Kiss and Don’t Tell
: Chapter 12

Note to self—when traveling around with a professional hockey player, he’s not only swarmed by adoring fans, but he also gets the best seats at the restaurant.

Because . . . oh my God.

We’re seated on the second floor of the brewery, on the deck with the perfect view of Cascade Mountain. There’s a light breeze to distract from the heat of the sun, and even though we’re outside, we’re tucked under a large umbrella, which provides enough shade for the both of us.

Since I’ve never been here before, Pacey ordered us a flight of cider to split and some shareable entrees, one of them being tacos, which I can’t wait to get my hands on.

“Did you know tacos are my favorite food?” I ask him as I set my napkin on my lap. Food hasn’t been delivered yet, but I’m prepared for when it is.

“Now I do. Any kind of taco?”

“Yup. I’m not picky. I’ll take a taco any way I can get it. There’s a food truck in Seattle that specializes in tacos. Every week, they come out with a new taco of the week. I follow them on Instagram because every Sunday they announce the new addition. And then Max, Katherine, and I all grab the taco of the week and measure it up to the others they’ve had. It’s a Thursday tradition.” I lean forward and say, “The main reason why this girl has thighs—tacos.”

“Curves are hot,” he says.

Does that mean he thinks my curves are hot? From the longing in his eyes, I’m going to guess that maybe he does. And that makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

The waitress brings our flight and sets it between us, along with a menu of each of the ciders we got so we know exactly what we’ll be tasting.

“This is so cool,” I say. “I’ve never had a flight of cider before. You always see beer flights, and although great for the beer lovers, what about the people who love cider?”

“You have a valid point.”

“I usually do.” I grin and then pick up the original, unflavored cider to try first.

“I’m sensing a theme here,” he says as he picks up the blueberry lavender. We already established we were okay with sharing glasses, something that made me smile inside. It shows how comfortable he is with me already.

“What theme?” I ask while taking a sip. “Ooh, that’s crisp. Really good.”

“You like to try the original of things rather than skip to a fancy flavor.”

“You have to have a good baseline first, and then you jump from there. Just makes sense.”

“Well, any cider you like, we can get cans to-go to take up to the cabin. I know Posey is going to want some, as well.”

“Maybe I’ll get you some cider for your trouble.” I need to get him something. I’m pleased with the little gifts I got the boys, but Pacey, he needs something special.

He sets the blueberry cider down and looks me directly in the eyes. “This is no trouble, so stop acting like you’re a burden. I enjoy your company. I want to be around you, Winnie.”

Can’t hear that enough, especially from someone as enchanting as Pacey Lawes.

The corner of my lips tilt as I set down my cider. “I enjoy your company, too, Pacey.” Then I lean back in my chair and say, “I honestly don’t know how this all happened.”

“What?” he asks.

“This.” I wave my hand between us and then around in the air. “I was expecting to replace some cheap hotel to stay in, venture out a bit, maybe get lost in the mountains for a hot afternoon. But here I am, not alone, but rather, with wonderful company while I try to embark on this new chapter of my life.”

“And what exactly is that new chapter?” he asks. “We touched upon something at the souvenir shop but I wasn’t able to ask any questions. I feel as though I didn’t handle it well, and I’m feeling pretty guilty over it. You opened up and you were shoved to the side for some fans.”

“Oh my gosh, Pacey, no need to feel guilty. I felt as though there wasn’t much to talk about.”

“Yes, there is. Your mom passed away. That’s life-changing, especially for your age. You lost her and the family business. You put your life on hold. Were you her caregiver, too?”

I nod, thinking back to those dreary days, her last breaths. “Yeah. Toward the end, I was there with her every second of the day, holding her hand, making sure she knew she wasn’t alone.” I feel my smile become watery. “A part of me thinks she was the one who made me take the wrong turn, that led to me ending up at the cabin. Like she’s had a hand in this weird coincidence.” My eyes meet his. “She’d think this is so funny, me lodging with five hunky hockey players. She was always a sucker for a romance. This would’ve been right up her alley.”

“What was she like?” he asks.

Wistfully, I sigh. “She was loving. Adventurous. A storyteller. She loved with her entire heart and always made you feel as though you were more than the person you thought you were. She could identify attributes about a person that they never saw as positives and twist them so they’d appreciate those attributes. Kind of like you.”

I tilt my head.

“I complain about my thighs, you say they’re sexy. I put myself down in the gym, you lift me up. She was the same way.”

“I guess that puts me in good company, then.”

“Very good company.” Mom would’ve adored Pacey. She was so kind and thoughtful, and I think she’d see those traits in this endearing man before me. How on earth did you make this happen, Mom?

I lift up the blueberry lavender cider, sniff it, and then take a sip. Oh my God. My eyes widen and I bring the glass to my chest, claiming it. “This one is mine.”

“Have all you want,” he says, leaning back in his chair, humor written all over his face. He’s a very easygoing man. He doesn’t act as if much bothers him. He seems like someone who loves life and goes with the flow.

“Is this your favorite? Is this why you tried it first?”

“It is,” he answers. “It’s subtle but also packs a punch. Kind of like you.”

“You think I’m subtle?”

He picks up the Pina Colada flavor and says, “Yes. You’re polite, kind, don’t want to step on toes, but when you feel comfortable with someone, boy, do you pack a punch. You can easily knock a guy off his feet.”

I don’t know what to do when he says things like that other than blush. My initial reaction is to tell him he’s wrong, that I really don’t knock a guy off his feet, just ask my ex. But I know he’d get angry if I put myself down . . . again—something I’m only just noticing I do quite often because Pacey has pointed it out. The last few years haven’t given me time for much self-reflection, but I can see now that Josh had never been one to validate me. Which makes me wonder how I stayed with him as long as I did.

The man you love should always be your champion, Win. Always encouraging. Never settle for less.

And yet, for so many years, it seems as though I did settle. But I refuse to focus on that now, because I’m enjoying this far too much. The sun is warming my skin, and Pacey is warming my heart.

Joking around, I ask, “Are you saying I’ve knocked you off your feet, Pacey?”

He smooths his hand over his jaw as he studies me. “Yeah, you have.”

The feeling is completely mutual.

“ARE you going to have that last taco?” I ask, showing no shame.

“I’ll let you have the last taco if you let me have the last potato skin.”

“Ooh, you know how much I enjoyed the crispy cheese on those, but tacos are the first love of my life. Deal.”

We pick up the last shareables and both take a bite at the same time. It’s cute how effortless this entire meal has been. Conversation has flowed easily, we’ve shared like civil adults, despite me wanting to swat his hand away when he reached for the tacos, and I’ve had a really good time. I think it’s safe to say I like Pacey.

I like him a lot.

Probably more than I should, given the circumstances, but God, what’s not to like? Yes, he makes my inner girl want to scream with how hot he is, but beyond the surface-level stuff and all those rippling muscles in his forearms, there’s a man who’s thoughtful, sweet, funny, and protective. He’s a gentleman, a helper, and someone I could easily imagine relying on.

And I shouldn’t rely on him, because who knows how long I’ll be here? I already feel as if I’m overstaying my welcome, and at some point, I have to face reality and make it back to Seattle. I can’t forget about Minnie, either. Once she’s pulled from the bowels of the forest, she’ll no longer be able to provide me with an excuse to stay at the cabin, and I’ll no longer be dependent on the guys. That ought to make me happy, but I’ve enjoyed these stolen moments with Pacey.

Pacey picks up the water he’s been drinking and takes a sip. He hasn’t had much to drink at all, just sips here and there, allowing me to take down most of the flight. And yes, I’m feeling quite fine, hence slamming down this taco right now.

“So, you told me about your mom and how you’ve put school on hold, but you haven’t told me why you’re here exactly.”

“That’s a fun story,” I say just as the waitress brings us the check. I reach for it but Pacey nearly snarls at me as he swipes it out from under my hand. Got it, he’s paying. Doesn’t seem there’s any point to me putting up a fight; I know I’m not going to win.

He slips some cash into the billfold and sets it on the end of the table.

“Are you willing to share that story?” he asks.

I wipe my face with my napkin and nod. “I’m still confused by it all. My mom was actually born here, in Banff.”

“Really?” he asks, surprised.

“Yeah, and then she was raised in Calgary. On a trip to the Pacific Northwest with her brother, she met my dad. Took them about five days to fall in love. It was quick.” I lean my chin on my hand and recall how she spoke about my father. “She loved him so much. They were infatuated with each other. They were married within a month. My mom’s family wasn’t happy, because she left Canada and started a life with my dad in Seattle. They started the bookstore and lived a quiet little life, just the two of them. Neither of their families were pleased with how fast things moved. They always thought it was a mistake to get married that fast. But my parents both said, if you know, you know. At least, that’s what Mom told me. I never really knew Dad. I have very few memories of him.”

“Love moves quick. It should never have a timeline placed on it,” Pacey says, making my romantic heart beat faster. I couldn’t agree more with that statement. “What happened to your dad?” he asks.

“After 9/11, Dad wanted to serve our country, but unfortunately he lost his life to a roadside bombing during his first deployment. I think a piece of Mom died with him. She never dated again, didn’t even consider the idea of it. Instead, she invested all her time in me. Things were strained with her family, so it was just us. It’s why when she was diagnosed with the tumor, I was by her side every step of the way. She’d dedicated her time to me, so I thought it was the least I could do for her, despite having to put my life on hold.” There was never any other option. Looking back on those two years, it was the exhausting, silent grief that consumed me mostly. The hardest years of my life. Thank God I had Katherine and Max.

Pacey runs his tongue over his teeth and looks away. Quietly, he says, “You’re something else, Winnie. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before. I’m not sure I know a lot of people who would put their life on hold to be a caregiver.”

“There was no question. I wanted to be there for her.”

He slowly nods and then stands from his chair. “Let’s get out of here.”

I stand from my chair as well and reach for my bags but he takes them from me.

Then he asks, “Can I hold your hand?”

Be still my heart.

He wants to hold my hand, not just to guide me somewhere, but actually hold my hand. What on earth is this reality?

And as if he even needs to ask.

“I would like that,” I answer.

He gives me a sincere smile as he takes my hand in his. Together, we walk out of the restaurant and toward the parking lot where we left his car. As we fall in step together, I can’t help but notice how perfect my hand feels in his, how perfect this moment feels.

“Okay, so you told me about your parents, but not why you’re here.”

I snuggle in closer to him and say, “A few months before Mom died, we were talking about her childhood, and she told me some stories about her brother. Apparently, they used to share this trophy growing up that they won in a bowling league. One day, he just decided he was done sharing it and he was going to keep it, even though she was the one with the game-winning bowl. When she asked for her turn with it, he told her it was his, and he was going to keep it forever. Childish, if you ask me. After she was . . . gone, I was going through her things and found a box with his name on it. I opened it and found a bunch of notes and random things in it, pictures of them, ticket stubs—you know, random crap. One of the pictures was of them with the trophy. It was one of those old-fashioned things. An actual cup, not like a guy bowling or anything like that.”

“I know exactly what you’re talking about,” Pacey says, humor in his voice.

“My mom was a lot like me, never really excelled at anything. And I’m not saying that to look for a compliment. Just average Janes, and that’s totally okay, because as my mom always said, our talents may be average, but our personalities are extraordinary.”

“I can very much agree with that statement. You are quite extraordinary, Winnie.”

I squeeze his hand and lean my head briefly against his shoulder in gratitude. “Anyway, this trophy meant the world to her because it was the one thing that proved she’d won something. Uncle RJ was always good at everything when it came to sports, so it shouldn’t have mattered to him. But because it mattered to my mom, he was clearly a dick about it.”

“Typical sibling animosity. My sister and I had a lot of animosity toward each other growing up, always vying for our parents’ attention. Bickering. We’re close now, though.”

“Precisely. Anyway, after Mom passed, Uncle RJ sent me a letter with his condolences. It was weird, because I never spoke to him, but I accepted his condolences and sent him a thank-you note in return. Then he sent me an update on his life . . . not sure why? Maybe he felt the need to be connected. Who knows? But . . . he sent a newspaper clipping of his engagement announcement, a picture of him and his fiancée.”

“Okay,” Pacey says, sounding skeptical.

“And do you know what I saw?”

“What?”

“That trophy. Right there, in his living room, on the mantle, plain as day. He still has it.”

“Seriously?” Pacey laughs.

“Yup, and after I saw that, I thought I had no other choice than to pack up, head to Banff . . . and steal it.”

Pacey pauses his wide stride on the sidewalk and turns toward me, humor written all over his face. “Wait, you drove over eleven hours, to a foreign country—”

“It’s Canada.”

“Doesn’t matter, you drove to a foreign country—to steal a trophy from your estranged uncle?”

“Yup.” I smile widely. “My mom deserves that trophy. It’s hers. And I’m going to get it for her.”

“Wow,” Pacey says and then chuckles. “That . . . Jesus, that makes me like you so much fucking more.”

“My crazy makes you like me more?”

“Yeah, in fact it does.”

I laugh and add, “For a brief moment, when Katherine was telling me all the things that could happen to a single girl on a trip by herself, I debated coming, but I just felt as though I couldn’t move forward with saying goodbye to my mom without giving her the justice she deserves, you know?”

He nods. “Yeah, I would probably feel the same way.” He squeezes my hand. “You’re a good person, Winnie.”

“Even if it means bamboozling my uncle?”

“Yeah, because you know it would mean something to your mom.”

“It would. Thank you for the validation,” I say as we get to his car.

He opens the door for me and helps me in, but he doesn’t shut the door. Instead, he lifts my chin and looks me in the eyes. “Thanks for sharing that with me.”

“It was easy to share with you, Pacey.”

His eyes fall to my lips, and my breath catches in my chest as I wait with anticipation for him to lean in and claim my lips like I wish he would.

His tongue swipes his bottom lip and I mirror the action. He leans in and I still my breath, waiting.

I want him to kiss me. I want to see if this electricity bouncing between us is real. I want to see if he’d claim me like I think he would with those powerfully strong hands.

My heart beats in my throat, anticipation rolling through my stomach.

Just a little farther, just close that space . . . that’s all it would take.

I mentally urge myself to reach out for him, to make the move he seems hesitant about, but before I can, he pulls back and closes the door. Disappointment washes over me, but then again, if Pacey were to kiss me, I doubt it would be in a parking lot. Would he pick somewhere else to make it more of a memorable moment? Something special? Is that what I want after so many years without romance in my life?

Something special.

He places our bags in the frunk—front trunk—and then settles into the driver’s seat. He punches in his code and then pulls forward through the parking spot in front of us while placing his hand on my thigh.

A thrilling chill races up my leg and settles in the pit of my stomach as I glance down at his hand resting on my leg. It might not be a kiss, but I’ll take it. Josh never did anything like this, not even when we were younger. He’d hold my hand in the car, but possessively hold me like this? Not so much.

This is why I feel so much around Pacey. It’s the little things. Him listening. Him teasing. Him choosing the exact right moment to show his claim. Surprisingly, and I don’t know whether it’s just the passage of time, but he makes me feel more alive than Josh ever did. Pacey thrills me, and that scares me, because what’s going to happen when I leave? Will he want to see me again? Will he want to exchange phone numbers? Or will he just want to go our separate ways?

“So, when are you going to go see your uncle?”

“I need to get my car towed out of the ditch first. Once that happens, I’ll figure out my plan of attack.”

His brow creases. “Can you do me a favor?”

“You’ve done so much for me. Of course I would do you a favor.”

“Good.” He shifts in his seat but keeps his hand on my thigh. “Can you take out your phone and send a text?”

“Uh . . . okay,” I say, confused. I retrieve my phone from my purse and open a new text message. “Who am I sending this to?” He rattles off a phone number and I type it in. “Now what?”

“Type ‘hello’ and send it.”

Unsure where he’s going with this, I do as I’m told. Almost instantly, his phone lights up on the center console, where it’s charging.

“Did you just give me your phone number?” I ask like a giddy girl.

“I did. Now if you try to ditch me, I at least have a way to stalk you.”

“Ditch you, like . . . at the gondola?” I ask with a laugh.

But he doesn’t laugh. Instead, he grows more serious. “No, when your car is free. I don’t trust that you won’t just take off. Hell, I don’t even know your last name. I feel as though you’re blowing in the wind, ready to be freed, and I have no way of catching you when you’re released.”

“I would never leave without saying bye. Never, Pacey.”

“Good.” He squeezes my thigh and then rubs my skin with his thumb. “Now save me as a contact.”

“Okay. Should I save you as Pacey Lawes, or something like”—my cheeks burn up—“Hot Ass?”

His brows skyrocket to his hairline and his lips turn up. “Hot Ass, for sure.” I chuckle and then he asks, “Should I save you as Sexy Thighs, you know, since I still don’t know your last name?”

“It’s Berlin. Winnie Berlin.”

He nods. “Think I’m still going to save you as Sexy Thighs.”

“I would hope so.”