The memory hits me like a freight train. Ryder's hands cupping my face, the way he tasted like winter air, the soft sound he made when I pressed my body closer.
"It was..." I pause, searching for words that won't make me sound like a teenager with her first crush. "It was really fucking good, Em."
"I KNEW IT!" She throws her hands up in triumph, sending a cloud of flour into the air. "I knew you two still had that crazy chemistry."
She slides a perfectly golden cinnamon roll onto a plate and pushes it toward me, the scent of warm butter and cinnamon wafting up like a comforting hug. The icing drips lazily down the sides, pooling in little sugary puddles on the ceramic.
"Eat this. You need sugar for what I'm about to tell you."
I take a bite, and the warm, gooey perfection nearly makes me moan. Emma's cinnamon rolls should be illegal. They're that good.
"Okay. This is good. What are you about to tell me?"
"Lucy and Sophia were here yesterday afternoon, huddled in the corner booth with poster board and markers." Emma's eyes sparkle with mischief. "They were making signs for Saturday night. Giant ones. With your shelter's logo and everything."
My stomach does a little flip. "They were making signs?"
"Big, beautiful, professional-looking signs." Emma leans against the counter, studying my face. "That boy is serious about this, Mia. This isn't just some guilt-driven grand gesture. He's putting real thought and effort into helping you."
"I know, Em. And that's what scares the shit out of me."
"Why?"
"Because what if this is just... nostalgia? What if he gets bored again? What if the NHL comes calling with some better opportunity and he leaves?" I break off a piece of the cinnamon roll, watching the icing drip. "I survived losing him once, Em. I don't think I could do it again."
Emma reaches across the counter and covers my hand with hers, flour and all. "Mia, you can't live your life protecting yourself from maybes. Sometimes you have to trust that the good things are real."
"Easy for you to say. You and Logan are practically married already."
"Logan and I are taking it one day at a time, just like everyone else," she says gently. "But we're taking it together. That's what matters."
I'm about to respond when my phone buzzes against the counter. The screen lights up with a number I haven't seen in years but somehow still recognize instantly.
Mrs. Scott.
"Oh my God," I breathe, staring at the phone like it might explode.
"What? Who is it?"
"Ryder's mom."
Emma's eyebrows shoot up. "Answer it!"
I swipe to accept the call, my heart hammering. "Hello?"
"Mia, sweetie! It's Carol Scott. I hope I'm not calling too early."
Her voice is exactly the same. Warm, maternal, with that slight breathiness that means she's excited about something.
"Mrs. Scott, hi. It's not too early at all. How are you?"
I will literally kill Ryder if he's done the old kiss-and-tell to HIS MOTHER.
"Oh, I'm wonderful, dear. Listen, I know this is short notice, but Tom and I were hoping you might join us for dinner tonight. Nothing fancy, just pot roast and family. We've missed having you around."
I nearly drop the phone.
Dinner. Tonight. With Ryder's parents.
