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 thePrincess of Hockeycan 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?”
