Page 19 of Icing on Top

It wasn’t a full-blown panic attack, but it easily could have been had Wes not been with me. I’d had more than my fair share of them after the accident. It seemed like anything could trigger them, from Sadie’s hairbrush on the bathroom counter to a car engine revving. Sometimes, just the sight of Charlie had sent me into a spiral as I worried about what her life would be like growing up without her mother. Worried that I wouldn’t be enough for her.

“Sorry,” I breathed out, feeling my heart rate slowly return to normal. “I just realized it’s almost been five years since…”

Wes pressed his lips together as he removed his hand from my chest. We both sat there quietly, acknowledging our shared grief.

“There’s no rulebook on how you’re supposed to navigate life after. I’m sorry if I was too pushy.”

I reached over to pat his leg. “It’s okay. I need a good push every now and then,” I assured him. “And I know you have the best of intentions. For me and Charlie.”

He smiled even if it was small.

“You’re my favorite people in the world. Of course, I want the best for you. But you get to decide what that is.”

Chapter 8

Zoe

“I brought muffins! Meet me over by the bleachers.”

That sent the Puffins players scrambling across the ice, their energy suddenly renewed, even though they’d just played one hell of a season opener. Their parents awaited them at the exit of the rink, applauding and cheering for their win.

The pride had to be written all over my face, because my body was buzzing with it. That magical feeling when all the hard work pays off. The kids had given it their all—they’d given me their all—and I was beyond honored to be their coach. I could see why Uncle Cal had coached for so long and been so reluctant to give it up. This was a feeling I could definitely get used to.

I grabbed my bag and followed after the team at a more leisurely pace. While my boots had decent traction, I didn’t fully relax until I’d safely made it out of the rink and onto the concrete. A few parents stopped me to congratulate me as well, which just warmed my heart even further. It had been no secret that many of the parents were skeptical of me being the new coach—some more than others—but I liked to think that I was proving to them just how capable I was.

I’d barely set my bag down to retrieve the Tupperware of chocolate-banana muffins I’d made last night before I was swarmed once more by the kids. The muffins were packed full of protein with Greek yogurt, oats, and eggs. Add in a little potassium to help avoid muscle cramps, and they were the perfect postgame treat. And what kid didn’t love a muffin?

“Thank you, Coach Zo!”

“Ooh! Muffins!”

“Chocolate? Yes!”

I made sure every player had one before I addressed their families. “I made plenty, so feel free to grab one if you’d like.”

The players’ siblings didn’t hesitate to snag one, and a few parents ambled over, murmuring thank yous when I handed them a muffin as well.

“There aren’t any pickles in them, are there?”

I looked up to see the amber eyes of Jeremiah, and my stomach did a little flip at the sight of his crooked grin.

“No.” I laughed softly, shaking my head. “No pickles. I get that not everyone is a fan.”

I handed him a muffin and bit the inside of my cheek when his fingers brushed against mine. Ever since the hockey game and our awkward Kiss Cam experience, I’d caught myself wondering what it would be like to actually kiss him. And that was one hundred percent not a thought I should be having about one of my kids’ parents.

Even if he was single.

And had this endearing, gentle giant thing going for him.

And was sexy when he got competitive.

But no. He’d lost his wife not even five years ago. Dating was probably the last thing on his mind, especially with Charlie. She was his priority.

Jeremiah peeled back the wrapper and popped the entire muffin into his mouth. I watched as his prominent Adam’s apple bobbed up and down his thick throat. The soft moan that left him had my cheeks burning. God, he was not making this easy. I averted my gaze and tugged down on the brim of my hat in a feeble attempt to hide my blush.

“Cupcakes, muffins…” he listed. “Is there anything you can’t make?”

“Uh, macarons,” I answered, snapping the lid back onto the Tupperware. “They are extremely picky. Measurements, oven temp, humidity. Anything slightly off, and they’re messed up.”