Fated Shot

Chapter 1

Jack

It’s been the best summer I can remember since I decided to leave the city for Wyndham—cottage country—just a few hours outside of Toronto. The early mornings are my favorite. The sleepy cottage town is still calm as the sun rises, a stark contrast to the mid-day and evening vibe as boats come alive on the docks and patios fill to the brim with cottagers.

I’ve done a great job of laying low. I pop into town when it’s least busy and stay in my rental the rest of the time. No stress, no people, no worries. It’s been bliss—I’m going to miss it.

My one reprieve from my time alone is my daily coffee shop run to Cordelia’s Corner. A quaint little café nestled in a beautifully preserved stone building, just two and a half miles from my secluded cottage. It usually takes me less than twenty minutes to jog into town, the best way to wake up for the day.

Most mornings, there are very few people who manage to beat me here. The now converted space is large enough to always find an area to settle in, even on the busiest of days, but I prefer my spot. None of the locals already seated pay much attention to me as I open the door.

“Morning, Jack. The usual?” Harold, the owner of Cordelia’s, calls out as soon as the bell above me dings. Despite looking like he’s pushing seventy-five, he has no plans to retire. He’d told me he used to run the place with his wife, but when she passed away a few years ago, he just couldn’t imagine shutting it down .

Most days, we exchange a little small talk, but that’s about the extent of our interaction. He’s a man of very few words, and no one has ever described me as talkative, so it just works. I’m pretty sure he knows exactly who I am, but even if he does, he never lets on.

“Hey, Harold. Yes, please.” Glancing down, I spot lemon shortbread cookies at the front of the display. “Woah, are those new?”

“Just in. Let me know what you think.”

I nod as I pay for my double espresso and cookie. Settling into my favorite two-seater booth in the back, I breathe deeply. The typical comforting smell of ground coffee beans now improved with a slight hint of fresh lemon. A strange combo, but I love it. I can’t help but smile as I bite into the cookie. Damn, that’s good .

The familiar ding of the bell grabs my attention, I quickly shove my cap a bit lower and bow my head. I don’t usually get recognized in Wyndham, one of my favorite things about being here, but I can’t be too careful since my last-minute run to Rev’s to grab firewood a few weeks ago turned into an hour-long autograph signing and photo op. Lifting my head just enough to sneak a glance at the entrance, my heart starts pounding. There she is.

I’ve seen her almost every week when she comes in for a medium vanilla latte, never iced, no matter how warm the morning is. Her blonde hair glows as the sun starts to peek in through the front windows of the café. I must have seen her at least ten times now. Her usual black Nikes hit the hardwood floor as she approaches the counter, slowly zipping up her cropped jacket. It does absolutely nothing to hide her body, by the way. Long, thick legs leading to a dip in her waist and perfect curve of her chest. I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t know how athletic wear can drive me wild, but here we are .

Fuck, this seriously is stalker territory. What the hell is wrong with me? I don’t think she’s ever paid me more than a passing glance. Even so, she’s never truly noticed me. Still, I can’t remember a single time I’ve been more intrigued to get to know someone. I had the occasional hook-up in college, sure, or some fun at a few away games with girls I’d met at the bar on a winning night, but it all felt empty. I knew their names, and they obviously knew mine. We’d toss around a few pleasantries and go our separate ways. Never anything more than a moment of fun, a distraction, and nothing serious. It’s better that way.

Once the thrill of bagging an NHL player is out of their system, my on-ice personality doesn’t really trickle into the real world. I'm a big guy, a natural-born fighter, so you'd think I'm always fired up, ready to throw down with anyone who looks my way. But it couldn’t be further from the truth. I’d rather just keep my head down, go about my daily life, and try not to cause too much commotion. It doesn't take long for people to realize I'm not as exciting as they think. No one seems to keep my attention, and I certainly can’t keep theirs. Well, no one except for her .

As soon as she orders her coffee—with that melodic voice of hers—a smile spreads across my face. My god, I need socialization. I’ve resorted to lurking in corners for just a peek at my blonde-haired beauty. I steal another quick glance in her direction. As she waits for Harold to make her coffee, her body gently sways to whatever music she is listening to in her AirPods. Pulling a black, fluffy thing off her wrist, I watch in awe as she slowly bunches up her hair—curly, no doubt due to the humidity this close to the lake—that cascades over her shoulders. I'm fascinated by everything about her. She manages to gather it all, securing it in a messy bun at the top of her head. A single shorter curl falls to the side of her cheek, perfectly framing her delicate face. Her quiet hums fill the air; it’s like her own little sunny world, and we’re just living in it .

The first time I saw her, I had decided to take a longer detour for my coffee, opting to start with a trail run before descending back into town. My new path had me at Cordelia’s around 7 am, nearly forty-five minutes later than usual. As I walked in, my usual booth caught my eye—only this time, it was already taken. A coffee cup, keys, sunglasses, and a water bottle rested on the table in front of her. Her legs were crisscrossed, and she was leaning forward, her brows furrowed in concentration. With her head propped on her one hand, elbow resting gently on the table, her eyes were laser-focused as she passionately scribbled away in her fabric-covered notebook.

She didn’t look up as the bell went off and never wavered as Harold called out orders for the next thirty minutes. I’ve never seen concentration like that. As I settled into one of the high-top tables, sipping my espresso and watching the sun creep up, a soft ping of a phone notification came from behind me. That’s when I heard what I can only describe as the most heavenly sound I’ve ever experienced. In the back of this quiet café one sleepy morning, this beautiful and focused girl let out a soft and excited chuckle. The sound no doubt took her by surprise. The moment it left her mouth, I gazed over ever so slightly, just in time to catch the pink flush of her cheeks as it spread across her face. She timidly scanned the room, embarrassment showing through. Cautiously, she sunk deeper in her seat as she noticed a few eyes on her. I’ve never met someone trying harder not to be seen.

She quickly gathered her things in one arm and walked over to Harold’s counter. I couldn’t miss the little skip in her step before she leaned over to squeeze him in a hug. A quick, surprised look crossed his face as he briefly savored it, his eyes closing momentarily to breathe in the moment before she released him and ran out the door.

A few more times, she’d pop into the café. Always kindly chatting with Harold but then returning to her own zone, headphones popped back in or staring off in the distance, then jotting down something in that notebook of hers.

She gets noticed most definitely, to my dismay. A few weeks ago, a group of guys were walking by, and I saw the exact moment they spotted her through the front bay window, slapping each other on the chest. One of them motioned toward her, and they all walked in. She was waiting for her order, holding her usual cactus fabric-covered notebook open as her eyes eagerly glided down the page. One of them walked right up to her. She peered up from her open page for just a moment, eyes darting between the guys surrounding her, before carefully closing it and clutching it across her chest. An air of discomfort floated over her as she looked down toward the floor.

Just as Harold called out her order, relief washed over her, posture relaxing as she tucked her notebook under her arm and reached for the cup. Turning back to the guy, she offered nothing more than a polite wave before bolting out the door, leaving him dumbfounded while his friends doubled over, laughing behind him. I smirked into my cup, taking a deliberate sip to mask it. That’s my girl.

I knew I wanted to get to know her; I just had to work up the courage to offer more than an awkward smile if she glanced in my direction. My fascination has only grown, and in true Jack fashion, I have one more week in Wyndham to actually do something about this.

“Here you are, young lady, your vanilla latte,” Harold calls as he hands over her cup. My eyes dart over, briefly scanning the name scribbled across the side.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. After weeks of wondering who she could be and unraveling more about my mystery girl, we finally have a name.

Mia .