I can't help but chuckle.
She's wearing her Snow Leopards jersey that's two sizes too big and hangs past her knees, and her sparkly sneakers are practically vibrating on the concrete stairs.
I stand up and wave my arms in the air, careful not to knock the surprises I've hidden beneath the chair.
Morgan spots me first. Her shriek cuts through the ambience.
"COLT!"
She breaks free of Zoey's grip andsprintsdown the stairs at full speed. Zero regard for gravity, physics, or the basic concept of not dying on stadium steps.
I brace myself just in time as she launches off the last step and crashes into me with enough force to knock me back into my seat.
"OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!OH MY GOD!"
"Hey, Morgs." I laugh, steadying her. "Good to see you too."
She grabs my face with both hands, squishing my cheeks together so I look like a fish.
"Colt.This is the greatest place I have ever been in my entire life and I'm never leaving. I live here now. Tell my mother."
"Morgan!" Zoey arrives, slightly breathless, slightly mortified. "You can't justrundown—"
"Mom, look at theICE." Morgan releases my face and spins around, arms spread wide like she's presenting the arena to an invisible audience. "It's so big! And the lights! And—look!It'sProwl!"
She points toward the zipline above the ice where the mascot is now pretending to eat a child's cotton candy.
"I LOVE HIM!"
Zoey sinks into the seat beside me with the expression of a woman who has just realized she cannot control a single thing that's about to happen tonight.
"Hi." She exhales, tucking her hair behind her ear.
"Hi." I grin. "You made it."
"Barely. She's been like this since breakfast. I had to take her to the park just so she could burn off some energy."
"So I take it you didn't get to do any of that recipe testing you wanted to?" I ask, holding her gaze a beat longer than I should.
Her eyes flick up to mine, and there's that little pause, the one where I wonder if she's still thinking about that kiss too.
"No," she says, the smile fading just a little. "I didn't. Morgan had a meltdown about which leggings were arena-appropriate, so I burned the first test batch, and then somebody — not naming names — emptied an entire bag of flour onto the kitchen floor trying to'help.'"
I chuckle. "Sounds like a productive Saturday."
Zoey glances around, taking in the arena with slower, wider eyes than her daughter. I can't look away from her as she takes in the steep bowl of seats rising around us, the gleaming ice, themassive screens cycling through player highlights and sponsor logos.
"This is…" She shakes her head. "It's full on."
"Good full on or bad full on?"
She shrugs. "I'll let you know."
I watch her settle into her chair as she pulls her jacket off and drapes it across her lap. Her fingers curl around the edge of the armrest and her gaze keeps drifting back to the ice, like she's trying to understand the thing that's held me hostage since I was four years old.
"Okay." I lean down and start pulling out the contents I've kept hidden beneath my seat. "Before puck drop, we need to address something critical."
Zoey's eyes narrow and I now have Morgan's full attention despite Prowl still doing some weird acrobatics in mid-air.