Breaking the Ice

Chapter 2

2

Samantha hung back under the shade of a massive maple tree and waited for Birdie’s clan to leave the graveside. The bright summer foliage provided welcome shelter from the warmth of the sun and its gnarled, aged branches pointed knotted fingers over the undulating terrain. The scent of freshly turned earth infused her senses as Samantha admired the grandeur of the Victorian headstones standing in stark contrast to the simplicity of more modern sites.

Tetworth cemetery, a stone’s throw from the CBD, was hemmed in by three major thoroughfares. Despite the everyday mortal rush and hurry beyond the ornamental stone gates, it somehow managed to remain tranquil. Presiding over the city like a grand old dame, its imposing elevated position and spires of crosses and other holy iconography rising from atop moss-covered gravestones, projected an other-worldly serenity.

It was entirely fitting that Eddie Hawke, herself a true lady, was laid to rest here.

Samantha patiently eyed the large family-only gathering. She guessed it was inevitable, given the size of the Hawke clan and how many had stayed in Tetworth, that there would be a cast of thousands. Birdie did, after all, raise seven sons and all her boys had gone forth and multiplied. Her youngest son had even had seven sons of his own.

And they were a close-knit bunch. Samantha knew from how often family members popped into the shop and from witnessing their easy affection, that Eddie had been much adored. There always seemed to be a son or a daughter-in-law or a grandchild or great-grandchild dropping by. Samantha even recognized a few as she’d waited for them to depart.

She’d already done a quick scan for Nick – the seventh son of the seventh son. Of course he wasn’t among them but she guessed nobody expected him to be. Birdie’s youngest grandchild – the apple of her eye as well as Samantha’s and Birdie’s occasional neighbor – was a pro hockey player in the NHL for the New Brunswick Crabbers. Nick Hawkeye Hawke had not long had knee surgery on his blown ACL which had put a premature end to his season and to the Crabbers making the playoffs.

Not that she followed his career that closely. Nope.

She wasn’t into sport or just generally into watching Mr. I’m-Too-Sexy-For-My-Hockey-Pants do anything. He had plenty of adoring women to keep his ego stroked as was evident in the tabloids and in the comings and goings from his apartment whenever he was back in Tetworth during the off season.

Their relationship consisted of running into each other in the elevator, or foyer, or at their doors – once or twice at the bookshop – during which time they exchanged brief pleasantries and she kept her ridiculous, futile, one-sided crush on him completely to herself.

Did she occasionally succumb to the porn that was #hockeyplayersinsuits on TikTok to catch a glimpse of him? Yes. Because a guy in a suit was her catnip and try as she might she still couldn’t wrap her head around the fact Birdie had a grandson that looked like the hot guy from Friday Night Lights .

Did she watch him get his pretty face and lovely bones ground into the ice on the regular? She did not. It was Birdie that kept her up to date on all things Hawkeye.

The family eventually left en masse and, when the last car had pulled away, Samantha approached Birdie’s final resting place. Burt’s – her beloved husband who had died ten years ago – neatly-kept headstone lay faithfully beside it and a lump rose in Samantha’s throat.

Birdie was finally back with her soulmate.

She took a few steadying breaths, struggling for composure. Would she ever find a true love like Burt and Eddie’s? Tears welled in her eyes and she dashed them away. Ten days ago the only love affair she’d entertained was with Mr. Adams and his company’s very fat books.

What the hell was the matter with her?

Damn it! She shouldn’t have come. She should have known that a regal old cemetery full of love stories in her frame of mind was a dumb idea. But it just didn’t seem right to let Birdie go without a final goodbye. She hadn’t got the chance to say it before the massive heart attack claimed her in her beloved shop and she wanted to pay her respects.

More tears formed in her eyes and she blinked them away, cranky with herself. Birdie wouldn’t have wanted her to cry over her grave. Of that she was certain. But she just couldn’t seem to stem the flow.

What am I going to do without you, Birdie?

Samantha was going to miss their chats and Birdie’s wonderful cackling laughter. The bookshop had been her haven from the pressures of work. She loved her job but it could be super stressful. Who else was she going to vent to about that? And whine to about the removal of the vending machines from every floor to encourage healthier food consumption, thereby denying her of her afternoon sugar fix?

Who else was she going to bitch to about smug, smarmy Ray?

Nick Hawke was late. The flight from Toronto got in behind schedule and he knew there was no point asking the Uber driver to hurry when the wheels had touched down on the tarmac half an hour after the funeral was scheduled to begin.

And besides, Birdie would understand. She’d been the epitome of easy come, easy go.

Absently, he rubbed at his left knee as he exited the Uber. He was two weeks post-surgery and was able to walk without aid or require a brace, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch. He’d take some pain killers when he got to the wake.

Hauling his tatty, faithful rucksack out of the trunk, he propped it against a nearby headstone as the Uber drove away. He could have used any of the dozens of bags he’d been given by sponsors but he remained stubbornly attached to this one. Birdie had given it to him twenty years ago when he’d been first drafted to the San Jose Sharks at the age of eighteen.

It was fitting that he should return home with it at her final send-off.

Nick looked around and saw a woman standing by the only freshly dug grave he could see. Samantha Evans. Given he didn’t spend a lot of time in Tetworth, he’d never had much to do with the woman who lived in the apartment next door but he’d know that curvy silhouette anywhere and the shirred bodice of her plain black dress did nothing to hide it today.

If he couldn’t already tell by the movement of her shoulders that she was crying, her muted sobs blew toward him on the gentle breeze and part of him almost hung back. Maybe she wanted privacy? But her solitude, her wretchedness, compelled him to seek her out. His grandmother had touched many people in different ways and he knew Samantha and Birdie had developed a close friendship.

He approached slowly, not wanting to intrude on her grief but to unite with her in it and maybe give her some comfort. Fishing around in his pocket, he grabbed his handkerchief, the white lace looking delicate in his meat cleaver hands. Gently, he nudged her arm with it as he drew level.

She started at the touch. “Nick?” Gray eyes rimmed with red blinked in obvious surprise. “When did you get in?”

“Thirty minutes ago. My plane was two hours late.”

He offered her the hanky again and she stared at it absently as she took it. “You carry around a white lace hanky?”

“Birdie gave it to me at the first pro match I ever played.” He shrugged. “It’s my lucky charm.” The fact he’d accidentally left it behind for the game where he’d fucked his knee only proved the superstition further.

“Thanks,” she whispered, her voice husky as she dabbed her eyes and blew her nose.

Nick turned his attention to the soil-sprinkled coffin, aware of the brush of their arms as they stood in silent contemplation.

“It’s a shame you missed the funeral,” she said eventually.

It was. He’d have liked to have been here but… “It’s okay,” he assured. “Birdie would understand.”

She didn’t challenge his assertion, she just said, “Yeah.”

Another minute of silent reflection passed before she roused herself. “I’ll go.” She shot him a wan smile. “Give you some alone time with your grandmother.”

Nick nodded. “I’ll see you around. I’m looking after the shop for the next four months till the family make more permanent arrangements.”

She did that blinking thing again as the smile dissolved. “ You’re going to… run the bookshop?”

He laughed – he couldn’t help it. She looked like she’d just stepped in dog poo.

“ You ?” she repeated, like it was the most absurd thing she’d ever heard.

“Yes. Me. It’ll give me something to do in between physio sessions.”

The chances at his age that he’d be fit for the September training camp and the start of the season were minuscule. He’d done his right knee when he’d been twenty-two and that had required an intense six months of recovery. But the fact he was being written off, that his injury was being talked about as career ending had only put a fire in his belly. He may be thirty-eight, but he was still playing excellent hockey and he would decide when to hang up his blades – not anyone else.

She, however, was still staring at him aghast. “What?” he asked.

“What the hell do you know about running a second-hand romance book shop?”

Nick chuckled at her disparaging tone. Like she didn’t believe he was remotely capable of anything other than whacking a puck across the ice. He tsked. “You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, Samantha Evans.”

If glaring was an Olympic sport, she’d have just taken gold. Hell, if she’d been capable of shooting fire from her eyes, he’d be a flaming human torch right now. “Great,” she muttered under her breath. “Just great.”

Then she stomped off, leaving Nick not entirely sure why she was mad at him but pretty sure that he liked it.