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October 11 - October 12, 2024
To all of the readers I’ve loved before… I still love you. You’re the best. Thanks for allowing me to live the dream. And I believe if we work together, we might one day be able to make fetch happen.
No—my crush on hockey’s beautiful bad boy began on a typical Tuesday night fifteen years ago when he shared a half-eaten chocolate chip cookie with me and told my brother to stop being a jerk. I was ten.
“Well, well, well,” Logan says. “If it isn’t little Peter Parker, all grown up.”
She was always overflowing with energy and big ideas, like some kind of fiery woodland sprite fueled by straight espresso. Speaking of fiery …
Parker is nothing short of stunning, and I’m still trying to wrap my head around the shift from my best friend’s adorably dorky little sister to … this. Nope—she’s definitely not little.
She laughs then, which was my goal, and I catch a glimpse of the girl I remember. If Parker wasn’t laughing, she was smiling. Always. She was a compact ball of sunshine who drove away the constant storm cloud I lived under. For a while.
She smells like cinnamon and cookies and something familiar that hits me hard. The word that comes to mind is home. She smells like home. It shocks me.
