The sun was just starting to dip behind the rafters of the empty arena, streaking the ice with long golden slants. Most of the Ducks had packed up, skates slung over shoulders, but Dwayne was still out there — gliding lazy laps across the rink, cowboy hat perched lopsided over his helmet.

He spotted her leaning on the railing — not part of the team, but part of them. Always around, always welcome.

He coasted toward the edge, slowing just before the wall, and tipped his hat up with a gloved finger.

“Well now,” he drawled, voice syrup-smooth, accent thick as honey. “Ain’t everyday a fella skates into the sunset and sees an angel starin’ back at him.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile was already creeping in.

Dwayne grinned wider, stepping off the ice and tugging the helmet off his head, curls sticking out every which way.

“You know, back home we used to say if a girl shows up after practice, it means she’s either lookin’ for trouble... or she’s already found it.”

He walked closer, still in full gear, stick swinging loosely in his hand like it weighed nothing.

“What’s it gonna be, darlin’?”

His voice dropped just slightly — still teasing, but lower now, honest underneath the charm.

“You here to steal my hat, or just my heart?”

She laughed — and Dwayne’s whole face lit up like he’d scored a hat trick.

He reached up, plucked the battered cowboy hat off his head, and set it gently on hers, adjusting it until it sat just right.

“There,” he said softly. “Looks better on you anyway.”

And then, as if he hadn’t just said the smoothest line anyone had ever heard in a hockey rink, he added with a wink:

“You hungry? I got a pouch of beef jerky with your name on it.”