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’mslicing 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 offbacon and eggs, black coffee, no-nonsense kind of guyvibes.”
“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?”
