Page 5 of Your Love (Merrimack Mavericks Hockey #3)

Chapter 5

"Good"

Kerri - Age 18, 1988

E ver since I stepped off the Greyhound bus, my grandparents have showered me with love and attention. They’ve gone out of their way to make me feel at home, making all of my favorite meals and helping me set up my new room exactly how I want it. I’m grateful for their kindness, and I think I made the right choice to come here. They needed me here as much as I needed to leave Texas.

Unfortunately, things haven’t been going well for the past several years in the American farming community. The economy has struggled as market rates fluctuate and interest rates increase, so many farms across the country—especially small ones—have taken a major blow. Many are facing bankruptcy and fighting to stay afloat. Papa and Nana’s farm has not been spared from this hardship.

After years of fighting to keep their land and crops profitable, they made the difficult decision to scale back their harvest and shift their focus to a new venture—rescuing unwanted animals facing euthanasia. They have enough money to live comfortably, so this is their way of making a positive contribution to the community they love so much.

When they first told me about this new direction, I was curious and excited, and that excitement only grew when I was taken on a grand tour of the farm and introduced to every creature that called it home. From the friendly cows and curious pigs to the chatty chickens and quirky goats, I hit it off with each one of them. Among my favorites are Vincent Van Goat, a lovable but slightly lopsided goat with only one ear, and Colonel Cocky, a proud and boisterous rooster who always makes his presence known. My heart swells with a sense of compassion and understanding for these outcasts.

My grandparents are always amazed at my innate connection with animals, but for me, it’s just a part of who I am. Growing up in a world filled with furry and feathered friends, I find it much easier to communicate with them than with most humans. I’ve definitely grown to trust them more than most people.

As the days have passed, there has been a gentle settling in, me getting to know this place and my grandparents getting to know me as an adult, not just a small girl who would spend one week at a time with them when I was younger. As the moments pass, they are filled with warmth and ease, as if I were always meant to come here.

Despite our dwindling production, my grandparents never miss a chance to visit the quaint local farmers market on Sundays. Today, I’m going with Papa to set up our stand from the back of his dusty pick-up truck. Our offerings may be limited, but each product is carefully displayed and presented with pride.

We have a variety of farm-fresh eggs, creamy goat cheese, rich milk, and vibrant wildflowers I wrapped in butcher paper and tied with rustic brown twine. The sweet scent of fresh produce fills the air, mingling with the chatter of fellow vendors and eager shoppers.

With my back towards the crowd, I rummage through the remaining items in the bed of the pickup truck to be set on the fold-out table. The sound of crinkling paper catches my attention, and I turn to see a young girl, no more than ten or eleven years old, delicately holding one of the bouquets up to her nose. Her eyes light up as she takes in the sweet scent of the flowers.

“Do you like flowers?” I ask with a smile, admiring her innocent curiosity.

Her hands tremble as she quickly places the flowers back on the table, her eyes cast downwards in shame. I can sense her fragility, which makes me want to handle her with the utmost care.

I bend down to meet her in the eye. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” I say gently. “Why don’t you choose this one instead?” With a careful hand, I push my favorite bouquet towards her. She bites her lip and scans the area before shaking her head slowly, her expression filled with uncertainty.

“Okay,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to take them, but I’m going to hold this bunch right here, especially for you.”

She smiles sweetly, her lips curved into a slight dimple. But still, she doesn’t make a move to take the flowers. Just then, I hear a deep, rich voice call out, “Paisley.”

A boy—no, actually a man—makes his way towards us with purposeful strides and a furrowed brow. His eyes are intense as they lock onto her petite figure.

“Pais,” he says sharply. “Don’t walk away from me like that.” His tone is filled with both concern and frustration.

Her expression is one of pure disinterest as she gazes at him and then picks up the delicate flowers, stretching on her toes to hold them against his face.

A warm laugh escapes his lips as the petals brush against his nose. “Ah yes, I see the flowers now. They are beautiful.”

She nods in agreement.

“Do you want them?” he asks, affection laced in his voice.

She nods again, a small smile forming on her lips.

My heart races as he turns to me, his gaze intense and focused. I sense a sudden shift in the atmosphere, and it’s as if all the air has been sucked out of the space between us.

“How much are the flowers?” His charming grin reveals a dimple on his left cheek, making my heart flutter even more.

As I stand in front of him, my mind flashes to the Cinderella fairytale I used to read when I was little. It’s as if this stranger is the prince, and I’m the princess, and I’m waiting for him to slip a glass slipper on my foot.

I loved that story so much that I drove Mama crazy by asking her to read it before I could read it myself. Even at that time, I’d scan the pages and run my fingers over the drawings, dreaming of a day when my fairytale would come true. But then I’m reminded that fantasies and daydreams aren’t real, and my mind snaps back to reality.

“It’s on me. I insist,” I say with a shaky voice, trying to maintain my composure. The man raises a dark eyebrow at me, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Okay, then,” he replies with a small smile.

I glance at the quiet little girl. “Someone as lovely as you deserves to be surrounded by flowers,” I remark.

“I agree,” the stranger says, his voice low and mesmerizing. But as I catch his gaze, I can’t shake off the feeling that the sentence has a deeper meaning.

“Have a nice evening,” I manage as they begin to walk to the next stall.

I watch them for a moment and take in the handsome stranger. He’s tall—taller than anyone else I know and big. He kinda reminds me of a linebacker. His hair is light brown and wavy, just a bit shy of having curls, and his eyes are the color of the cognac Papa drinks when the light hits it through the crystal glass—like warm honey with tones of yellow and orange. And the way he treated that child—there was so much love in those eyes. A girl could get lost in them.

I have no idea who he is. The only thing I know is that I need to forget about him. That boy could be a whole lot of trouble, and that’s the last thing I’m looking for.

Monday morning rolls in the next day, and all of a sudden, transferring at the end of my senior year doesn’t seem like such a good idea. But staying at my old school was not an option. So, I’m going to be myself and make the best of it. It’s only for a few months.

I borrow Papa’s old truck and head to the school I will graduate from—Merrimack High School. This town isn’t much bigger than the one I lived in in Texas. It’s slightly less rural, and I doubt anyone here speaks like I do, but there’s nothing I can do about that. I’m a Texas farm girl transplanted into a small town that doesn’t revolve around football.

How strange can it be?

I arrive in economics class early and grab a spot near the middle of the room. Sliding into my desk, I grab a notebook and a green metallic gel pen that smells like green apple Jolly Ranchers and wait. I tap my pen nervously, and after a moment, a beautiful girl with wavy blonde hair slides into a seat next to mine. She offers me a genuine smile before retrieving her things from her bag as the teacher walks in and begins the lesson. He tells us to turn to page one hundred seventy-eight in our book, but I don’t have a book, so I sit there like a bump on a log.

The girl moves her desk closer to mine and places her book on my desk between us.

“Thanks,” I say with a nod.

“I was also new here not too long ago,” she begins. “I’m Ivy.”

I express my gratitude with a smile and nod, “Nice to meet you. I’m Kerri.”

She motions towards the textbook and invites me to follow along with her. Thanks to Ivy, I’m not as overwhelmed in this class as I would have been alone.

“Would you like to join me and my friends for lunch?” she asks as class is coming to an end, and we’re both packing our things into our bags.

I consider it for a moment before politely declining. “No, thank you. I brought my lunch. I think I’ll just eat outside today. Plus, I should stop by the library and get that economics book.”

“Sure, if you change your mind, my locker is in C-Hall,” she says with a smile.

I nod and thank her before turning to walk away. The thought of joining a group of strangers for lunch makes me uncomfortable, even though Ivy seems nice enough. I need some time to adjust before diving into social situations. This is all a little too much, too soon for me.

I sling my backpack over one shoulder and step out into the bright, sunny day. Scanning the area, I spot a large oak tree with a perfect patch of grass underneath. Pulling out my headphones and sunglasses, I settle in under the shade of the tree.

With careful hands, I unpack my Nana’s lunch for me: a ham sandwich on whole grain bread, a bag of crunchy chips, juicy slices of watermelon, and her famous homemade banana bread. I save that for last and take a bite, savoring the sweetness on my tongue as I close my eyes and lean back against the sturdy oak.

I’ve been leaning under that tree on the grass for about thirty minutes, long enough to listen to every song on side A of my favorite cassette tape. I’m enjoying being in my own little world when I’m startled by a touch on my shoulder.

My eyes snap open, and I straighten my posture, ready to defend myself or run if necessary.

“Kerri, it’s just me. I’m so sorry I startled you,” Ivy says, taking a tentative step back.

I place my hand over my chest to calm my racing heart and release a nervous laugh. “It’s okay. I was just lost in my mixed tape.” I gestured toward the Walkman on my lap.

As I shift my gaze around the area, I catch sight of some people standing around me. A couple of tall, athletic guys surround her, their boisterous chatter filling the air. Beside them stands Ivy herself, and a few people are chatting in the back of the group that I can’t really see. My eyes drift to the beautiful brunette at Ivy’s side, who watches me with a hint of skepticism in her expression.

“Everyone,” she announces, gesturing to the group with a wide smile. “I’d like you to meet Kerri.”

“Howdy, y’all,” I say casually, not giving a second thought to my response.

The guy with bleached blonde hair stares at me intently and says, “Say that again.”

“You want me to repeat it?” I ask, my voice tinged with amusement and a hint of disbelief.

He nods eagerly, his eyes shining with excitement.

I take a deep breath before repeating, “Howdy, y’all.”

His face lights up with delight. “That is the most charming thing I’ve ever heard!” he exclaims. “Where are you from?”

“I’m from Texas,” I reply, giving him a knowing smile. “A small town not too far from Austin.” And because I know the question that will inevitably follow, I add preemptively, “I just moved here to help out my grandparents on their farm.”

The blonde guy let out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be,” he exclaims. “We have our very own Daisy Duke right here in Merrimack.”

“You’re an insufferable idiot,” the brunette snaps at him, rolling her eyes. “Do you ever get tired of the sound of your own voice?”

“Honestly, no,” he replies with a smug grin.

“These are the friends I was telling you about,” Ivy interjects. “This is Michael, and we apologize for him in advance.”

He scoffs but doesn’t argue as she continues. “This is Sascha,” she says, motioning to the raven-haired beauty.

“Hey,” Sascha says, her smile warmer than it was a few moments ago.

“This is my boyfriend, Corey,” Ivy says, looping her arm around the arm of a tall, very handsome guy with dark hair and deep brown eyes.

“Hi, Kerri,” he says warmly. “People call me Delzy. And call him Taz,” he says, motioning to the guy currently picking up my Walkman and listening to my tape. I start to protest, but by the time I get any words out, he’s happily dancing around and singing “Buffalo Stance” by Neneh Cherry.

With a graceful gesture, Ivy finishes the introductions. “And this is Landry.” A tall man strides over from where he was previously hidden behind Ivy and her boyfriend. As if on cue, trouble seems to have walked into my life once again.

“Wildflower,” he says, as a warm smile spreads across his lips. The sound of it makes me feel off balance, even though I’m still sitting and looking up at him. I can see the sunlight dancing in his eyes, and at that moment, I feel lost in his gaze. This isn’t good. My only hope is that he has food stuck in his teeth or horrible body odor.

As I struggle to stand up, his strong hand gently grips my arm, offering support. Examining him closely, I search for any flaw but find none. His complexion is flawless, not a pimple in sight. His teeth are straight and white and completely devoid of any remnants of lunch. His smile showcases that perfect dimple that adds to his charm. The slight wind carries his scent toward my nose, and I’m rewarded with a warm, masculine scent that wraps around me like a hug. But what captivates me the most are his eyes—a deep amber hue that looked so sweetly at his companion yesterday, now locking onto mine with intensity.

“Wildflower?” Ivy asks with a curious tilt of her head.

“We met yesterday, sort of,” he says confidently. His eyes sparkle as he recounts the encounter. “She gave me and Paisley some wildflowers at the farmer’s market.”

Ivy’s eyes widen with excitement. “Wow, that’s so awesome,” she exclaims. “Now that we’re all friends, we should totally make plans to spend more time together.” Her voice is filled with genuine warmth and enthusiasm.

I don’t have the heart to break the bad news to her—that it’s a terrible idea. I haven’t allowed myself to explore any hint of attraction toward anyone in months, and I’m not ready to start now.