I had no idea Drew Stefano lived anywhere near Balboa Peninsula. I also had no idea he had a beautiful golden retriever that he actually took to the dog park right on the beach. I also had no idea he would remember me, let alone my name.

“So,” he said as we walked the shore, our dogs ahead of us, sniffing around. “What’s your story?”

I furrowed my brow and looked at his sharp profile. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Everyone knows my story,” he said, stopping in front of the shoreline. A wave gently rolled up to shore and crashed a foot away from our feet. “Born and raised in Canada. Went to school at U of M, played hockey there. Was drafted by Quebec and stayed there until I was picked up by the Gulls five years ago. What’s your story? Where do you come from?”

I felt my cheeks turn pink at the question. Nobody seemed particularly fascinated with my story.

“I was born and raised here,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “It’s actually pretty boring, to tell you the truth.”

“Come on.” He smiled and I felt my breath catch in my throat. I had never seen him smile like this before. He might grin a little during interviews, but he was intensely focused and could come across as a bit of a snob if people didn’t know him. I wanted him to smile like that more often. “Everyone has a story. A passion, if you will.”

I opened my mouth, ready to reject his claim, when I glanced down at Sherlock. He was currently sniffing a French Bulldog, happy as a clam. Despite the fact that he had just turned ten, he still liked to run - trot, really - and stay active.

“Dogs, I guess,” I told him. “I’m a vet down the street.”

“A vet?” Drew’s honey-colored eyes caught mine with interest embedded in them. “Are you serious?”

“Do I not look like a vet to you?” I teased him. I realized this could potentially be seen as flirting and I definitely didn’t want him to think I was doing that when he had a girlfriend. “Yes, I work at the Bones Pets on Seventeenth and Newport Boulevard.”

“I know that place,” he said. “I go to the one on Highland.”

I nodded. “Good place,” I admitted.

“I’ve always wanted to open my own shelter,” I admitted shyly. I had never told anyone that before, not my friends, not even my colleagues, even if they had the same goal. I didn’t know why. Maybe if it was real only to me. That way, if I failed at it, only I would know... which sounded pretty stupid, the more I thought about it.

I had no idea why I felt comfortable enough to share it with him. I didn’t know if it was because I thought I would never see him again so it was safe to share with him, or if it was because I trusted him without really knowing him.

The fact of the matter was, I’d told him a secret, and that meant something.

“I’ve always wanted to open one too,” he said, surprising me.

“Really?” I asked.

 “I’m actually in talks to partner with the pound,” he said. “I’m creating a T-shirt line where seventy-five percent of the profits will go to getting abandoned dogs homes and preventing euthinization as long as possible.”

My eyes sparkled with genuine interest. “Oh my God, that’s awesome, Drew!” I exclaimed. Then, my face fell. “I’m sorry. Can I call you Drew? I shouldn’t have assumed one way or the other.”

He interrupted me with another smile. “Of course you can call me Drew,” he said as though my question before hand was ridiculous. “That’s my name.”

I nodded, feeling myself blush. If my intention was to make an ass out of myself in front of a professional hockey player, I was doing a damn good job of it.

“Right,” I said, nodding. “Drew.”

“Your dog,” he said, looking down at Sherlock. “How’s he doing? He looks older.”

“Oh.” I looked at the dog and felt my lips curve up. “Yeah, ten years old. I adopted him a couple of years ago from the pound. I’d always wanted a basset hound and when I finally moved out into my own place, I thought about getting a dog. I didn’t want to get a young one because I didn’t have time to train it but I knew if I adopted an older one, he or she could be at home without my supervision. On top of that, I could always bring him to work with me if that didn’t work out.”

I was babbling. Oh my God, I was babbling. He was probably looking for any excuse to exit now - not that I blamed him at all.

“Anyway...” I reached up and cupped the back of my neck.

It was an overcast day, cool by the beach, the waves hitting the sand in a gentle crash. It was the perfect weather for taking Sherlock to the beach. 

“And you’re a season ticket holder?” he asked. “I’m sorry if that comes across a certain way. It’s just... I’ve never seen a group of young women in such good seats for every single game.”

“We’re dedicated,” I said with a shrug. “We’ve been Gulls fans since we were kids. My dad had season tickets, the sisters’ dad had season tickets. Clare’s been the only one without a legacy, but she’s been a fan since high school. Once we all got jobs, we put in for the tickets. We’ve been lucky enough to have them for the past three years. Anyway, I’m talking too much, I’m sorry about that. I do that when I’m nervous.”

He furrowed his brow, a look of disbelief on his face. “Why would you be nervous?” he asked.

Was he serious?

He was Drew Stefano. Of course I was going to be nervous. I was babbling like an asshole in front of a professional hockey player.

“Come on,” I said. “You’re Drew Stefano.”

“You’re right,” he said with a nod. “You should be nervous.” 

I laughed and instantly felt comfortable. I didn’t know how he was able to accomplish it, but he made me feel comfortable and nervous at the same time. One of his many talents, it would seem.