Chapter 30 Spring Thaw
April arrived in Evergreen Hollow the way it always did: slow, shy, and then suddenly all at once. One morning the snow was still piled against the garage, and the next, the backyard pond was ringing with the sound of dripping eaves and Clara’s delighted squeals as she discovered mud puddles.
The Kane family settled into the gentle rhythm of a new season.
Lily finished her freshman year at Denver with a 3.92 GPA, second-line minutes that had crept into first-line territory, and an invitation to spend the summer interning with the NCAA’s Name, Image, Likeness task force in Indianapolis. She came home for a long weekend in late April to celebrate Everett’s ninth birthday and to help coach his spring league.
Everett himself had become something of a local legend after the Frostbite championship. His peewee coach jokingly called him “the mayor of the neutral zone,” and every younger skater in town now taped their sticks neon green in his honor. He wore his championship medal to school so often the principal finally asked Holly (very politely) if it could maybe stay home on picture day.
Clara, now two-and-three-quarters, had declared herself “big girl hockey player” and refused to wear anything that wasn’t a jersey. She followed Everett around the house with a plastic stick, narrating imaginary games in a nonstop stream of adorable commentary: “Evvy score! Clara assist! Go team!”
Heartstrings Connections was blooming too. The spring launch of Heartstrings Spark 2.0 (co-designed by Holly, Mia, and Lily during late-night video calls) broke every record the company had. New franchise inquiries arrived daily, and Holly found herself on panels and podcasts talking about “love in the digital age.” Rowan teased her that she was becoming famous, then kissed her quiet whenever she tried to protest.
The first warm Saturday in May, the whole family piled into the backyard for the annual “opening of the pond” ritual: raking last year’s leaves, scrubbing the patio furniture, and setting up the little inflatable pool Clara insisted was “the ocean.”
Rowan manned the grill in an old Bears T-shirt and sunglasses, flipping burgers while Everett and Clara chased each other with water guns. Lily lay on a blanket in the grass, earbuds in, pretending to study but mostly watching her little siblings with the soft, fond smile of someone who suddenly understood how fast time moved.
Holly sat on the porch steps snapping photos, heart so full it felt like it might float away.
Later, when the sun dipped low and golden, they ate on the patio: burgers, watermelon, Clara’s favorite mac-and-cheese, and the lopsided chocolate cake Lily and Everett had attempted together (it leaned dangerously to the left and was covered in an alarming amount of sprinkles, but it tasted perfect).
After dinner the kids begged for one more skate on the backyard rink before Rowan let the last of the ice melt for the season. He flooded it one final time the night before, just enough for a family shinny game under the string lights.
They laced up in a happy tangle: Everett in full gear, Clara in her tiny skates and a helmet that still swallowed half her face, Lily borrowing Rowan’s old college gloves, Holly in leggings and one of Rowan’s hoodies that hung to her knees.
Rowan dropped a puck between Everett and Lily, and the game was on.
It was less hockey and more joyful chaos: Everett trying fancy moves he’d seen on TV and falling spectacularly, Clara zooming in circles shouting “I win! I win!”, Lily letting Everett score on her repeatedly while narrating like an NHL announcer, Rowan stealing the puck only to pass it gently to Clara so she could “score” and celebrate like she’d just won the Stanley Cup.
Holly mostly stayed in net, laughing so hard she could barely stand up, letting every shot go in on purpose.
When the sky turned lavender and the air cooled, they collapsed in a pile on the ice, breathless and grinning. Clara lay on Rowan’s chest declaring, “Best day ever,” while Everett used Lily’s stomach as a pillow and Holly leaned against Rowan’s side, his arm around her shoulders.
Above them, the first fireflies of the season blinked on and off like tiny stadium lights.
That night, after baths and stories and three rounds of “one more hug,” the house finally quieted. Lily fell asleep on the couch mid-movie, Everett conked out clutching his new birthday stick from Aunt Mia, and Clara was tucked in with her stuffed bear wearing a miniature Pioneers jersey Lily had brought her.
Rowan and Holly stood in the hallway outside the kids’ rooms, the familiar hush wrapping around them like a blanket.
Rowan brushed a curl from Holly’s face and kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips (soft, lingering, full of everything they didn’t need words for).
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For every single ordinary, perfect day like this.”
Holly rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “We’re so lucky.”
They slipped into their bedroom, closed the door, and simply held each other in the dark (no urgency, just the quiet joy of hands linked, breathing synced, two people who had built a whole world together and still chose each other every night).
Spring turned to summer in gentle increments.
Lily flew to Indianapolis for her internship, sending daily photos of the NCAA headquarters and skyline sunsets. Everett spent mornings at hockey camp and afternoons teaching Clara how to shoot lefty (“because that’s how the cool kids do it”). Heartstrings hosted its first-ever family picnic for employees, complete with bounce houses and a visit from the local fire department, and Holly watched Rowan push Clara on a swing while Everett organized a chaotic game of tag and felt her heart grow three sizes.
One warm July evening, after the kids were asleep, Rowan found Holly on the back deck watching heat lightning flicker over the trees.
He sat beside her, took her hand, and laced their fingers together.
“Twenty years ago,” he said quietly, “I bet you a kiss under the mistletoe that I could make you fall for me.”
Holly smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder. “And I lost spectacularly.”
“Best loss of my life.”
They sat in silence for a long time, watching the sky flash soft and distant, listening to the crickets and the faint hum of the town that had raised them, loved them, and sent their children out into the world confident and kind.
Somewhere in Denver, their oldest was learning how big the world could be.
Somewhere in the bedroom down the hall, their youngest was dreaming of slap shots and championships.
And right here, on a warm summer night in Evergreen Hollow, Holly and Rowan Kane held hands and felt the gentle, perfect certainty that every season (spring thaw, championship ice, quiet backyard evenings) was exactly where they were meant to be.