Page 52 of One Night with Number Nineteen

“And Ollie does too,” Kailey murmurs, Sophie strapped to her chest, and I blink, realize that my son has followed them.

Nate scowls, opens his mouth, and Josie winces and moves toward them, as though she’s going to intervene.

I take a step, following her lead.

Then freeze when Alex says something and Nate’s face changes.

He crouches down, mouth moving, and I’m too far away to hear what he says.

But Ollie does and he reacts with the big heart he has—throwing his arms around Nate and hugging him tight.

Nate goes utterly still.

Then I watch the wave of emotion come over him, and he hugs Ollie back, his eyes closing for a long moment.

Faye takes my hand, and I know I’m not the only one who’s holding back tears.

Nate’s eyes fly open and he releases Ollie in a rush, turning away and moving to the far side of the box, ignoring everyone as he stares out at the ice.

But I don’t miss that he surreptitiously wipes his eyes.

Josie stands by herself for a moment then visibly pulls it together as we move toward her. Luna makes the introductions and then we’re all doing the small talk thing—discussing traffic and the get-together Luna’s hosting that Josie and Vi and a couple of the Hawks players are going to be attending too.

“Where is Vi, anyway?” Luna asks.

“Meeting a new client,” Josie says.

Luna lights up. “Details. Immediately.”

Josie shakes her head. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Confidentiality. Smanch-ientiality. Details, please!”

Luckily, Josie’s saved by the lights going down and the team’s song blaring through the speakers.

Matchmaking falls to the wayside.

Because the Grizzlies pour out onto the ice and the crowd erupts with cheers, Ollie’s voice erupting alongside them.

And though I don’t cheer out loud, my pulse is speeding through my veins as my eyes immediately find number nineteen on the rink.

He should be one of many, blending in with the other dudes in helmets and matching jerseys and skates.

But my mind—and my body—immediately knows him.

He moves with a fluid athleticism I know I’ll never possess.

And I remember how that athleticism can demonstrate itself in other places.

Other horizontal places. And vertical. And⁠—

“Go, Grizzlies!” Ollie shouts and I table the dirty thoughts, though I do it pressing my thighs together, instinctually seeking to soothe the ache there. “Go, Saw-yur!”

There’s no way he could possibly hear Ollie all the way up here, especially over the cheers of the crowd.

But his gaze comes to the box anyway.

Like he was looking for us.