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I’m not married to Holt. At least, not yet. But I feel like I’ve already gained myself a brother in his.

“Do you happen to have any more peanut butter cups?”

Tate swings green eyes my way. “For you, always.”

“You’re already the best brother a girl could ask for!”

19

MARRY THIS BOY

OCTOBER 2007 – 16 YEARS OLD

Blades cut into ice, shaving a spray of cold white dust as Holt stops sharply to steal the puck and then he’s off again. The way the man moves over ice is astonishing. He’s so fast, moving so fluidly. And he looks so big.

Holt’s not a small guy to begin with. Since I’ve known him, he’s grown inches. Elise has moaned and groaned to Mom about the rate of needing to buy Holt pants, because in the last year alone, he’s grown at least three, maybe four inches. He can’t possibly grow any more. At six feet two inches, he’s already a behemoth. Put skates on him and he feels like a monster.

The slap of the stick connecting with the puck is always a little jarring to me, even though I’ve seen it a million times. Excitement quickens sharply in my chest as it flies past the goalie and into the net. The crowd roars.

Andy lifts her horn and blows. I ring the crap out of my cowbell.

Holt’s head swings our way, and he smiles behind his helmet, lifting the stick he holds with his gloved hand in celebration of his goal.

“They look so freaking good out there.” Andy lifts her horn to blow once more before the cheering crowd dies down.

The buzzer sounds and the team rotates, taking Holt and Micha off the ice. Andy takes the quick break to twist toward me. She leans in and whispers, “You know how you were sick last weekend?”

“Ugh.” I groan. “That flu was brutal.”

“Not gonna lie, that flu is the best thing to happen to me all year.” She laughs when my brows climb high.

“Uh, what now?”

“We were supposed to go to the movies, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, you got sick, so Holt didn’t come either. It was just me and Micha and—” She does a giddy shimmy in her seat. “He held my hand! And he asked me out!”

“Wait.” I hold up my hands. “You and Micha are dating now?”

“Yes!” Andy screeches, totally unlike her normally ultra cool self.

I throw my arms around her as the buzzer sounds and our men are back on the ice.

The Pizzeria in town is bursting with after-game energy. Of course, the Rubbles won, and the entire town is celebrating. Every booth is packed, every table full in the authentic Italian pizza shop. There’s even a gigantic stone pizza oven, and the entire ambiance is all rough stone and exposed wood. I love this place. It’s definitely second to Cherry’s.

Shrugging from my jacket, Holt pulls me closer into his side before throwing his arm around my shoulders. Pride bubbles inside me, because I’m the girl on his arm. The one he chooses for himself.

I’m so in love. Since he came back from Nashville, our relationship has been stronger than ever, even though Holt spends even more time on the ice, practicing. I don’t mind, though. Not really. I work most weeknights at Dad’s shop, anyway. It’s easy enough to study while I’m on shift, so it works. Besides, we’re going to need the money.

Knowing that I have a nice little cushion saved for when we move to the island together has kept me from buying a car. Holt drives me most places I want to go, but even still, when he doesn’t, it’s easy enough to walk the small town of Rubble Ridge. I did get my license, though. So, I’m not completely hopeless.

Mom says I’m frugal. Dad says that’s smart.

Holt drops his mouth to my ear. “What do you want?”

I peer down at the menu, nibbling my lip as I do. “Want to split a pizza?”