Chapter 2: Scott

It’s been one hell of a week, but the Hawks won last night, beating out Chicago, which is always a tough game. Today, I get to kick back with the team, celebrate Yaeger and Vivi, and take it easy. While I offered to host the team baby shower weeks ago, I never anticipated being this excited about it.

But mainly, that’s because I get to see Noelle DiSanto. 

A few weeks ago, a buddy from New York mentioned that she expanded her bakery to the Boston area and ever since I drove by Primrose Sweets, I haven’t been able to get Noelle out of my mind. Ever since our dance over the summer, she’d pop up, unbidden, in random thoughts. And now she’s here, in my city, on my turf. 

I forced myself to wait a week before sending her flowers. I smile, thinking over our conversation earlier in the week. While I wish she had reached out to me directly about her move, I was still happy she called. Maybe even too happy. 

I park my SUV, a Tesla Model X, and stand in front of Primrose Sweets. I gotta hand it to her, it couldn’t have been easy getting out from under her father’s thumb in New York. But here she is, making her dream come true.

I push into the storefront, a little bell ringing, and admire the beauty behind the counter. Her hair is pulled away from her face, a thick hairband holding it back from her forehead, and still, a few ringlets spring loose. 

At the sound of the bell, she glances up. When she sees me, her eyes widen and she backs away from the counter, her fingers fluttering over her unruly curls. I grin. 

“Love the space, Noelle.” I approach the counter as she walks around it, meeting me in front of the glass display case filled with French pastries and perfectly decorated cupcakes. “You’ve got quite the selection.”

“Thanks, Scotty,” she says easily, my old nickname rolling off her tongue like she says it daily and not only when our paths cross at hockey games or fundraising galas. She reaches up on her tippy toes as my palm holds her hip, kissing my cheek in greeting. “And thanks again for the flowers.”

“I’m glad you like them.”

“I hope you like these.” She gestures to the three neatly stacked cupcake boxes on the counter. Carefully, she opens the lid on the top box and a hush falls between us as I scan the cupcakes that are too pretty to eat. Some have details that look like lace, others little white, pink, and blue flowers, and some with bows and bow ties. 

“These are magnificent,” I tell her truthfully, an echo of awe in my tone. 

She blushes and I love that my praise matters to her. But these cupcakes, this bakery, her, they all deserve to be celebrated. 

“Thanks, Scott. I know you could have gone anywhere in the city, and it means a lot that you took a chance on me and Primrose.”

“Ah, I’d never bet against a DiSanto.”

She smirks. “Now I know that’s a lie.”

I chuckle and tug the boxes toward me. “What do I owe you?”

She shakes her head, wiping her hands on the blue striped apron tied around her waist. “On the house. Just feel free to share Primrose with your friends. I’ve always found word of mouth to be the best kind of marketing.”

I shake my head and pull out my wallet. “If you don’t tell me the price, I’ll think it’s something exorbitant and—”

She places her hand over mine and I stop talking as the heat of her palm, the softness of her skin, seeps into mine. 

“Please,” I murmur, getting lost in the blue pools of her gaze. 

She shakes her head. 

I sigh and pluck out a hundred-dollar bill, stuffing it into the tip jar. 

“Scotty—” she scolds me, reaching for the jar. 

But I grip her hip again and she shifts closer to me, surprised but not pulling away from my touch. I squeeze her hip, knowing I should drop my hold but unable to. Not wanting to. Not now when I know how soft her skin feels. 

“Come to the shower.” 

“What?” A little laugh bursts from her lips. “No, I can’t do that.” 

“Why not?” 

She shakes her head but she’s fighting a smile. “Well, I’m working.”

“You sure that’s it?” I ask, wondering if her father gave her some weird rules about not fraternizing with the enemy. I wouldn’t put it past him. 

“What else would it be?” A challenge flares in her eyes and I back down. 

“Well, I’ll text you my address. In case you get hungry.”

She smirks. “I hope you enjoy the cupcakes.”

“Thanks again.” I hoist up the boxes. 

Noelle follows me to the door and holds it open as I slip outside, a gust of wind whipping past. “Take care, Scott.”

“See you around, Noelle,” I agree, knowing it will be much sooner than she thinks. Now that I know she’s here, you can bet your ass I’ll be a regular at Primrose Sweets. 

I pop the trunk of my SUV and place the cupcakes inside. Then, I head back to my house. The decorators and caterers are already present, setting everything up. 

When my assistant, Jayde, sees me, she rolls her eyes. “I told you I’d pick up the cupcakes.”

“I wanted to get them.”

She smacks her lips knowingly but doesn’t call me out in front of the crews milling about. Instead, she hands me a stack of papers, a Post-it Note stuck on top with a few numbers I need to call today. “I’m heading out. The bar is going over there.” She points to the corner of my den. “The signature drink is a yummy mummy.”

I snort. “What the hell is that?” 

“I think a cranberry-inspired mimosa.”

“Hm.”

Jayde takes the cupcake boxes from my hands and sets them down on the table. “The caterer will set these up. A playlist has been curated, flowers will be here shortly. Anything else you need?”

“Nope. You sure you don’t want to stick around?”

She wrinkles her nose, her nose ring glinting, as she tries for the blasé, playful demeanor she strives for, but I catch a flash of sadness in her eyes. Jayde isn’t talking but I’m pretty sure something went down between my organized, often grumpy assistant and last season’s rookie, Reese Keller. 

“Nah, I’m good. No plans of baking a bun in the oven anytime soon,” she quips, tucking her long, dark hair behind her ears. 

“Get out of here then, before I think of something useful for you to do.”

“I’m going to dye my hair purple. I’ll be unavailable for the rest of the day.”

“Yeah? Just don’t come back looking like a mermaid; it will mess with this whole goth-emo thing you’re trying for.”

She flips me her middle finger but then pats my shoulder on the way out of my house. 

I turn back to the setting unfolding in my kitchen and living room. I’ve hired all the necessary components to make today’s party a true celebration for Yaeger and Vivi. I know Claire Merrick will be delighted to use my espresso machine. Luca Pandatelli will drink all my good booze. Team captain, Austin Merrick, will try to talk shop and his woman, Chloe, will have to rein him in, reminding him that today is a party. 

But I can’t help and wonder if they’d all come if I didn’t own the Hawks. Will this house ever be filled with people just because? Just for fun? 

The thought saddens me because at forty-four, I thought I’d have it together by now. The wife, the kids, the jungle gym in the backyard, and the toys strewn across the floor. Big holiday feasts with too many chairs pulled around the table. 

Obviously owning an NHL team is big-time. And I’m not complaining. But it’s funny how life works, you know? Because this house has never been filled for a non-team celebration. 

Shaking the depressing thoughts away, I refocus my attention to the stack of papers in hand. Then I turn down the hallway, slip behind the desk in my home office, and get to work. 

* * *

The team descends on my house like a bunch of college kids on spring break. Raucous laughter, booming voices, and a shriek of delight over the food spread and beautiful cupcakes, the Hawks and their better halves come bustling through my front door. 

“Oh my God! Look at these cupcakes!” Claire shrieks, pulling Vivi over to the dessert display, complete with floral arrangements, tea lights, and rose petals. 

“What the fuck is a yummy mummy?” Panda asks his girl, Abbi. She rolls her eyes and leaves him behind as she attaches herself to Chloe’s side. 

“Scott, this is too much. Thank you. It’s, wow, it’s incredible.” Yaeger appears at my side, pure gratitude shining in his expression. 

“Nah, I’m glad I could do it,” I tell him truthfully, shaking his outstretched hand and slapping him on the back. “You and Vivi deserve all the happiness.” I mean it too. While the start of their marriage was anything but conventional, anyone who looks at them can see the love and devotion they feel for each other. Ever since Vivi ended up in the hospital with a scare regarding the baby during the play-offs last year, I’ve wanted to do something for the couple that would extend my support to their growing family. The team baby shower seemed like a good idea and the BHH girls, always up for a party, were all over it. 

“Thank you, Scott. This is…more than I ever imagined.” Vivi smiles softly as she comes to stand beside her husband. She wraps me in a hug, which I return, noting the pride that flares in her man’s eyes. 

“Can I get you guys a drink?” I offer, suddenly wanting one. There’s too much raw emotion in the room. Too many genuine feelings that, not for the first time, I wish I felt for someone. Most of the guys on my team found true partnerships over the last few seasons. Even the guys—ahem, Pandatelli and Easton Scotch—who I never envisioned settling down are now faithfully committed to their women. 

Will I ever find that? Will I ever have…this? 

“I’m all good. Thanks, though,” Yaeger says as Vivi holds up a water with lemon. 

“All right. Make sure you try a cupcake. They’re from a new bakery. Primrose Sweets,” I shout out Noelle, just the thought of her bringing a smile to my face. 

“Ooh, I heard about that place,” Claire says. And then, “Hey Scott, can I get a—” 

“Help yourself, Claire.” I gesture toward the fancy espresso machine I still don’t know how to work. Luckily, Claire does. 

I grab a beer from the bar and turn to survey the party. The team is in high spirits, still riding the win from last night. Everyone seems settled, secure…happy. I take a swig of my beer, letting the bitter hops wash away the pang of loneliness that flares inside. 

I shouldn’t feel like this now. Not when I’m surrounded by a group of people in my own home. 

Not when I’m fortunate enough to host events like this, with people like these. 

But still, the ache persists.