The Hockey Star’s Remorse by Riley Above Story novel Chapter 65

Chapter 65 

The sun streamed through the curtains, casting a bright light stream of light directly over my eyes. The events of last night felt like a distant dream that I had been tugged away from. The dinner with Timothy, the confrontation with Linda, it was all a mixture of fear and joy. 

As I rolled out of bed and prepared for the day ahead, I couldn’t shake the feeling that a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. With a newfound sense of optimism, I made my way to the kitchen to start my morning routine. As I prepared a cup of coffee, I switched on the local news and listened absently to the forecast for the day. 

As I sipped my coffee and watched the morning news, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of vindication. 

The headlines were no longer dominated by the scandal that had threatened to consume us. Instead, they focused on other stories, other figures, and a sense of relief washed over me. Perhaps, just perhaps, we were on the brink of reclaiming a sense of normalcy. 

My thoughts drifted to Timothy, wondering how he was faririg amidst the sudden. shift in the vast current that is public opinion. 

With newfound determination, I decided to take a step that I had been contemplating for some time. It was a simple gesture, one that held a deeper meaning. I was going to bake a cake for Timothy. 

The soft glow of the kitchen light cast a warm ambiance as I stood before the countertop, surveying the array of ingredients that lay before me. Baking had never been my forte, but the determination to create something special for Timothy spurred me on. The events of the past few weeks had been a whirlwind, and in the midst of the chaos, this small act of baking felt like a way to ground myself. 

I took a deep breath and reached for the mixing bowl, my fingers wrapping around. the cool handle. My heart raced with a mix of excitement and apprehension. Aria had provided me with a simple recipe for a berry and vanilla cake, assuring me that it was foolproof. With the recipe printed out and ingredients carefully measured, I was ready to embark on this culinary adventure. 

The rhythmic sound of the electric mixer filled the air as I combined the flour, 

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sugar, and other ingredients. Despite my lack of experience, I found a strange sense of comfort in the repetitive motions. The kitchen was awash with the scent of vanilla, an enticing sweetness. 

As the batter took shape, I gently piled in the berries, watching as the vibrant colors swirled and mingled. There was a certain magic in the process, at transformation that mirrored the shifts and changes that had occurred in my own. 

life. 

With the batter poured into the baking pan, I carefully placed it in the preheated oven. The anticipation bubbled within me as I set the timer and leaned against the counter, watching through the oven door as the cake began to rise and take on a golden hue. It was a sight to behold. 

Time seemed to stretch as I waited, my thoughts drifting to Timothy. The cake was a small gesture, but it held a deeper significance. It was a symbol of celebration and support, a reminder that he was not alone. I felt comfortable being that support. 

And yet, doubts gnawed at the edges of my mind. What if the cake turned out to be a disaster? I’ve seen cakes deflate just with a light touch. 

Finally, the timer chimed, pulling me from my thoughts. I carefully removed the cake from the oven, a sense of trepidation washing over me as I examined the finished product. To my surprise, the cake looked far better than I had expected. The golden crust was tinged with a hint of pink from the berries, and the aroma that wafted from it was undeniably inviting. 

As I allowed the cake to cool, I turned my attention to the frosting. Aria had assured me that a simple vanilla buttercream would do the trick, and armed with determination, I set about whipping butter and sugar into a creamy consistency. 

With the cake cooled and the frosting prepared, it was time to assemble the final. masterpiece. My hands trembled as I carefully spread a generous layer of frosting over the cake, smoothing it with a spatula. The cake began to take on a more polished appearance, the imperfections of my earlier baking attempts masked by the smooth frosting. 

As I stood back to admire my handiwork, a sense of pride emerged. The cake wast far from perfect, but it held a sense of charm that was uniquely its own. The vibrant berries peeking through the frosting added a touch of whimsy, and despite my fears, I couldn’t help but feel a swell of satisfaction. 

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Later that afternoon, with the freshly baked cake carefully cradled in my hands, I made my way to Timothy’s apartment. My heart raced with a mix of excitement and nervousness, eager to see his reaction. A familiar sense of apprehension returned. 

What if he didn’t like the cake? What if he found it unappealing or unappetizing? 

With a steadying breath, I raised my hand and knocked on the door. 

The seconds ticked by, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for a response. Moments later, the door swung open. Instead of Timothy’s familiar face, it was the kind, round face of an older woman in a blue maid uniform. 

I tried not to let my mind wander to the possibility of her being Timothy’s next conquest as she greeted me with a warm smile. 

“Good afternoon, Miss Evie,” she said kindly. “Mr. Timothy is in the middle of a meeting right now. Is there something I can assist you with?” 

She knew who I was?!? 

I couldn’t mask my disappointment quick enough, but I managed to muster a small smile. “I baked a cake for Timothy. I wanted to give it to him personally, but since he’s busy, hopefully you wouldn’t mind giving it to him?” 

The maid’s eyes twinkled with understanding. “That’s very thoughtful of you! I’ll make sure he gets it.” 

As I handed over the cake, a sense of satisfaction washed over me. While I had hoped to see Timothy’s reaction firsthand, I knew that my gesture would still reach him in some way. 

I stepped through the door off my apartment, the weight of the cake no longer in my arms. Despite the sense of accomplishment that came from baking and delivering it to Timothy’s apartment, a lingering sense of anxiety gnawed at me. 

Had he liked it? Did he think it was too amateurish? I couldn’t help but second- guess my decision to leave it with the maid. 

I shook off my doubts and headed to the kitchen, suddenly feeling the emptiness of only a morning coffee in my stomach. As I entered, I found Aria and Lucas bustling about, their voices mingling with the sounds of pots and pans clattering. 

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“Hey,” I greeted, my voice carrying a hint of unease. 

her face.” 

Aria turned to me, a grin lighting up you’re just in time! We’re making meatball subs.” 

I offered a weak smile, my mind still preoccupied with thoughts of the cake. “That sounds great.” 

Lucas joined Aria in the kitchen, his warm smile a welcome sight. “How’s everything going? We saw all the cake supplies.” 

I hesitated for a moment before answering. “Oh, I made Timothy a cake. He wasn’t home though, so I left it with his maid.” 

Aria’s brows furrowed in concern. “Is everything okay? You seem a bit… off.” 

I sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I don’t know. I guess I just can’t shake the feeling that maybe he won’t like it, or worse, think it’s ugly.” 

Lucas chuckled, his voice reassuring. “Evie, I’m sure he’ll appreciate the gesture. Besides, it’s the thought that counts.” 

Aria nodded in agreement. “Exactly. And you made an effort to show your support. That’s what matters.” 

Their words were a balm to mys, and I 

felt a slight weight lifting from. 

shoulders. It was true the cake. 

the cake was a symbol of my solidarity with Timothy, a 

– 

way to let him know that he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t about the appearance or taste of the cake, although I wished those could’ve been perfected. 

“You’re right,” I admitted, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. “I guess. I’m just overthinking things.” 

Lucas patted my shoulder, his grin infectious. “Don’t sweat it. Now, why don’t you help us out, Master Chef?”