Kiss and Don't Tell(30)

“I agree,” Posey says. “If she’d said Perseverance, I don’t think I would’ve believed her. But Falcon? That’s a commanding name. A name that takes charge, that doesn’t need an equation to spin properly.”

“Maybe you should write NASA an email, tell them to switch it up. Offer them some suggestions,” I say.

“Can we use your connections?” Hornsby asks Winnie sarcastically.

“Sure thing.” Winnie winks and takes another bite of her steak.

“Well, since you don’t work for NASA, what do you do?” Posey asks.

“Still trying to figure that out,” she says quietly. “Kind of had a little break in life, and now I’m waking back up from that break. One of the reasons why I’m out here is to figure out what I want to do.”

“Why Banff?” I ask, confused and also intrigued by her evasiveness.

“A few reasons,” she answers, but keeps it at that.

“Doesn’t look as though she’s willing to share just yet,” Posey says. “But I’m sure one of us will crack her by the time she leaves.” Posey’s eyes connect with mine and I look away, not liking his innuendo.

“I just appreciate the hospitality.” She pats her stomach. “This food is amazing.”

“Save some room,” Stephan says from the kitchen. “I made some peanut butter fluff pie.”

Leaning toward Winnie, I say, “You’re really going to want to save some room. His PB fluff pie will be the best thing you ever put in your mouth.”

Her eyes flit down to my mouth for a brief second before they’re back up to my eyes. “I’m going to have to take your word for it,” she says.





Chapter Eight





WINNIE





“You really don’t have to do the dishes, you realize that, right? It’s part of Stephan’s job.” Pacey presses his backside against the counter while speaking to me.

“The man cooked us a spectacular meal, and where I come from, someone cooks, the other person cleans.”

Pacey leans in closer and whispers, “But it’s his job. Hence why he’s scowling at you from the corner.”

I glance over to where Stephan is talking to Eli and there’s not one ounce of scowling. He actually looks pretty happy. Relieved. Relaxed.

“He’s not even looking over here,” I say while I rinse off one of the pans used for roasting the potatoes.

“That’s because he knows we’re talking about him.” Pacey snags a dish towel from the handle of the oven and picks up one of the pans I just cleaned.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“What does it look like? I’m drying the dishes.”

“I can do that.”

“I realize you’re more than capable, but I feel weird having you do our dishes, so I’m going to help.”

“But that negates the purpose of me doing the dishes. I’m trying to earn my keep, but you’re taking that joy away from me with your helpful hands.” I take the dish towel from him but he snags it right back. “Pacey.”

“I’m not sure if I’m supposed to apologize for helping or not. I’m going to go with no apology.” He picks up another dish and starts drying it.

“Are you normally this kind?”

He chuckles. “I mean, I would say I’m not really doing anything out of the norm. Why do you ask?”

I want to hide the truth, which is instead of “working on an equation” all day, I was watching YouTube clips of the boys, and let me tell you, they didn’t seem all that welcoming in their interviews. Very serious. Sometimes pissed off. Silas threw a water bottle in one, while Pacey knocked the microphone off the table in another. Not something I would expect from the man drying the dishes right now.

“Oh no, you’re going to have to answer that question.” He playfully nudges me with his shoulder. “Did you have some preconceived notions of what hockey players are really like in real life?”

“No . . .”

“Then what—wait.” He turns toward me and I wince. “During your research, did you watch videos of us?”

“Would it be proper research without watching videos?” I ask.

“I see. And let me guess, the videos you watched must have been after games, right?”

“Possibly a press conference setup.”

“And the most popular ones are the videos where we lose our cool, right?”

“They seem to float to the top,” I answer.

“And a guy who loses his temper doesn’t seem like one who would be so kind, now would he?”

I look him in the eyes, those glacial eyes. “Are you sure you’re not some sort of detective? Your deductive reasoning is quite good.”

“Are you sure you’re not a rocket scientist? Your off-the-cuff knowledge about Mars was uncanny.”

“Touché,” I say. “Let’s just call a spade a spade—we’re good at all things.”

“That’s pretty fair. I’m pretty great at a lot of things other than hockey.”

“Oh yeah? Name one.” I hand him a bowl and he takes it from me.