The Sweet Talker (Boston Hawks Hockey #1) - Gina Azzi Page 0,28

shoulder. Or that he looks at me with more heat than just a friend.

After our boat tour, I take Noah to Cheers for lunch.

“It’s a classic,” I explain as I order two pints for us.

“You know, I can’t believe I’ve been living in this city for as long as I have and I’ve never been here.” He looks around the old bar and pub appreciatively.

“You must have missed the long weekends Aunt Mary came to town to visit Austin before she and Uncle Joe moved here.”

“I begged off them,” he admits, chuckling. “She used to take Austin and the girls on intense history tours.”

“I know. I used to beg on them. I think I can credit Aunt Mary for my love of history.”

Noah glances at me, his expression curious. “What was your childhood like?”

I pick up my spoon to dig into my New England clam chowder but pause at his tone. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs sheepishly and shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“No, ask me.”

“I just, I wonder what it was like growing up as an only child. I mean, your dad was on the road a lot and you mostly saw your cousins in the summer…”

“It was okay,” I say slowly, thinking back to the long stretches of time when it was just me and mom. We were always close, always able to make any of Dad’s career changes work, fit seamlessly into our lives. But that was more her doing, her enthusiasm, than mine. “As far as childhoods go, mine was pretty wonderful. I mean, my mom is that mom. The one who volunteers as class mom and bakes homemade brownies for my ballet fundraising initiatives. It was lonely in the sense that I never had the great chaos that Claire grew up in. I didn’t have a ton of friends and our house was never full, although it definitely seemed that way when Dad was home.” I smile, recalling my Dad’s infectious energy. “I had a few close friends who had brothers and sisters. My best friend in Tampa, Aid, was always around, just down the street. My friend Rosa is one of six.”

Noah whistles, popping a French fry into his mouth.

“Sleepovers at her house were the best. Her older brothers always had friends around and they would let us stay up and drink beer or wine coolers with them.” I laugh, my mind conjuring up a handful of memories I forgot about. “Rosa and I were so straight-laced, such good students, focused, you know?” I glance at Noah and he’s staring at me like I’m telling some riveting tale instead of a bunch of random memories from high school. “Anyway, those nights were me stepping out of my comfort zone and they were fun. But I missed my dad. Mom missed him too.” I shrug. “It’s just, it’s not a life I want going forward. The nights on the road, the early mornings sitting in ice rinks, the sacrifices you have to make year after year, season after season… My mom put her whole life on hold every time Dad asked her to. And we were lucky because we stayed in Tampa for nine years. For most families, there’s even more uncertainty, more moves, just more giving of themselves and giving up their dreams…” I trail off, biting my lip and shooting Noah an apologetic look. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No,” he cuts me off. “You’re being honest.”

I take a mouthful of soup and moan. “Here.” I hold my spoon out to him. “Try this. It’s tradition.”

“Tradition?”

“Mom’s and mine.”

He grumbles but I can tell he likes being in on it. He takes my spoon and dips it into the bowl, taking a mouthful. “This is so good,” he manages to say around the chowder.

“See? I won’t steer you wrong, Scotch.”

He smiles at me.

“What was your childhood like?” I ask after a beat.

He shrugs and his features shift, a shutter coming down over his eyes. “It was okay.”

“Okay…”

“Wasn’t like yours. My mom wasn’t that mom. My dad was an alcoholic. Our house wasn’t the kind of house I would invite friends over to. For the most part, it was just me and East until we met Austin and started spending loads of time, weeks in the summer really, at Mary and Joe’s.”

I nod, remembering how the Scotch brothers were always around.

“It’s lucky you and East had each other.”

“Yeah, East and hockey are the only two constants in my life,” he admits, picking up his pint and taking a