

I grin, feeling more at ease. "Wouldn't dream of it. I'll even wear an apron if you've got one that fits."

"Oh, I'm sure we can find something suitably manly for you," she teases. "Maybe with little rugby balls on it?"

As we laugh, I think how different this feels from my usual interactions. With Liv, the pressure to be the 'Iceman' melts away, replaced by a warmth I didn't know I was missing.

The laughter subsides, and I notice the bar's thinning crowd. "I should probably grab your number," I say, fumbling for my phone. "You know, for bakery logistics."

Liv's lips curve into a knowing smile. "Of course, for the logistics." She rattles off her number, and I type it in, double-checking each digit.

"I'll text you so you have mine," I say, sending a quick message.

Her phone chimes, and she glances at it, her smile widening. "A rugby ball emoji? Cute."

I feel warmth creep up my neck. "Seemed appropriate."

Just then, Oscar materializes at my elbow, his grin wide and knowing. "Well, well, well," he drawls. "Looks like my baby brother's night was a smashing success."

I resist the urge to elbow him. They exchange pleasantries, and I can see Oscar's charm working its magic. But for once, I'm not overshadowed by my outgoing brother. Liv's eyes keep finding their way back to me.

As we say our goodbyes, Liv's hand brushes mine. "See you Saturday, Elliott," she says softly.

Walking out into the cool Ponsonby night, Oscar chatters beside me, but my mind is elsewhere. I replay Liv's laugh, the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the passion in her voice as she spoke about her bakery.

"Earth to Elliott," Oscar's voice breaks through my reverie. "You've got it bad, bro."

I shake my head, but I can't deny the truth in his words. For the first time in years, rugby isn't the only thing on my mind. And somehow, that doesn't scare me as much as I thought it would.

As we stroll down Ponsonby Road, the fairy lights twinkling in shop windows cast a warm glow on the pavement. Oscar nudges me with his elbow, his hazel eyes dancing with mischief.

"So, the Iceman finally melts," he teases. "Who would've thought a baker could crack that frozen exterior?"

I roll my eyes, but can't suppress the smile tugging at my lips. "Pipe down, you muppet. It was just a conversation."

"Oh, please," Oscar scoffs, dramatically clutching his chest. "I saw those lingering looks. You were practically ready to frost her cupcakes right there in the bar."

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I'm grateful for the dim lighting. "That doesn't even make sense," I grumble, shoving my hands in my pockets.

Oscar laughs, the sound echoing off the heritage buildings. "Mate, your face is redder than your rugby jersey. Admit it, you're smitten."

I consider denying it, but the warmth blooming in my chest at the thought of Liv betrays me. "Maybe," I concede, my voice softer than intended. "There's just something about her, you know?"

"I know," Oscar says, his tone shifting from teasing to sincere. He throws an arm around my shoulders. "It's good to see you interested in something besides rugby for once. Dad would be proud."

The mention of our father sobers me slightly. "You think so?"

"Absolutely," Oscar affirms. "He always said you needed to learn there's more to life than what happens on the pitch."

I nod, mulling over his words. As we near the end of the street, I turn to my brother. "Thanks for dragging me out tonight, Os. I owe you one."

Oscar grins, squeezing my shoulder. "Anytime, bro. Just remember to name your firstborn after me, yeah?"

I laugh, shoving him playfully. "Don't push your luck."

As we continue our walk, bantering back and forth, I feel a lightness I haven't experienced in years. The night air carries the promise of new beginnings, and for once, I'm excited to see where this journey might lead. My leg was healing. We’d won tonight. And it seemed like my comeback wasn’t just happening on the field.

I’d just scored big time with a Ponsonby baker, and that win felt just as good as the others.