“I never forgot the sound of her laughter that day, or the way it felt to see my family’s eyes light up when nothing else could make them smile.”
I pause for a breath, Ryan’s hands tight against mine.
“You’ll succeed, Andi,” Ryan says. “I might barely know you, but I’ve just got this feeling.”
“How can you say that?”
“You’re too stubborn to fail,” he says with a grin. “I know because I am too.”
My chuckle is a little hollow. Somehow, Ryan has opened a vein in me, and I’m not done bleeding. “I sort of forgot about my dream for a long time. I was good at math in school, all my teachers told me to be an analyst, blah, blah, blah…”
“What happened?”
“A few years ago my mom died, and it was hard. So hard. She was my best friend.”
He pulls me into a hug as I swallow past the lump in my throat. I try not to cry—I’ve cried plenty over her absence—but it happens anyway, just a few tears that hardly make an imprint on his shirt.
When I pull back, I brush a hand over my eyes and sniffle. “Look at me. Bet you didn’t think your delivery girl would end up crying on your kitchen counter today, did you?”
“No,” he says, lips quirking upward. “How could I have known I’d be so lucky?”
“Anyway, that’s my story,” I say, grateful he’s taking everything in stride. “After she died, I sank into a dark place for quite some time. I hated it, every second of it.”
“But you pulled yourself out.”
“It took a while, but when I finally began to drag myself out of the funk, I vowed to find the light in all the dark places. Ever since, I’ve been taking classes, performing at every bar and club I can get in to, you name it, and for all my efforts, I’ve made a whopping ten dollars. So, it looks like accounting will be the way to go.”
“Hey,” he says, brushing a hand over my cheek where I’ve missed a tear. “You’re not allowed to talk like that. If I barely know you and I’m saying you can do this, you’d better believe it’s true. I’m not lying, Andi. The passion’s there. The hard work is there. Keep going with it, and you’ll succeed.”
The ghost of a smile I’m wearing is a mask, hiding the bubble of warmth deep in my soul so that Ryan will never know how much his encouragement means to me.
“My only request is that you believe in yourself,” he says with a shake of his head. “Because nobody’s going to do it for you. Nobody put a puck in my hand and worked me for hours a day, but I wanted it bad enough, and I know you do too. Have confidence. You’re beautiful, smart, and funny. You can do it.”
When a man as hot as Ryan is saying things like that, it’s enough to send a girl into a coma. However, I hold on to reality and focus on those gorgeous brown eyes of his, that shaggy dark hair drooping onto his forehead. “Thank you for saying all of those things.”
He turns away slightly, as if unsure, so I reach up and put a hand on his arm. His bicep is insane, but I ignore that for now and focus on his face.
“Really,” I tell him. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”
“Would you like to move somewhere more comfortable?” Ryan asks. “Where we can continue chatting?”
“The bed?”
He raises his eyebrows. “I was going to say the sitting room, but I’m open to suggestions.”
I blush furiously. “Sitting room is great.”
I leave my empty wine glass on the counter—I have to drive home, after all—and follow him into a luxurious space that belongs in a historic mansion somewhere.
The living area is tucked cozily in the corner on the first floor, the furniture newer and squishier. Unlike the entryway and the kitchen, this room looks lived in and welcoming, warm and recently used. A fire roars in the hearth, even though the temperature has hardly dropped below fifty degrees outside.
I raise my eyebrow at the fire. “You do realize we’re in Los Angeles right?”
“Reminds me of home.” He grins, and I remember that he’s not from the land of sunshine.
“Minnesota?” I ask, as if I don’t already know. I do know—it’s listed in the article next to my bed.
“Yes,” he says. “I still live there full time and play for the Minnesota Stars.”
“Why are you looking to move?”
“Bigger budget, bigger chance at the playoffs,” he says. “I’m not going to be able to play for the rest of my life, so I have to make the most of this career while I’m able.”
“If you play out here, won’t you miss your home?”
“I’m not looking at this as a permanent move.” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “I really love Minnesota. Any move away from there is for the short term.”
“I see.”
“I always figured I’d end up back in the Cities once I…well, after my career. There’s nothing like skating on the lakes during those winter months. The magic of that first snow, the first ice of the season.” A longing expression comes into his eyes and he smacks his lips. “It’s really something else.”
“You miss the snow?”
“I miss home,” he says, and something about the way he says home makes me long for a place to call home in that way.
I have a home, and I have Angela and my dad and my sisters, but one sister lives in New York, the other San Fran, and the youngest is off for a semester in Spain. The latter is the one who bakes, and our house has not been smelling like cookies recently. My brother’s in college in California, but we rarely see him these days unless it’s Christmas.
Ever since my mom passed away, my family has sort of drifted apart. Home doesn’t mean as much anymore. Without my mom holding our family together, we’ve blown like dandelion seeds around the world. We love each other, of course, but things are different now.
I swallow, figuring it best to change the subject. A book is flipped upside down on the end table, as if someone has just been reading it. I run my fingers over the cover. “You read?”
“I dabble,” he says. “You sound surprised. I did go to college, believe it or not.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m surprised you have the time to read.”
Ryan laughs. “Before you assume things about me, I have to make a confession.”
He sounds serious, his face turning stony. I lean forward. “What is it?”
He stares back, his lips a thin line. “I’ve never read Gone with the Wind, or Hemmingway.”
I fake gasp. “No.”
“Yes,” he says. “If that’s a deal breaker, then you can leave.”
“Here is the twenty-million-dollar question,” I say. “Are you reading this book right now?”
I rap my knuckles against the novel before us. It’s Harry Potter, and I’ve read it exactly one million and ten times.
He turns to me, that serious expression taking over again. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”
My jaw drops. I have to shut it using my hands. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes.”
I take a gulp of air because I have no clue what else to do when Ryan Pierce accepts a marriage proposal I meant in jest. “That’s cool.”
“Shall we pick a date?”
“Ryan…” I awkwardly shift in my seat, not sure quite where to go from here. “I was joking.”
“I know, but it gave me an idea.”
“Oh, this sounds like a horrible idea.”
“Lilia, my brother’s fiancée—you met her,” he says without waiting for confirmation. “Their wedding is in two months.”
“That’s great,” I say.
“Come with me.”
“What?”
“Come with me to the wedding, as a friend.”
I shake my head. “I just met you. I don’t understand.”
“Yes, we just met, but it is perfect timing. My mother threatened to find me a date if I don’t find my own, and she’d pick Chelsea Heimlin, and there is no way I’ll survive an evening with Chelsea.”
“Why me?”
“Because you are perfect,” he says, and my heart flutters. “You are beautiful and hilarious and down to earth. I’m just asking you to come as a friend. Most girls would misconstrue that or say yes in hopes that we’d turn it into something more.”