“As soon as all this blows over, I promise I’ll visit as soon as I can,” I force a laugh, nothing about what Leah was doing was funny, but Mom didn’t need to get involved with it. She also didn’t need to know that slipping away from hockey practice was going to quickly become impossible.
    “I told you that I never liked that girl,” she comments like she just read my mind.
    “You’re the one who taught me to give everyone a chance…” my voice trails off as a light chime of bells from the next storefront mingle with an unfortunately familiar laughter…Leah was here?
    No. Absolutely not. I don’t know what she’s got against me, but whatever it is she wants is not going to be happening today. I slip in the door I had just seen shut, pressing myself against it and glue my eyes to the floor. I know it’s childish, but usually avoiding eye contact was enough to discourage most people.
    “Ryke?” Mom’s voice is tight, “What is it?”
    “I could have sworn that I just heard Leah…” I shake my head and let myself take a few steps away from the door.
    “That would be my fault,” my shoulders sag, “You hadn’t said anything about the breakup so when she asked where you were…”
    “You told her,” I sigh, finally glancing around the…book store? “It’s fine Mom,” my eyes land on a girl…no a woman in a bright red sweater behind the counter reading a book with a hockey player on its cover and can’t help but laugh…of all the books in this store she could be reading it’s a hockey one.
    “What’s so funny?”
    “I gotta go…love you Mom.”
    “Love you more, Ryke.”
    Moments before tucking the phone into my back pocket, I feel a buzz and grudgingly check the incoming message. A text.
    AGENT.
    “Andersson, change of plans. The Voyageur's management wants this taken care of before the rest of the team arrives. Call me when you get a moment to discuss our options.”
    Ignoring that less-than-delightful update, I take a few steps toward the counter when her eyes finally leave the pages of her book to look my way, just for them to drift back to the book before she bolts upright.
    “Hi, um,” she slams the book shut, attempting to hide it under the sleeves of her sweater, “Sorry, um, sorry.” She shakes her head, “Welcome to Happily Ever After Books.” She swallows, looking around the empty building, “I’m sorry, but the shop is closed still,” she points to the hours I hadn’t seen posed on the door when I ducked in.
    “Do you think you could make an exception?” I lean on the other side of the counter from her, smiling at her adorably flustered state.
    “Well,” she checks the time on her phone, “I guess…but just this once…what can I help you find?”
    “Excuse me?” She makes her way around the counter, and leans against the front of it, just inches away from me.
    “This is a bookshop and you’re here before opening.” She looks unphased. Like this isn’t terribly unusual for her. “Typically that would imply that whatever book you want is either fresh on the market or you’ve stumbled on a nasty cliffhanger. So, which is it?”
    My lips twitch as I hold back a laugh – she doesn’t know who I am – letting my head hang down so she can’t see my amusement quite so clearly I take advantage of the rare chance at a normal conversation. “None of the above I’m afraid. Your shop just happened to be the closest when I spotted my ex.”
    Giggling, she nods. “Well, don’t I look foolish? Assuming you were here for a book when you just wanted a hiding spot.”
    “I mean,” I reach behind her, letting my hand cover the book she had abandoned and drag it towards us as she turns nearly the same color as her sweater, “This one looks pretty interesting…mind telling me about it?”
    “Oh…” her good-natured giggles turn anxious, “Well, you see, I just started it, and honestly, sports isn’t exactly my genre of choice, but with the new hockey team and all that my friend said I should at least read one of these, but I just can’t seem to get into it.”
    “But it's hockey? How could you not be into it?”
    “Can I let you in on a little secret?” her gaze sweeps from me to the bank of windows and back.
    “Of course. If you can’t talk to strangers in a bookshop, who can you trust?”
    She giggles again, “My bookshop,” she corrects and I repeat myself.
    “Strangers in your bookshop…now the secret?”
    “I don’t actually like hockey.”
    This time I’m the one to laugh, happy to know that at least with this mystery woman any dislike of my sport isn’t personal…unlike with Leah. She’s really telling the news outlets that I made her hate hockey. How could one player turn you against the greatest game ever played?
    “But hockey book?” I hold up the orange cover, and let myself read the back of it… “Hockey romance book?”
    She blushes again, reaching for the book that on instinct I hold over my head, far out of her reach but she starts tugging on my hoodie and jumping for it anyway, “This is a romance bookshop…”
    “I see,” I smirk, almost ready to give her the book back when I spot a head of caramel hair in the window and I dash behind the counter, ducking out of her line of sight.
    “Sir, that’s for staff only,” the owner sounds like she’s trying to be serious as she follows me, but can’t manage it as I grab her wrist, pulling her down to the floor next to me.
    “That’s my ex,” I hiss, and she nods and I struggle to ignore how her body is practically pressed against mine in the narrow space.
    “But she’s been in the area for days,” The owner’s icy blue eyes lock onto mine and my words tangle in my throat.
    Coughing, I look away. “You’ve seen her before?”
    “And talked to her, she asked a few days ago if I had seen any of the hockey players yet because one of them was coming early – I can’t remember who even though she gave a name – but was rather disappointed to learn I don’t follow hockey.”
    “Thank you,” I pull her into a hug, “Thank you so much.”
    “That,” she carefully unwinds my arms, “Is rather unnecessary. She was just excited about the new team. The whole city is,” her voice is strangely icy at the mention of the new team…I thought she didn’t care for hockey though?
    “Look up the team roster,” I whisper. She needs to know what Leah and I just got her into.
    She looks at me like I’ve just said the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard but complies.
    The waiting feels stifling as her nails tap against the glass of her phone, punching my words into the search engine.
    Glancing up at me, she gives me a sympathetic smile. “The service here isn’t the best,” her eyes flit back to the screen. “Oh! It’s loaded.”
    I nod. I hate this.
    Muttering to herself she scrolls through all our old photos taken from last year’s teams, “Myles Kravtsov, Alessandro D’Ascenzo, Oliver Westbrook…Ryker Andersson,” her eyes are wide as she looks between my photo and my face. “I…I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you played. I probably wouldn’t have…oh well…um…”
    “It’s fine,” I put a hand on her knee, hoping it would have a calming effect yet she still toys with the hem of her sweater, “It was nice to not be Voyageur’s center, Ryker Andersson, for a little bit and just be…Ryker.”
    “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Just Ryker,” she scoots closer to the wall before she puts her hand out for me to shake, “I’m Lottie.”
    I let my callused hand slide into her soft one feeling tingles spread up my arm as I give it a shake.
    “Lottie,” I lift a brow, “Short for Charlotte?”
    Taking the book into her lap she nods. “After the author.”
    “So books are a family affair, then.”
    She nods again and sniffs, taking a series of deep breaths. “The shop was Mom’s but now that she's gone…it’s all mine.”
    “When did she pass?”
    “Just last spring…so it’s been over a year, but sometimes…” Her silent tears trail down her cheeks and I put an arm out, offering her a hug if she needs it. Shaking her head, she wipes at her eyes, doing little against the still-coming tears.
    “It just hits you like it happened yesterday?”
    Her watery blue eyes peer up at me under a furrowed brow.
    “My Dad,” I sigh, “Car crash…he didn’t even make it to the hospital.”
    “I’m so sorry, Ryker,” she whispers, surprising me as she curls beside me, finally accepting my embrace.
    “It was a long time ago,” I rub her shoulder, surprised at my willingness to open up to her. “He’s why I wear number eight…how old I was when he died.”
    She doesn’t say anything at first, but I find the silence oddly comfortable.
    “Thank you for sharing with me. That can’t have been easy.”
    Brushing a stray curl behind her ear, I smile. “It gets easier as time passes…”
    The bell over the door jingles, sending Lottie's hands to her face, whipping away her tears and sniffling as she bolts to her feet.
    “Welcome in…” her voice trails off.
    “Thank you,” Leah’s voice sends cool dread to my stomach, effectively squashing the warmth that had been growing there from my moment with Lottie.
    “Ca-can I help you find something?”
    “I thought I had seen someone I know pop in here…have you seen anyone?”
    Me. She’s looking for me.
    Lottie stays quiet as she toys with the hem of her sweater. C’mon Lottie…help me out here, I put a hand on her foot, hoping to somehow give her the message.
    It has a different, though not unwelcome result of Lottie looking down at me and smiling.
    “I’m sorry,” she finally says, looking back at Leah, “But the only person here this early is me.”
    “But you just looked at someone.”
    “Yes.” She inhales, “My boyfriend.” Sparks course through my veins…not unlike right before a game. “But considering that you are a guest in my store and not a friend, I assumed that his presence was none of your business, but apparently I was mistaken.” Her fingers go back to the hem of the sweater and I give her foot another squeeze. I would have never thought of something like that. It was brilliant.
    “You’re sure it's just you two?” Leah’s voice takes on its familiar I-know-better-than-you tone as her shoes clip on the wooden floor…getting louder.
    Practically leaping to the end of the L-shaped counter, Lottie tries to stop Leah, but her gaze is unavoidable.
    “It was you,” Leah sneers, “Oh,” she laughs, deep and cold, “This will be fun.”
    Well, crap.
    Nodding once, she turns, her heels clicking all the way out.
    “She wasn’t supposed to do that,” The words tumble out of Lottie’s mouth. “I…She was supposed to leave. Not trying to come behind the counter,” her hands start to shake and she slides down the wall into a ball. “I’m so sorry Ryker. That…” she shakes her head, “I’m sorry.”
    “Come here,” I pat the floor beside me. Her brow quirks for just a moment before she scoots beside me.
    “I am truly sorry Ryker,” she whispers, tucking her knees to her chest. “I thought…I don’t know what I thought.”
    “Lottie,” I put a hand on her shoulder, “The only time I think that fast is when I’m on the ice. What you did there, if it had been anyone else on the other side of this counter, would have worked and it was brilliant.”
    She shakes her head. “But you….and I mean, we’re not even…I…and she’s going to…” Lottie gasps, realizing what I already knew. This would be the evening news. “She actually thinks we’re dating. Me…dating a hockey player…” she groans, scooting towards the wall. “Mom must be rolling over in her grave right now…and Charlie!” She gasps, “Oh, Charlie’s going to kill both of us…”
    Charlie? Why would she say we were dating when she has a boyfriend? Unless Charlie is a girl's name…the best friend trying to get her to read the novel on the floor beside me? Yes. I can live with that option.
    Fighting against the flurries in my mind, I nod. There has to be a way to fix this. Lottie shouldn’t have to take the fall for my mistakes. I was the one who came in here. I was the one stupid enough to even think about dating Leah. I was the one who thought a breakup would make my life go back to normal.
    “What if we do it?” The words leave my mouth before I fully realize what I’m saying.
    “What?” Lottie’s eyes fly open. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I spend most of my time here, and you have rehearsal-”
    “Practice.”
    “Practice, and it just…it doesn’t make sense. We’re too different.” Lottie nods at her own decision.
    She’s right. I look at the floor, surprised at how much I want to prove her wrong. Forcing myself to avoid looking at her, my eyes land on the orange cover.
    “Wait…” I reread the back of the book and finally let myself look at her, “What if we did this,” I hold up the book.
    “Um…book club?”
    “No,” I shake my head, flipping the book over for her to see, “Fake dating. You can come to a couple of games, we’ll go to dinner, meet the team. All that. It’s perfect,” I lean against the cabinets, confused. If the plan is so perfect, why does it feel like I’ve just lost the first game of the post-season?
    Lottie remains silent, her eyes unable to focus on any one thing, and it turns out that drives me crazy so I keep talking.
    “The Voyageurs and Wyatt – my agent – want me to make this whole thing with Leah go away, and I can’t blame them – it looks like she wants to end my career. This is the only idea that even falls remotely close to being potentially successful. If we can get the story out before she does, we can control the narrative,” Where that came from I don’t know, maybe Wyatt is rubbing off on me some? “Putting a bright new distraction in front of the media works almost every time. Be my fake girlfriend Charlotte. Please?”
    “I don’t know, Ryker…I’m not a terribly public person. I like my privacy. This whole plan is contingent on me giving that up.”
    Crap. I hadn’t thought of that.
    “Also,” she starts playing with her sweater hem again, “Hockey and I are…complicated. Not to mention, I’ve never been to a hockey game. I don’t know what is happening and even if I did know all about hockey, I’m not one of those girls that likes to go out on the weekends or whatever it is that women my age do…” she shakes her head. “I just don’t think it’ll work.”
    “How do I make it work then?”
    She looks at me, head tilted slightly to one side with her brow knit in concentration. Waiting for her answer is like waiting for the puck to drop. The suspense of it all is so suffocating that I almost miss her answer.
    “I get to say no.”
    Blinking back shock, I open my mouth but find myself speechless.
    “You can ask me to go places with you, to help sell this story, but at the end of the day, I get to say no.”
    “That’s…fair, but you will have to come to a game or two. It’s expected. Not by me,” I clarify when her brows rise, “But by everyone else.”
    She nods. “It makes sense.” Lottie remains quiet for a moment. “We’d need to go on regular dates too.”
    “What?”
    “It’s the backbone of the story,” she holds up the book, “Regardless of what the big event that happens to the couple is, in order for them to effectively sell their relationship, they have to go on normal dates, do normal couple things.”
    “I take it you’re familiar with this situation?”
    Blushing, she nods. “Fake dating is one of my favorites.”
    “Then lay it out for me,” I find myself leaning back, genuinely interested in whatever she has to say.
    “The couple, theoretically played by you and me, find a mutually beneficial reason to be together – saving your career, for example.”
    “But what about you?”
    She shakes her head. “I’d rather not share mine.”
    Smirking, I nod. So that’s why she’s considering this.
    “No,” she smacks my arm then shakes her hand, “Ow. It never hurts when I hit Charlie.”
    Ugh. Charlie again. No pronoun, again.
    She exhales, then continues. “My reason has rather little to do with you,” she nods, cradling the book in her arms. “Now back to the stories. After the terms are agreed upon, the couple begins the rouse. For any fake relationship to work, it has to look like they are really dating to everyone around them. That means more than just showing up to a few hockey games. You took Leah on dates, right?”
    “Don’t remind me.”
    Smirking, she nods again. “Then you would have to take me on dates, hence the normal couple things.”
    Narrowing my gaze at her I let her explanation sink in. Everything she’s saying makes sense…but I’m disappointed by it. I don’t understand any of this.
    “I might need to borrow that book from you then…” I reach for the novel that she hugs tight to her chest, squirming as far from me as possible.
    “This is merchandise. Store property. I haven’t bought it yet.”
    “Then sell it to me,” I smirk, reaching for my wallet.
    “Lottie!” The bells on the door jingle again, “I know I’m late, but I come bearing caffeine!”
    Smirking at me, she pushes herself to her knees and sticks an arm across the counter. “Gimme.”
    She’s met with silence and then adds, “Please?”
    “You act like you haven’t had any yet,” the other voice – a male voice – teases.
    “Because I haven’t. It was your turn.” She sinks back down, cradling the to-go cup. “Thank you.”
    “A soda?” the words pop out of my mouth before I can stop myself.
    Ignoring me, she rips the straw wrapper in half, stabs the clear lid, and takes a long drink.
    “And you are?” A guy who looks a lot like Lottie leans over the counter, looking down at me,  “Oh…” the familiar look of recognition fits onto his features with ease before sharpening into something I’m unfamiliar with.
    “You didn’t tell me you had a brother,” I state, rather than answering his question.
    She shrugs, still sipping on her pop.
    “Twin brother,” he corrects and Lottie rolls her eyes.
    “Play nice, Charlie.” She directs, pulling herself to her feet and crossing to the door. So this is Charlie. 
    “You didn’t tell me you were seeing someone,” he sets the now empty cardboard carrier on the counter.
    Lottie just shrugs, watching her brother sip on his coffee.
    Remembering what Lottie had said Charlie would do, I followed her lead and came to my feet too, back-tracking with her brother.
    “Ryker Andersson,” I stick a hand out to shake.
    “I know who you are,” He takes my hand, his tone clipped, but not in the way I tend to hear from fans when I’m in front of their favorite player in the signing line. “Charles.”
    “Also after the author?” I look to Lottie who is flipping the ‘closed’ sign over to ‘open.’
    Charles nods.
    “How does your dad feel about that?”
    Glances are passed between Lottie and Charles.
    “Our names were never his concern,” Lottie finally answers as Charles sneers.
    Knowing better than to push for more information, I nod.
    “What are you doing in Lottie’s bookshop?”
    “It’s complicated,” Lottie answers, and for once the easy excuse is actually the truth. Right now, it is complicated.
    “But-”
    “No buts,” she hands Charles a nametag. “You missed inventory so you can stock. Alone.”
    Grabbing her pop, she comes to rest with her hand on the door handle.
    “You coming Ryker?”