THIS HAS BEEN the longest week of my life.
“Pippa.” Hazel opens her eyes from the chair beside the window overlooking the backyard. She’s in her pajamas and has major bedhead.
I’m draped across the couch, also in pajamas with major bedhead, staring limply out the same window at the snow-covered trees. They’re pretty, but I don’t even care. “What?”
“I’m trying to meditate but you keep sighing.” She gives me a look that’s both irritated and amused.
I wrinkle my nose. “Sorry.”
She raises an eyebrow, and my stomach tightens. New Year’s Eve is tomorrow, and then we fly home the next day.
I have absolutely no idea what to do about my crush on the guy from high school, which has expanded into full-blown swoony feelings. I like him. I might even feel more than that, but I’m not looking in that direction right now. I’m just trying to figure out what to do.
My gut tells me he feels the same way, but after what he admitted about Erin? He might not be ready to hear it. That would be the ultimate devastation, telling him and having it fall flat.
I’m torn, so I’m sitting here, staring out the window, getting on Hazel’s nerves while I deliberate.
My phone lights up with a text.
Hey.
There’s a burst of excitement in my chest. I can’t help it. It’s just my body’s reaction when he texts me. We’ve been texting a lot over the break, and part of me hopes that he’s just as bored and miserable without me.
Hi, I respond, eyes glued to my screen, watching as the typing dots appear.
I’ve been thinking about taking a trip.
Oh, yeah? Somewhere warm?
Somewhere cold.
Dumb, naive hope twirls and spins in my chest. The typing dots pop up, disappear, and pop up again.
I’ve never been to Silver Falls, he texts.
My heart leaps into my throat and I beam at my phone.
“What is going on?” Hazel asks, smirking at me.
“Nothing.” It’s gorgeous this time of year, I text. You’ll freeze your ass off.
Perfect. Can I come say hi?
Yes, please.
Great. My flight lands in two hours.
My mouth falls open. What?!
I’m at the airport. Is that okay?
Of course! My smile stretches from ear to ear.
Hazel drops down beside me, peering at my phone to read the texts. “What?” she repeats. “What’s going on?”
I don’t care that my emotions are written all over my face. “Jamie’s coming to visit.”
She sighs, but she’s smiling. “Of course he is.”
The doorbell rings, and I leap up from the couch before taking a deep breath in front of the door. Hazel snorts from the kitchen, where she’s on her laptop.
I open the door, and he’s standing there with a barely perceptible smile, which means he’s just as excited as I am. God, he’s so tall. I’m speechless, staring up at him with a doofy grin on my face.
“Hi,” I say stupidly.
His cheeks are flushed from the cold. He’s wearing a green toque that brings out the color of his eyes. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he’s looking at me like I’m the best thing he’s ever seen.
“Hi,” he says, and the low tenor of his voice sends a shiver down my spine.
The tension runs between us, and his gaze drops to my lips. He looks like he wants to kiss me, and my stomach wobbles in the best way.
“We’re home,” my dad calls from behind Jamie, and we take a step apart.
My parents climb the steps, chatting, and stop short when they see Jamie. They were visiting friends, and I thought they’d be out later.
My dad’s eyes go wide like he’s seen a ghost. “Oh my god.” He thrusts his hand forward with a big, friendly grin. “What the heck is Jamie Streicher doing on my front step? Ken Hartley.”
Jamie shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.” He offers my dad a smile, and from her spot in the kitchen, Hazel glances at me in confusion.
Sir? Hazel mouths and I shrug.
“Oh, this is the hockey player!” My mom claps her hands. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
He smiles again at her, and my face burns. They haven’t heard that much about him. So I mention him once in a while. So what?
“Hi, Mrs. Hartley,” Jamie says, shaking her hand.
She pulls him into a hug. Her head barely comes to his shoulder. “Call me Maureen, honey. Let’s go inside. You’re going to catch a cold.”
We pile inside, and my dad remarks again about what a surprise it is to have the Jamie Streicher in his home, which is both cute and totally embarrassing, but Jamie doesn’t seem to mind. He just smiles and answers my dad’s questions.
Hazel walks in and Jamie nods at her. “Hazel.”
Surprisingly, she doesn’t glare at him. “Hi. You made it.”
He nods. “I did.”
Hazel glances at me, and she seems pleased. “Good.”
“Everyone, sit down,” my dad says, gesturing at the living room. “I’ll bring out some snacks. Jamie, do you want a beer?”
Jamie’s head dips. “A beer would be great.”
“What’s your preference?” I have a feeling that whatever Jamie said, my dad would run to the store to buy it right now.
“Whatever you have on hand,” Jamie says. “I’m not picky.”
“Miller Lite okay?”
“Perfect.”
“Good man.” My dad disappears, and weirdly, Jamie smiles again.
As we sit down in the living room, my gaze flicks to the outdated furniture and decor, the knickknacks on the shelves, and the dorky pictures of me and Hazel as kids. Jamie pauses in front of my grade two picture. In the photo, I’m smiling wide, ear to ear, pigtails sticking out on either side of my head. I’m missing my two front teeth.
Jamie tilts his head at the picture. “You get hit with a puck, Hartley?”
I groan, and my mom laughs.
“I forgot it was picture day,” she tells him. “You should have seen my face when Pippa came home and told me.”
Jamie’s eyes linger on the picture, and I think he’s smiling again. “Very cute.”
My dad hustles into the room with a tray of drinks and insists Jamie sit in the comfy La-Z-Boy chair where my dad usually sits while watching hockey. Internally, I’m cringing my face off, but Jamie is polite and friendly and indulges my dad in all his questions and conversation revolving solely around hockey.
Half an hour later, my mom checks the time. “I should put the chicken in the oven.” She looks at Jamie. “Do you eat chicken?”
“Uh.” He looks at me. “Yes?”
I send him a smile. “I hope you didn’t think you were leaving without staying for dinner.”
“You have to stay for dinner, Jamie,” my dad scoffs.
Jamie chuckles. “I’d be happy to. Thank you.”
“Where are you staying?” my mom asks.
Jamie runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know yet. I saw a hotel on Main Street. I’m going to try there first.”
My dad’s eyes go wide. He’s so dramatic sometimes. “You don’t have a room booked?” He shakes his head in dismay. “It’s not going to happen. Everything gets booked up this time of year.”
My mom nods. “You have to stay with us.”
“What?” I choke. Jamie’s used to staying in five-star hotels with king-sized beds and HBO on the TV, not homes with furniture older than me. Hazel’s and my beds are from when we were teenagers, and the guest bed is even older. “Jamie doesn’t want to stay with us. We can find him an Airbnb or something.”
“At this time of night?” my dad asks, looking at me like I’m crazy. “Pippa, it’s almost five in the evening. I know it’s not much,” he says to Jamie, “but we have a guest bedroom with your name on it.”
I open my mouth to protest again, but Jamie nods at my parents. “I’d love to stay here.” I stare at him, and he glances at me with amusement in his eyes. “If it’s okay with Pippa.”
“Yeah.” I blink at him. “Sure.”
“Great.” My dad jumps up. “I’m going to help Maureen with the chicken and then I’ll be right back. Another beer?”
Jamie nods. “Sure, thanks, Ken.”
My dad beams at him, and I know it’s because Jamie called him by his first name. I stare at Jamie in shock, but my heart is dancing around in my chest.
Who is this version of my grumpy goalie?
