“Finn’s girlfriend made them. I provided moral support.”
“You watched her bake.”
“I was very supportive.”
I bite into the cookie. It’s delicious. “Tell Ivy she’s a genius.”
“Tell her yourself. She’ll never let me hear the end of it.” He pours cocoa into two cups and hands me one. “So. First official date.”
“Technically the second if you count the after-hours triangle practice.”
“That was rehearsal, not a date.”
“You brought me hot chocolate.”
“Fine. Second date.” He taps his cup against mine. “To not screwing this up.”
“To showing up when it matters,” I counter.
We drink. The cocoa is perfect. Hot and rich and exactly what I need.
“This is really nice,” I say quietly. “Weird, but nice.”
“That’s my brand.”
We sit for a while, drinking cocoa and eating sandwiches. He tells me about practice earlier, about Finn trying to convince everyone to do a Halloween theme for the next game. I tell him about my student Rusty, who’s decided he wants to play drums professionally and has been practicing on every surface in his house.
“His mom called me begging for help,” I say. “Apparently he’s been drumming on the dining table during dinner.”
“Kid’s committed.”
“Kid’s going to get his drums taken away.”
Jude laughs. That real, unguarded laugh I’m collecting like precious treasure.
Then he stands up and walks over to where he left the duffel bag. He pulls out two hockey sticks and a puck.
Oh no.
“Penalty shot contest,” he announces. “Loser does dishes for a week.”
“You don’t even own dishes.”
“Then you’d better win.” He holds out a stick.
I stare at it. “I’m in a dress.”
“You’re in tights under the dress. Same thing as athletic wear.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“Scared?”
“Of humiliating myself? Absolutely.”
He grins. “Come on, Kessler. Show me what you’ve got.”
I take the stick. “This is a terrible idea.”
