Page 45 of The Rebound Play
But right now, as I watch the man I’ve never gotten over, work the machine to make me my favorite coffee, that does not matter at all.
“You’ve been asking around about me?” I ask, embarrassed—but elated.
The skin around his eyes crinkles as his lips tilt in a smile. “Only Emmy and Troy and Kelly and a few others.”
I’m grinning so hard my face feels like it might crack. “I see.”
“I realized my Keira Johnson file was missing some vital details. It needed an update.”
“Details like I’m not married with kids?”
“Exactly.” His gaze lingers on mine for a beat before he seems to remember he’s in the middle of making coffee. “Time for the milk.” He furrows his brow in the most adorable way once more as he concentrates hard on steaming the milk, the familiar hissing and gurgling sounds filling the air.
Once done, he brings the coffee over to the table and places it carefully in front of me. “One mocha for my guest. Take a sip.”
“Thank you,” I reply. I lift the mug to my lips to taste it. “It’s good.”
He sits down opposite me at the little table. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I admit I am surprised. You’re a pro hockey player, not a barista.”
He shrugs. “You know me. When I want something, I stop at nothing until I get it.”
The atmosphere between us shifts, his words hanging in the air. Am I the something he wants? Will he stop at nothing to get me?
Popping the box on the table open, he says, “I know how much you like the baked goods from Maple Grounds. You always had a sweet tooth.”
He offers me the box and I spy six cinnamon rolls, each looking utterly delicious. My mouth begins to water.
“This is so sweet of you.” I pick up one of the rolls. “How did you know I liked these so much?”
“You were clutching onto one when I saw you in the bleachers.”
I wince with embarrassment. “That was unbelievable. I can’t believe I did that.”
He smiles. “I thought it was cute.”
I offer him a shy look. “It was the first time we’d seen one another since we broke up all those years ago. It wasn’t exactly my finest moment.”
“Actually, I saw you a couple times on my visits home.”
“You did?”
“Yup. Once at the diner, just down the road from here. You were in a back booth. I was plucking up the courage to come over to talk to you, but I got distracted by some people wanting selfies. When I looked back, you were gone.”
Do I tell him I ran away? Heck, he caught me hiding in the bleachers. On the embarrassment scale, running away from him scores maybe a five out of ten, not the ten out of ten I scored for hiding.
“I snuck out the back,” I admit.
His brows ping up. “You did? Why?”
“Because you looked so happy and you had this big, glamorous career that came with fame and everything else, and here I was still living in our small town, not exactly living my best life.”
“You see, that’s where you’re wrong. I think you are leading your best life. You’re so enmeshed in this place, Kiki. You know everyone, they know and respect you, you’re part of the fabric of the community. Do you know how much I envy that?”
If only I hadn’t taken a sip of my coffee at that very moment, I might not have sprayed it all over the white tablecloth. “Oops,” I say as I dab at the splatters with the sleeve of my jacket.
“Forget about it,” Dan says, placing his hand over mine.