On Saturday, Van doesn’t have to train. He makes pancakes for breakfast, and I sit around in another one of his flannel shirts and a pair of tights as I play my guitar. I’m working on a new song today. It’s called, “I Hate Van Ross.” I think it’s going to be a rock number with lots of squealing guitars, feedback, and heavy drumbeats driving the track.
We haven’t discussed that kiss, but the smug bastard has been getting on my goddamn nerves by not meeting my gaze and chuckling quietly whenever I come near. At this point, I’m surprised he hasn’t pulled my pigtails.
Emmett sits opposite me looking glum, even though I’m playing music, which he seems to almost turn catatonic for. He’s not himself today. I’m not sure if it’s because he caught Van and I molesting one another or if it’s just because it’s kind of rainy and extra especially cold. I pluck a few strings and ask in a singsong voice, “What’s up, Em? Why’re you lookin’ glum? I’m sitting here thinkin’, that this song might be dumb.”
This does get a laugh out of him, and even Van turns from his place at the stove to grin at me. Emmett grimaces. “I was just thinking about Sadie.”
I sit forward, setting the guitar on the ground between my feet. “You were?”
His frown deepens, and he rests his head in his hands. “I was really mean to her.”
I nod and say placatingly, “You know, it’s never too late to say sorry.”
“Yes, it is. Justin Bieber says so.”
I make a pfft noise and sit back in my seat. I don’t bother telling him that that isn’t how the song goes. “Come on. You really gonna take Justin Bieber’s advice on dating?”
“Do you think she hates me?”
“I think she does the opposite of hating you.” I dare a glance at Van. He doesn’t turn to look at me, but he shakes his head. And again, because I can’t stop myself from meddling, I say, “Do you have her number?”
“No.”
“But we could get it, right? I mean, she must be listed in the phone book.”
“Her parents might be.”
“So, call her house.”
“Isn’t that kind of weird?”
“No! No, it’s not. If you really like this girl, a grand romantic gesture is just what you need.”
Van does turn around this time, and with the scathing look he gives me, it’s not hard to see why others might skate the other way when he’s hurtling towards them on the ice. “Stella, that’s not what he nee—”
“No, enough out of you,” I say, pointing my finger at Van. “Your bad advice is the reason he’s in this mess right now. If he hadn’t listened to you, they could already be together.”
“Jesus Christ.” Van pinches the bridge of his nose. He rolls his heavy shoulders and then turns and pulls a bottle of pills from a cabinet near the stove, shaking several out into his palm. He chews them like candy, and I make a note to do some super sleuthing later to find out exactly what he’s taking. I know his shoulder is still causing him grief, but crunching pills as if they’re treats is definitely new.
“I wanna call her,” Emmett says.
I set my guitar down in the case and jump out of the chair with a squeal. Bending to close the lid, I pick it up. I forget about the fact that I’m not wearing a bra and quickly straighten. Emmett is still staring at his pancakes, but his brother is not. Van’s eyes are on me, and they are filled with lust, and maybe still a little bit of ire. I blush and scurry from the room, returning a few minutes later with Van’s phone and a laptop that mostly lives in the den. Oh, and I’m wearing one of the bras he bought from Victoria’s Secret.
We find several listings for Clarks on the internet, and Emmett rings each one until finally we reach the last. I take the seat beside him and crowd in close.
A female answers on the fourth ring. A beat later, Emmett confirms that it’s Sadie’s number, and that her mother is calling her to the phone. I get up to leave and give them some privacy, but Emmett’s hand shoots out and pins mine to the table. I’m a little surprised by his strength, and stare at him with wide eyes. “You can’t go anywhere.”
“I was just going to give you a little privacy.”
“Em, let her go,” Van says, a little too harshly.
Emmett glares at him. “Tell her to stay.”
“I want no part in this, Brother.”
“I’ll stay,” I assure Emmett. “Just talk to her.”
“Hello? Hello?” Sadie’s small, feminine voice squeaks from the other end of the line.
“Start talking,” I whisper, and sit down beside Emmett.
“Sadie?”
“Yes?”
“It’s Emmett, from group.”
“Hi Emmett from group.”
“Hi.”
Several long seconds pass, and nothing is said.
“Ask her out,” I whisper.
“You wanna go out?”
Sadie hesitates. “Out where?”
“Out where?” Emmett asks me.
“To coffee.”
“I hate coffee,” he says to me, and I roll my eyes.
“I hate coffee too,” she says from the receiver. I take a deep breath and try not to show my exasperation. Seriously, he hasn’t learned anything good from his brother? How sheltered has Van kept him from the hockey hookers? I guess I can’t fault him for that, but still. I would have thought even a little of Van’s game would have rubbed off on Emmett.
I roll my hands and gesture that he should keep going, and he takes the wrong idea completely. “What do you hate about it?”
My shoulders sag in defeat. “Ask her if she wants to go somewhere for a drink that isn’t coffee.”
Emmett relays the words exactly as I said them. By now, I can feel Van watching us closely.
A few beats pass, and Emmett tells me Sadie’s asking her mom. Then Emmett hands the phone to me and tells me Mrs. Clark wants to talk. I gulp and press the phone to my ear, deliberately avoiding Van’s gaze. “Hello?”
“Hello? Who is this?” the woman says.
“Oh, I’m er . . . I’m Stella, a family friend.”
“Can I speak to Van? He’s such a lovely man, and I’d just feel better knowing he’s on board with this.”
“Of course. I’ll put him on,” I say, holding the phone out to Van with a pleading expression. He snatches it from my hands, and shakes his head.
“Please,” I whisper.
“Hello, Mrs. Clark?”
I can’t hear what she says on account of him leaving the room, and I glance at Emmett with an “at least we tried” expression, and move closer to the den.
“Yes,” he says with his back to us. “Uh-huh, I agree. I think that’s the only smart thing here. You’ll have to forgive my friend. She gets a little over-excited by romance.”
I scowl, and he turns with a mocking smile. “Yes, that’s for the best. Thank you.”
He hangs up and my whole body deflates, but I’m angry, too. Why wouldn’t he let his brother have this small bit of happiness? It’s selfish, and just plain mean. I know relationships don’t always come with the same set of obstacles, but denying Emmett the chance to be happy because he has a disability is wrong. In fact, I’m not even sure I can look Van in the eye right now without wanting to punch him.
I stalk out of the kitchen and through the den toward the staircase, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back. “I hope you’re happy, country.”
“No! I’m not happy. I’m pretty damn far from happy. How could you do that to your own brother?”
“Do what? Organize a ‘not coffee’ date in an hour and agree to play chaperone?”
I pause, and search his gaze. “You what?”
“We’re meeting Sadie in Banff. Mrs. Clark didn’t want me to have to deal with the crowds, so she’s going to do some shopping in town while we all go to have not-coffee.”
My mouth falls open. “Oh.”
“Yes!” Emmett fist bumps the sky and does a booty-shaking dance.
“Em, don’t try anything funny,” Van warns. “Stella and I are going to be with you at all times.”
“Thanks, Brother.” He gives Van a slap on the arm. It looks like it hurts, but the man in question doesn’t say anything. The corners of his mouth turn up in a smile, though.
“Get outta here before I change my mind.”
Emmett hits the staircase at full tilt and disappears, and I’m left staring at his older sibling. There’s a wistful smile on his face, and a hint of sadness in those bright blue eyes. “Well, don’t just stand there, country. Go get dressed. We don’t wanna be late.”
I turn away, wondering what the hell a celebrity wears to a not-coffee date when she’s trying to go unnoticed, but the ache in my chest keeps me from moving up the stairs. When I glance back at Van, he’s watching me closely. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”
He shrugs his good shoulder. “It’s okay; I deserved it. I guess I’m not really ready for him to grow up.”
“He’s twenty-one, Van. He’s already grown up.”
“I know, but this opens a whole new door I’m not sure any of us are ready for.”
“Come on, you can take on the Senators in the Stanley Cup, but you can’t deal with the idea of your brother having a girlfriend?” I give him a look that says, “Don’t be a damn baby.” Van shakes his head as he passes. “It’s not the worst thing. To fall in love, I mean.”
“I know, country.” He climbs the stairs and doesn’t look back. “I know.”
An hour later, I’m bundled up head to toe, and I have one of Van’s huge cable-knit scarves wrapped around my neck so only a small amount of my face peeks through from beneath it and the knit cap covering my head, or, as Van would call it—a tuque. I’m wearing the glasses again, because I like the reaction I get from the hockey hottie when I put them on.
Van, too, wears a tuque, but he doesn’t bother with the rest of the disguise, and I guess it’s because while he may not live in Banff, he lives just outside it, and he’s at home here. The barista at the coffee shop seems to be on friendly terms with him, and they embrace in one of those guy handshake-hugs that I never really understood. Van introduces him as Blake. He has this cute surfer vibe going on, and he’s Australian, which is weird, but Van had mentioned half-naked Aussies taking over the ski slopes here as if it were a frat party, so I guess it’s not too much of a stretch to see one of them working as a barista. Blake holds his fist out, and Emmett bumps it with his own.
After we order, we sit near the windows and take in the view. Banff is gorgeous. Cold, but so beautiful with the street lit up against the grey day, and the pristine snow on the mountain behind the town. There are boutiques, tea shops, and a surprising number of restaurants for such a small community. A few minutes into our not coffee date, Emmett gets up and takes a seat at a table nearby. I grin at Van, but I’m only met with nonchalance.
Blake brings our orders over when they’re ready, and I lift one of the warm choc-chip cookies from the plate and take a bite. Several long minutes later, Sadie and her mother walk in. I still have the scarf firmly wrapped around my face, and even though it’s really warm in the coffee shop with a steaming cup of white cocoa in my hands and the fireplace roaring nearby, I keep bundled up because I’m terrified of being spotted. Van stands to greet them and Emmett does, too, but I remain seated and give them both a smile and a little wave. I’m afraid to engage any more than that. I know how quickly these things snowball, and it only takes one person to tell a friend that they’ve seen you, and suddenly there are paparazzi everywhere. I should have stayed at the house, but I had to see this. Also, Van and Emmett can be idiots sometimes, and I didn’t want Sadie to feel overwhelmed.
After a quick chat, Mrs. Clark hurries off with Van’s assurance that we’ll take good care of her only daughter. Emmett and Sadie walk towards the counter, and I sip my cocoa and use the mug to warm my hands. I notice Van’s eyes glued to his brother, so I whack him in the arm. It hurts. I suspect it hurts me more than him, because the man is apparently made from steel and other . . . hard . . . things.
I stand, collect my drink and cookie, and head to a sofa at the back of the room, closer to the fireplace. Van watches me with a confused expression, but it isn’t long before he follows. “Stop watching him like a hawk,” I say when he sits down, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. Sadie throws several nervous glances our way.
“I’m not.”
“Yes, yes you are,” I complain. “You’re intimidating them.”
“I’m just being cautious.” His gaze slides back to Emmett and his date.
“No, you’re being clueless.”
He frowns at me. “Clueless?”
“You know, it isn’t the worst thing for him to grow up and have a life of his own.”
Van scoffs and waves that away with a lazy hand gesture. “I am not clueless.”
“Whatever, hockey hero. You just keep telling yourself that.” I roll my eyes and sip my cocoa, and for a while we’re both quiet as we watch the snow fall outside the window.
Sometime later, when the warmth from the fire and the coziness of the plush couch are lulling my anxiety about being discovered into a deep sleep, Van leans in and murmurs, “I wasn’t clueless about that kiss.”
“Shut up, Van.”
“I’m not clueless about you wanting me either.” He grins, and when I don’t say anything to contradict him, the smarmy bastard nods. “That’s what I thought. You won this round, country, but I’m just warming up, and you’re gonna regret taking me on as your opponent.”
“Whatever, Ross. I could take you in my sleep.”
“I bet you could.” His smile is so wide that the flash of teeth is blinding. “I bet you could take it all.”
“Oh my god!” I throw the rest of my cookie at him. He picks it up from his lap and makes a big show of licking it slowly all over before taking a bite. I squeeze my thighs together and swallow hard. I have never before been jealous of baked goods, but with the way he closes his eyes and lets out a low lascivious moan, by god, do I wish I were that cookie right now.