Ellie gave me one of those tween glares, full of suspicion.
“I have nets and gear in my garage. If you ever want to play in the driveway.”
She only scrutinized me further. When the silence was almost unbearable, she finallysaid, “I’m rusty.”
My lips twitched. “So am I.”
That admission was enough to break through the wall she’d put up between us. With an almost hopeful look, she turned to her mom.
“Go play. Dinner isn’t ready yet. I’ll yell when it’s time.”
Ellie and I played in my driveway as the sun dipped low and the air turned sharp. Wayne watched, retrieving errant street hockey balls.
We didn’t attempt anything serious, just passing and shooting. Laughing when one of us missed the net entirely.
She loosened up as the minutes passed, her movements instinctive, muscle memory kicking in. Her laugher and smiles hit me hard. I’d never seen her like this.
Celine and Julian walked down eventually, watching for a bit and giving us a thirty-minute warning. I avoided Celine’s eyes, not wanting to take away from Ellie’s moment and not wanting to cross any of the invisible boundaries Celine kept putting up.
“We should get you home for dinner,” I said.
“You’re invited too.”
My heart clenched. “I don’t want to impose.”
“It’s my birthday.” She harrumphed. “I’m a firstborn daughter and a Scorpio, so I’d do what I say if I were you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I gave her a mock salute.
We cleaned up the nets and the gloves and the balls, Ellie clutching her stick the whole time, like she wasn’t ready to let go of it.
“You can use this gear whenever you want to play,” I said as we wandered toward the cottage.
“I don’t play hockey anymore.”
“That’s cool. But if you want to just mess around in the driveway, it’s there.”
She hit me with another glare.
“The code to the garage keypad is 1991. So you can go in and borrow stuff whenever.”
“1991?”
“It’s the year I was born.”
She scoffed. “Oh my God, that’s, like, so long ago.”
I winced.
“It was last century.”
“Wow.” I smirked. “You make me sound ancient.” I ran my hands through my hair, knowing that I already had a healthy number of grays.
“You sure you can you still pay hockey?” she joked, her eyes dancing. “Wouldn’t want you to break a hip.”
I shook my head as we climbed the hill. She was funny, I’d give her that. “You’re kinda mean,” I teased.
“I’m just playing,” she said. “But.” She stopped walking. “I know you’re in love with my mom.”