Page 25 of The Unexpected Lineup (Lost in Translation #2)

YOU REALLY THOUGHT I WASN’T GOING TO CATCH YOU?

RASMUS

F lipping the French toast in the pan, I inhale the scent of cinnamon and vanilla. Haisley mentioned that she craves everything sweet right now. And since I had the ingredients, I figured it would make for a good breakfast.

While I cook, I stare out the window at the forest view from the cabin. It’s so peaceful here. No sounds of the city, no pressure, no media, and no team management trying to get what they need. Just me, the chilly morning air drifting in from the cracked window and a sleeping Haisley upstairs.

It was perfect timing that I have this time off from games and practices, so we could come here together to relax and get to know each other better.

I glance over at the clock. It’s still early, but I know she’ll be up soon. The cabin has been quiet long enough that I’m sure the smell of breakfast will pull her downstairs soon.

Letting her in my bed last night was a huge risk. But when I saw her standing there looking so lost, I couldn’t say no. There’s something about her that gets so deep under my skin. And it isn’t because she’s carrying my child, even if that adds depth to the bigger picture.

The hard part about my current situation is remembering that night.

That one night I had her completely, even if for a limited time only.

It was the best sexual experience in my entire life.

The echo of her moans sometimes keeps me up at night, and…

Fuck, I really shouldn’t be thinking about this while cooking .

I finish preparing two piles of toast on separate plates and dust them with powdered sugar. As I’m slicing up fresh strawberries, a soft creak of floorboards tells me she’s up.

Haisley steps into view a moment later, and her eyes find me. She looks at the food, then back at me, blinking. “You made us breakfast?”

I grab the decaf coffee and hand it to her. “We’ve gotta eat and I like cooking for you.”

Haisley slides onto a stool, and I slide over a plate and the bottle of maple syrup. She doesn’t waste any time drizzling a generous amount over the toast.

I watch as she takes the first bite, her eyes fluttering shut as a soft hum of approval slips past her lips. Something about the way she melts into that simple moment pins me right where I stand. Feeding her might be my new favorite pastime.

“This is really good,” she says around a mouthful. “You should open a breakfast place or a bakery.”

I snort, cutting into my toast. “Yeah, I’ll abandon hockey and get right on that.”

“Do you even like French toast, or did you make it because I wouldn’t shut up about sugar? ”

“Not my go-to, but I don’t mind eating it.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those boring people who’d order an omelet when there are pancakes and waffles on the menu.”

“I’m not confirming or denying it either,” I say with a chuckle.

She groans as if I’ve personally offended her. “I should’ve known. You give off bacon and eggs, black coffee, no-nonsense kind of guy vibes.”

“That’s a bad thing?”

“When I’m craving sugar all the freaking time, yes, it is.” Then, sighing dramatically, she picks up her coffee, which has close to the sugar content of a Coke can. “But I guess you make up for it by actually feeding my addiction.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, sipping my black coffee.

She studies me. “How did you end up finding this place anyway?”

“My college roommate’s family used to own it. They decided to upgrade now that their family is growing with the next generation. I asked if they would sell it to me, and they said yes.”

“Did you visit before buying?”

I nod, the memories of those visits playing through my mind. “A few times. Our college is only a thirty-minute drive away, so we spent some weekends here if we didn’t have games.”

“Is that why you picked this cabin?”

“Partly. It just felt right. Sometimes you just know. ”

She leans back, cradling her coffee in both hands. “And how long have you had it?”

“A little over three years now. It’s been nice to have a place like this to step away from everything for a while. I spent a month here last summer and trained at Cornell arena a few times a week.”

“Tell me more about Cornell. What was your favorite part?”

“Is it too lame if I say hockey?”

She lets out a quiet laugh. “Obviously.”

I glance down at my coffee, thinking my answer over. “I liked that I was starting fresh when I moved there. Nobody knew me or my history, except for my hockey stats, but that was it.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Cornell?”

“Or that time in your life.”

“I miss parts of it. I miss the simplicity of being a college athlete on a scholarship. But I honestly wouldn’t go back.”

She shifts, tucking one leg beneath her as her eyes stay locked on mine. “Why not?”

“I like my life better now.”

“Because of me, right?” she jokes before admitting shyly, “I have to say, I like this version of you.”

“And what version would that be?”

She waves her fork at me. “You relaxed in your safe space, making delicious food and sharing your favorite memories. Seeing the person behind the public persona. ”

I know what she means. Out there, in the world we usually live in, I’m not just the guy who makes breakfast. I’m the guy with a high-pressure career, the expectations, the public scrutiny. But here, with her, things feel simple, easier. I can be myself. The true Rasmus Westerholm.

“I like this version of me, too,” I admit quietly.

“As you should.” She watches me over her coffee cup. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“For breakfast. And for everything else.”

My hands grip the edge of the counter, so I don’t touch her. “You don’t have to thank me.”

Her lips press together, and she looks away while absentmindedly tracing the rim of her cup. The silence between us stretches, but it feels natural.

I don’t know where we go from here, but we are making progress. That’s all I wanted from this trip together with her.

The crisp air bites at my cheeks as we make our way through the forest, skates slung over our shoulders.

The ground crunches beneath our boots, and a thick layer of snow covers the narrow path leading to the pond behind the cabin.

Our breaths come out in visible puffs. It’s cold, but still the perfect weather for outdoor skating.

When we reach the clearing, I stop behind Haisley to admire the view. The pond stretches out before us, frozen solid. The trees are dusted in snow and offer some shade from the winter sun that hangs low in the sky .

She lets out a soft exhale. “It’s beautiful.”

And it is, but I’m not looking at the pond.

The purple beanie with the Peacocks logo sits snug on her head, her hair slipping out from underneath.

Her matching scarf is wrapped loosely around her neck, and her camel-colored winter jacket fits her perfectly.

The cold has painted her cheeks a soft shade of pink, and it only makes her look even more irresistible.

“Yeah,” I murmur, eyes still on her. “It really is.”

Ignoring the constant urge to touch her, I crouch to swap my boots for skates, my fingers moving deftly as I lace them up. Haisley kneels, pulling hers on with the same practiced ease. I should’ve known that the Princess of Hockey can tie her skates like a pro.

“Need help?” I’m half teasing, half hopeful that she’ll let me do it for her.

“I’ve done this before, Westerholm. I think I can manage.”

I hide my disappointment and step on the ice. The moment my blades touch down, that familiar rush of freedom fills me. It’s like a homecoming every time I step into the one place where everything makes sense. The feeling I first found at age five fills me. I truly am home.

Haisley is a few feet away, already moving effortlessly over the ice. Her posture is poised as she glides past me. She catches me staring and grins. “You had no idea I used to play hockey, did you?”

I shake my head. “I didn’t, but I’m not surprised.”

“I grew up playing but stopped when I was thirteen. Soccer and tennis took over at that point. ”

Placing a hand over my chest, I feign offence. “Soccer over hockey? You sound a lot like my cousin Manu.”

“What can I say? It was more my thing back then. But if I’m being honest, deep inside I wanted something that wasn’t tied to my family legacy.”

“Makes sense. I never had the pressure of doing things only because of my family. But now that my cousin is older, he has the pressure to succeed because I did at his age. I hate it for him, but I can’t do anything other than help him to get there.”

“Tell me more about Manu. He seems important to you.”

Mentions of Manu brings a genuine smile to my face. “He’s a high school senior living near Mexico City with my tía Marisol. He breathes soccer and wants to play at college level next year.”

Haisley whistles. “Impressive. You two close?”

“Yeah. Once I moved across the pond for college, it was cheaper and easier to fly down to see them. My Abuela passed away when I was a senior in high school, so I had no reason to return to Uppsala,” I admit.

“Anyway, we grew close because I spent all my holidays in Mexico. He’s more of a little brother than a cousin. ”

“I hope I get to meet him one day.”

“You will,” I say, meaning it. “He’ll be excited about the baby, too, once I tell them about the pregnancy.”

“What if we call them together after this?”

Her suggestion makes me feel all happy inside. “I would love that. ”

For a while, we skate around, enjoying the sunny winter afternoon. Then, out of nowhere, Haisley circles me, a spark igniting in her light green eyes.

“Catch me if you can.”

I smirk her way. “Sure you want to race?”

She tilts her head in mock defiance. “What’s wrong? Afraid you’ll lose?” She flaps her arms to drive her point home, imitating a chicken.

“Oh, you just wait.”

She takes off, and I let her think she has a real chance, that she’s fast enough to leave a professional hockey player in the dust. There’s no chance in hell.

When she least expects it, I close the gap between us in the blink of an eye. I reach out and catch her around the waist, pulling her against me. She shrieks, squirming in my arms, laughter spilling from her lips.

“You really thought I wasn’t going to catch you?” I murmur against her ear. “Think again.”

She stills in my hold, breathing heavily. Her gaze lifts to mine. “I should’ve known. You always find a way to catch me.”

“Damn right.”

Something shifts between us. The teasing fades into something heavier, more dangerous. Her hands slide up, curling behind my neck. Our lips hover centimeters apart, our breaths mingling in the frigid winter air.

“I regretted stopping our kiss last night so much,” she admits softly. “But I don’t know if crossing lines is smart. ”

I exhale sharply, my jaw tightening. “Be sure, sweetness. Because I don’t know if I can resist you the next time.”

Every instinct in me screams to close the distance, to claim her lips and erase whatever hesitation she still has. But instead, I press a kiss on her forehead, lingering longer than I should.

Then I pull back and skate away. If she wants me, she’ll have to make the first move and stick to her decision.