One Pucking Destiny (Crane Hockey #4)

Chapter 8

CHAPTER

EIGHT

BASH

T he white powder sprinkles onto the countertop, mimicking a winter wonderland, unlike the dreary gray landscape outside. Looking beyond the counter of cookie dough and flour to the grand Christmas tree makes it feel very festive. As long as I avoid looking at the nonstop rain outside the window, it feels like winter—as it should during the holidays.

“Not too much flour, or the cookies will be too dense,” my grandmother warns.

Originally from Mississippi, our grandmother Billie Rose, whom we affectionately call G-ma, is the best cook there is. She’s an especially talented baker and has taught me everything I know. She credits her Southern roots and the women in her family that came before her with her skills. We often kid that the cooking gene skipped my mother and my sister. Luckily, it didn’t pass by me. I love knowing my way around the kitchen. There’s a satisfaction that comes with preparing food that makes others happy.

“I know, G-ma.” I give her a smile. She’s said the same thing to me every time we’ve made sugar cookies over the past twenty-four years.

She tightens the straps of her apron and nods. “You know I just have to make sure.”

Hattie sits on a stool on the other side of the counter, reading a gossip magazine. Grandma is the only person I know who has subscriptions to a dozen or more magazines. “Ben and Jen are getting divorced again.” She shakes her head.

“He should’ve stayed with the other Jen. She’s a gem of a person.” Grandma sighs.

“How do you know?” I chuckle.

Grandma narrows her gaze, eyeing me with an indignant stare. “I watch her cooking videos with her mother. She’s very sweet to her mom.”

“What videos?” I ask.

Hattie answers. “Instagram reels. I set up an account for G-ma last time I was here. Now she’s obsessed with reels.”

“I am not obsessed,” Grandma scoffs. “I only watch a few short videos a day. ”

“A few hundred.” Hattie giggles.

“Pfft.” Grandma waves her hand. “You two. Mind the flour, Sebastian,” Grandma warns yet again as I start to roll out the dough.

“You know he’s known for his baking skills, G-ma. In fact, the whole team calls him Cookie and begs him to bring in cookies every week,” Hattie states.

“Is that so?” Grandma eyes me with pride.

“Yep.” I nod. “I won a contest with your mini-chip chocolate chip cookie recipe last January.”

“Really? What did you win?” Grandma’s voice raises an octave in wonder.

“Bragging rights,” I say.

“Ah, well. I guess that’s better than nothing.” She collects the measuring utensils from the counter and loads them into the dishwasher.

I grab the pine-tree cookie cutter and push it into the dough. Hattie sneaks a piece of the dough and plops it in her mouth. I glare at her in mock annoyance.

She giggles. “You know the dough is the best part.”

“What other shapes should we do?” I ask my sister.

Hattie sets the magazine down and riffles through the bin of cookie cutters, pulling out her favorite holiday-themed shapes.

My sister and I have spent the weekend before Christmas with our grandmother since we were infants. It started with my parents needing uninterrupted time to shop for our gifts. My grandma offered to take us, and it turned into a cherished yearly tradition. We spend the weekend baking, playing Yahtzee, and watching all the old black-and-white Claymation Christmas films. Every year, it’s the same, and every year, it’s amazing. It doesn’t matter that Hattie and I are twenty-four years old. Time with our grandma is always magical.

We’ve had to get creative the past couple of years with the NHL schedule, as the Cranes have had games on the Saturday before the holiday. This year, we’re spending our “weekend” during the week to avoid my game. Admittedly, making the hour drive to practice every morning changes the feeling a bit, but we do the best with the time we have.

“G-ma, I need to think of a cookie to bake this year during bye week. We’re making the cookie competition a yearly thing.” I set the cut-out shapes onto a parchment-lined cookie sheet.

My grandmother nods, pulls her recipe box from the cupboard, and flips through the handwritten notecards. “I have just the recipe. I accidentally bought some mint chips the other day and played around with a recipe, creating the best chocolate cookies. It’s basically the same as my chocolate chip recipe, but I replace half of the flour with cocoa powder and add the normal chocolate chips and mint chips. I’m telling you. Delicious. But you have to use quality cocoa powder to get the perfect texture. These cookies come out chewy, chocolatey, and very delicious. We’ll make them next!”

“Fine, but we still have to play Yahtzee and watch It’s a Wonderful Life ,” Hattie says. “We can’t run out of time this year.”

“We won’t,” I state.

“We did last year,” she reminds me. “I swear, the baking portion of the weekend gets longer and longer every year, and the rest gets cut short.”

Grandma nudges my side and grins. “It is the best part.”

“For you two.” Hattie pins us with a stare.

“Don’t even pretend you don’t love all the eating.” Cookies are in the oven, so I set a timer.

She plops another piece of the dough in her mouth. “Yes, I like partaking in all the goodness while we play the games and watch the movies.”

“Well, that goodness takes time to prepare, love,” Grandma says. “Come join us. Give baking another go?”

Hattie scrunches up her face. “I think I’ll pass. It’s just not my thing.”

Her words make me smile. She’s been adamant from a very young age that the kitchen is not where she wants to be. She often teases that her goal in life is to find a husband who will do all the cooking and meal cleanup.

“Though, I am excited to try this new chocolate mint cookie you’re talking about,” she says.

“Yeah, you’ll have to tell me if it’s good enough for the bye week competition.”

Grandma huffs beside me. “Oh, it will be good enough.”

I grin and return my attention to Hattie. “Speaking of…did you figure out if you can come this year?”

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I really can’t.”

“Is this just because it’s in Texas? Are you still mad your Fiji suggestion didn’t win?”

It’s no secret that Texas wasn’t the ideal location for anyone. Nothing against the place but we’ve become accustomed to traveling to these exotic locations. However, seeing that Beckett is the one who started and planned these bye week getaways, he gets the ultimate say. This year, he opted to plan a more family-friendly getaway since his wife will be pregnant. He swears the estate is impressive—lots of rooms, pools, a hot tub, and cool hangout areas. It’s not Fiji, but we’ll have a great time. We always do.

“No, it’s not that. I’m just busy with school and stuff. I can’t afford to take off any time. I mean, I really should start getting serious about graduating, you know? I’m a twenty-four-year-old junior.” She laughs .

“So you're sticking with education?” I ask.

“Yeah, I think so,” she replies.

“Good. You’ll be a great teacher,” Grandma says to Hattie before addressing me. “Now this Texas thing is that party week where all you hockey folks go to drink and get girlfriends?”

“G-ma!” I huff out a laugh. My grandma calling random hookups girlfriends is extremely adorable and slightly awkward.

She tsks. “I see this stuff all the time on videos. Your generation has zero filter. It’s like no information is private anymore.”

“What videos?” I ask.

“The reels!” Hattie chimes in.

I shake my head. “Maybe you should spend less time on those videos.” I wrap my arm around my grandma’s shoulders in a side hug. “And to answer your question, no. I’m not looking for a girlfriend, just a week to hang out with the guys… and apparently, all their families.” This bye week is different already.

“He’s in mourning,” Hattie blurts out.

“What? I am not.”

“Mourning?” Grandma questions. “Over who?”

Hattie leans across the counter, and her face lights up the way it always does when she has some good tea to spill. “He had a girlfriend . Briefly. Now he can’t find her and is depressed over it. ”

“I am not depressed,” I chide.

Grandma raises a brow. “You don’t know how to get ahold of an ex-girlfriend?”

Refusing to make eye contact with my grandma, I return my attention to the ball of cookie dough that needs to be rolled out. “She wasn’t my girlfriend for that long,” I say under my breath.

“He can’t find her. He’s looked everywhere.” Hattie, the world-renowned gossip, exchanges looks with our grandma.

“You can’t call or write or stop by?” Grandma questions.

I don’t have to respond because my twin does it for me. “Nope.” She supplies an exaggerated “p” sound at the end of the word, causing me to roll my eyes. “He never got any of her information. Just a first name, if she even gave him her real one.”

“You don’t know if your girlfriend gave you her real name?” Grandma’s brows furrow in concern. “Sebastian, honey. I don’t know what kind of girls you’re dating but you deserve someone who will give you her real name, a phone number, and an address.” I can almost see the wheels in Grandma’s head turning. She pauses. “Oh.”

Powering through this conversation, I continue, “It’s fine. I’m not in mourning nor am I looking to find a girlfriend. I’m going to Texas to relax and spend time with my friends. Oh, Twin”—my voice raises an octave—“how’s Anthony?”

Hattie shoots me a glare.

“Anthony?” Grandma questions. “I thought that ended a while back.”

“It’s actually a fun story,” I tease.

“I will kill you,” Hattie warns under her breath.

Typical Hattie. She can dish it, but she can’t take it.

“Never mind. I was thinking about someone else. Anyway, G-ma… tell me again about that new recipe of yours.”

Grandma loves nothing more than chatting about cooking. One question and she’s off and running with all the intricacies of her new cookie recipe. Hattie presses her lips in a line, suppressing a grin.

“You’re lucky,” I mouth to her.

Did she deserve to have her dirty laundry spilled in front of our grandma? Yes. Luckily, she has an awesome brother who isn’t into petty revenge.

Was she wrong about me still wallowing over my time with and inability to find Ariana? No. I wouldn’t say I’m in mourning, but it is true that not a single woman has remotely interested me since my night with Ari.

It’s actually a problem.

One I hope resolves itself soon.