The next morning, I could tell before I even rolled over to check the time that it was far too early. Cracking my eyes open, the first signs of dawn spilled through the flimsy fabric covering my window, illuminating the room with a mix of orange and pink hues as the sun no doubt rose on the horizon.
And when I twisted my head to see the clock on my nightstand, it was no surprise to see 5:50AM staring back at me.
Heaving a sigh, I sank back into the comfort of my bed, bringing my right arm up to rest atop my eyes. There was no need for me to be awake—what with June opening the store—but I knew subconsciously that there was no way I'd be able to fall back asleep.
Because despite the fact that attending Liam and Thea's funeral yesterday had truly zapped me of energy, it had also reawakened the nightmares that had plagued me in the months following my mother's passing. My night had been restless; my head filled with flashbacks that I couldn't escape. Of hearing my mother's voice hauntingly calling out for me. Of searching for her and never being able to find her. Of my father's choked up words when he'd called me to tell me she was gone.
Not wanting to sink back into the tormenting visuals trapped inside my head, I made the easy decision to get up and start my day.
There was no rush to my actions as I moved about my place—a small row house a handful of streets away from the ocean that I rented—indulging myself in extra, and much needed, self-care. An early morning bubble bath, a face mask, and the latest episode of my favorite podcast all a part of my routine, meaning by the time I walked into my kitchen and brought the coffeemaker to life, I was feeling refreshed.
But not enough that I could think about skipping caffeine for the day.
With my mug in hand, I took a sip and reached for my phone, shooting off a text to my father's nurse, Amy, since she was scheduled to drop by his house this morning.
Morning! Looking to drop by my dad's around 7 – will that interfere with your checkup?
I actually just pulled up at his house, so I should be done by then.
Given the okay, I took my time finishing my coffee, scrolling through the early morning news on my Twitter feed before heading back into my room to get dressed for the day. Twenty minutes later, I was bustling around the house, collecting all the things I'd need for the day into my bag before stepping outside.
Luckily, I'd thrown on a knit cardigan to combat the slight chill in the morning air, which served me well as I undid the lock around my bike and hopped on.
In the town of Neptune Bay, I'd never seen the point of a car—what with everything I could ever need located within a few short miles. My bike—with teal paint and a cute wicker basket hanging from the handlebars—suited me just fine, while also keeping me in well enough shape considering I wasn't one to hit the gym on the regular.
It took no longer than five minutes before I was turning into the driveway of my childhood home, where my father still lived, and parking my bike up against the side of the house.
I knocked three times on the front door before twisting the doorknob. "Knock, knock," I greeted brightly as I stepped inside, my voice echoing throughout the house.
There were rustles of movement coming from the dining room as I toed off my shoes, and within moments Amy was rounding the corner, shouldering her kit. "Morning, Sloane."
"Morning," I replied, glancing curiously over her shoulder from where she'd presumably finished up with my father, a furrow in my brows. "Did everything go okay this morning? Anything I should be worried about?"
This was a normal conversation between the two of us nowadays, but it was never any easier as I braced myself for the worst.
Thankfully, Amy's lips pulled into a reassuring smile. "Everything looks good this morning. His treatment on Friday had him feeling weak over the weekend, but he seems to have rebounded."
I let loose a sigh of relief. "That's good."
"It is," she affirmed. "Just make sure he's keeping up with his medication and eating well."
"You got it."
With a gentle reminder to call the hospital if I noticed anything off with him, she headed out for the day, more than likely on the way to her shift at the local nursing home. Somewhere I wished my dad would consider moving to, but no matter how many times I broached the conversation, he wouldn't budge.
Instead, he put up a tough front, acting as though his retirement had been a choice. Like he hadn't more or less been forced out (rightfully so) last April after severely injuring his leg while rescuing two kids from a burning cabin just outside of town.
And as if that wasn't enough to deal with on top of the grief of losing my mother that followed soon thereafter, just three months later, as the color of the leaves began to change, he'd gone in for a routine yearly checkup only to be diagnosed with lung cancer.
It'd been a small tumour at first, which although heartbreaking, had been treatable. And the initial round of chemo had worked.
Until it hadn't.
Right before he'd been scheduled to have the remains of the tumour removed through surgery, they'd run some tests only to find it had begun to spread.
Strike one. Strike two. Strike three.
But he wasn't out, not yet. He was still fighting, day-in and day-out.
It was just crazy to think about how both our lives had truly changed over the last year. We were no longer the people smiling in the family portrait from four years ago that hung on the wall as I entered the living room. My mom was gone, my dad had been knocked down physically, and I had taken hits emotionally and mentally to deal with this new normal. We were different. Hardened. Still adjusting to our new normal.
"You're over here early," my father said, shocking me out of my thoughts as he came up behind me with the support of his cane.
"Couldn't sleep," I replied with a shrug. "Plus, June is perfectly capable of running the store for a few hours while I have breakfast with you and help out around the house."
"Never said she wasn't, considering she's been doing so four days a week for the last couple of months." With the side-eye that accompanied his words, I knew he didn't believe my excuse. After all, I typically only dropped by around nine. "You're telling me today's early visit has nothing to do with that funeral yesterday?"
Talk about hitting the nail on the head.
"You're too smart for your own good, you know that?" I drawled, walking slowly in front of him as we headed for the kitchen.
"Call it fatherly intuition."
"Well," I started, riffling through his cabinets for the ingredients to make pancakes, "your fatherly intuition would be correct. But I'm fine."
"You sure about that?"
I nodded, turning to face him. "I think the funeral kind of dug up some of the memories from last year around mom's passing, which spurred a sleep full of nightmares for me. I don't see it becoming a regular occurrence though."
There was a significant pause as his eyes scanned my features before softening. "You know it's okay if you're hurting, right?" he asked. "I know that you haven't been close to Liam and Thea in recent years, but I remember watching you play with the Nyberg boys as you were growing up. You're allowed to take some time to grieve."
My shoulders slumped as a wave of emotion washed over me, a mix of compassion and sadness. "I know, and I think that's coming, but after yesterday I'm mostly missing mom again. And I know that might make me a bad person, but—"
"Shh," he said, cutting me off and motioning me over to him. I wrapped my arms around him as he rested his head atop mine gently. "It doesn't make you a bad person. I miss her too. All the damn time."
I pulled back after a few moments with a sniffle, holding back my tears but still feeling like they could fall at any moment. "Like now?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood. "When I'm about to butcher her homemade pancake recipe yet again?"
He chuckled, deep and rough. "I don't know what you mean. Yours are just as good as hers were."
"I know you're lying," I mused, "but don't worry, I'll still make sure to put extra blueberries in yours."
"And that—" His eyes shined as he picked up a berry from the bowl on the counter and plopped it in his mouth. "—is why I love you."
"Love you too, dad."
***
By ten I'd finished breakfast with my dad, helped him with a handful of chores around the house, and had set up a chess set on the dining table for when his friend and neighbour, John, came around after lunch. It'd become an unspoken routine ever since his remission status had been redacted, but only for four days during the week, as my dad thought having me over any more was a knock to his independence. And seeing that my visits gave me an excuse to keep an eye on him while also cherishing my time with him, I never put up a fight.
Though as I parked my bike behind Wilma's, I had to pause to breathe in the ocean air, refocusing my mindset for work mode before heading inside.
June waved at me in acknowledgement as I slid behind the counter, though finished up with the customer before turning my way. "Hey. How was your dad this morning?"
"As good as he can be," I replied, sliding on my apron as I saw her nod in understanding. Unlike some of the rumors that floated around our small town, she'd been privy to the full story surrounding my father's diagnosis. "But what about here? How was the morning rush?"
"Everything was smooth sailing. Nearly all the regulars dropped in and practically devoured all the specialized summer treats, so once the tourists start ramping up, I think we'll need to up our stock if the demand continues to be so high."
"Sweet," I said, glancing at the nearly empty display case. It wasn't just the summer treats—almost everything she'd baked this morning was picked over. "I'm guessing the lunch batch is in the oven?"
Which was a fair assumption, given the myriad of aromas tickling my nostrils.
She nodded "Breads are already cooling, donut mixture is ready to drop in the fryer, and the timer on the muffins should be going off any minute."
And as if on cue, June's next words were cut off as the familiar beep of the oven timer sounded, causing a smug grin to lift her lips.
"It's almost like you're a psychic," I said in amusement.
"I wish. Just in tune with the desserts," she replied, and as she pushed open one of the doors to the kitchen, she turned back to me. "Do you need anything else done while I'm back there?"
Glancing at our fridge, I saw our homemade ready-to-go food was dwindling. "If you can put together some parfait kits and charcuterie boxes in the next hour, and maybe ten of our salads, that'd be great."
"You got it boss."
With her in the back, I manned the counter, doing a quick clean up during the lull before customers began to trickle in. It started slow, like it normally did, but ramped up quickly. For about ninety minutes over lunch, we had a constant line that never seemed to dwindle; June and I working as fast as we could to fill every order.
Though come two it was like the rush had never happened.
"I whipped up the batter for this afternoon's lemon bars and brownies," June said, coming out from the kitchen as I wiped down the tables and straightened the chairs. "It's chilling in the fridge and should be ready to use within the hour."
"Thanks."
"And if you need any help—"
"Which I won't."
"—you know where to find me," she finished, pointing up to her apartment.
I rolled my eyes. "I want you to enjoy the afternoon without worrying about this place. Go for a hike or take a book down to the beach."
"We'll see," she replied, though I knew her well enough to know that was a 'hell no' on both accounts. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you."
Left to my own devices, I used the time without customers to start submitting the week's stock orders to our distributors. A part of the business I found unbelievably stressful, given the worry that racked my mind every time I saw the total cost increase in a way that I didn't know was sustainable or not. It had me chewing on my bottom lip with each order, only half focusing when the odd customer strolled in, but luckily, as I finished with the last one and added up the cost, the total was in the same ballpark of last week's.
Breathing easier, I tossed the lemon bar and brownie mixtures into the oven, before returning to the front where my attention was fully captured when the bell above the front door sounded and in walked Ryan Nyberg.
It was somewhat of a shock to see him after yesterday, given that he looked so much like his brother, but for me, it'd always been easy to tell them apart. What with Ryan having grown into a stronger build and sharp jaw, typically sporting some kind of Knights gear no matter the season. Like the cap he wore today, his unruly blonde hair peeking out from underneath it.
And while I knew he was miles out of my league—literally, as someone a good portion of the north east admired every hockey season—and that nothing would ever happen between the two of us, I couldn't help but admire his broad shoulders beneath the white t-shirt he wore.
What red-blooded female could?
"Hi," I greeted, hoping the small delay didn't give away that I'd been checking him out.
"Hey," he replied, not appearing to notice as he dug his hands into his shorts pockets and glanced around. "Any chance you still sell that key lime pie my parents love so much?"
I pointed towards it as I said, "Third fridge, second shelf from the bottom."
"Amazing," he replied, letting a moment of silence go by as he moved toward the pie fridge. "Oh, I also wanted to say thank you for coming yesterday."
My eyebrows rose in surprise. "You saw me?"
"Yeah." He nodded, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck. "Sorry I didn't say anything, it was just... a lot."
"Honestly, don't even worry about it," I was quick to say. "I went to pay my respects, not for any recognition." I could tell that my words somehow instantly relieved some of the tension in his shoulders as he released a breath. "Besides, I'm surprised you even remember much of yesterday. When my mom passed last year, I barely felt like I was functioning during the funeral. It was like one gigantic blur."
He glanced my way, a flash of pain in his eyes as he picked up a twelve pack of beer. "I don't know which is worse—not remembering the day or remembering every single detail."
"I'm guessing you're the latter?"
"That I am," he replied. "And I'm sorry, about your mom. My parents told me about her passing, but I couldn't make it back into town."
I waved him off. "You were deep into the playoffs at that point, so I wasn't expecting you to. We did get the flowers you sent though," I said, "so thank you."
Now standing on the other side of the counter, his green eyes bore into mine. As though we were commiserating the grief that lived inside of us and offering one another the understanding that while we weren't completely okay in the moment, we'd get there.
Breaking contact, he looked down as he pulled his wallet out of his pocket. "How much?"
I put a hand on each box and pushed them back towards him. "On the house."
He lifted a brow. "Sloane..."
"Don't question it. Just accept the pie and beer, because if you don't, I might become one of the neighbours who drops a casserole off at your door."
"Well, considering I already have a fridge full of those," he trailed off, a hint of amusement in his words.
"This is on the house," I repeated, and this time, he didn't question it.
"Thanks."
"But don't get used to it," I said, giving him a teasing finger wag. "Consider it a one-time deal."
"I promise, next time I'll come in for lunch and buy an extra dessert, just because."
"You do that." A snort of laughter escaped. "Oh, and say hi to your parents for me."
"Will do," he said, balancing the pie on top of the case of beer in his arms before turning on his heel.
He was almost at the door when something—I had no clue what—pulled at a cord in my chest and sparked my mouth to move before I could fully process what I was saying.
"And Ryan?" He turned back to look at me. "If you ever want to talk, I'm around."
The corner of his mouth pulled upward slightly, and I fully ignored the heat it brought to my cheeks. "Thanks, Sloane. I'll keep that in mind."
a/n: the NHL playoffs are underway and I'm very invested in my team going far this year (go Pens!)
but otherwise, what do you guys think so far? This story definitely has less hockey than the last two, but I'm enjoying still writing about an athlete, just in a more summer/beach/small town romance sense :)