“I could get some whiskey from the bar.” I started to push the chair out.
Nick reached across the table and placed his hand on my wrist. “I was kidding. I’ve got practice this afternoon. I don’t think showing up winter coffee–ized would go over well with the team.”
I dumped a little bit of cream into my coffee. “For a small-town league, they sure take their hockey pretty seriously.”
Nick’s lips narrowed. “A lot of players have come through this league to get to the NHL. Believe it or not, the Chance Rapids Bobcats are a big deal.”
His voice wasn’t as jokey as it had been two seconds earlier. I had struck a nerve. Hockey was a big deal to a lot of people in this town, and clearly I was sitting across from one of those people. “I went to games when I was a little kid, but I haven’t been to one since I moved back.” I focused on the black liquid turning brown as I stirred my coffee.
“You should come and check it out.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled for a second. “I’ve got the schedule here, we’ve got a three-game series against the Windswan Eagles starting on Wednesday. Games one and three will be in town here.” He slipped the phone into the pocket of the puffy North Face jacket that hung on the death spear on his chair. After being traumatized by that chair, I imagined the wood piercing the coat and feathers filling the dining room.
“What are you smiling about?” He sipped his coffee.
I would’ve told him, but wanted to avoid drawing attention to the unintentional peep show he’d been served with his breakfast. “I know when the games are, it’s all anyone has been able to talk about. Didn’t you see the sign when you got into town?”
“It was dark when I got here.” He set down his mug. “What does the sign say?”
“’Christmas Festival. Parade and Outdoor Game Sunday, December twentieth.’”
“What’s the big deal about that?” He gave a light shrug and took another sip of his coffee, his eyes searching mine.
“There are ten million activities in the Christmas Festival, but all anyone cares about is the parade and the game. The Bobcats’ float is right before Santa’s. I’m pretty sure most of the town over the age of six will be there to get lollipops from the hockey players.”
“Float?” He raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”
My smile couldn’t be stopped. Nick Tinsel had not done his homework. “They didn’t tell you that you would be in the parade?”
“Fuck.” Nick shook his head. His smile crinkles disappeared and he let out a groan. “No. They definitely did not.”
It seemed like a dramatic response and I didn’t know how to respond. He picked up on my trepidation.
“I’m not a big fan of the holidays.” He gave a meek smile. “I actually hate them.”
It’s the wrong time of year to be in Chance Rapids then, I thought to myself. Nick’s visceral reaction to the parade told me that there was more to the story. I got it, the holidays weren’t for everyone.
Luckily Eugene interrupted and the somber cloud that had settled over the table lifted. “Two Quorkie Swamp Monsters for Table Four.” He set down the plates with a flourish. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are some knives that need polishing.” He winked at me.
Was Eugene trying to set me up with Nick? The chef knew that I was single, but he didn’t seem like the matchmaker type. That was more up Muriel or GJ’s lane.
“Wow.” Nick picked up his red linen napkin and draped itover his lap, then seemed to reconsider and tucked it into the collar of his plaid shirt. “It looks…”
The pureed spinach sauce looked like Eugene had shoved Oscar the Grouch into a blender. I put my napkin on my lap and cut the egg. Bright orange yolk spilled onto the plate, cutting the sea of green Grouch in half.
Nick picked up one of the pieces of bacon that was stacked high on his plate. He jabbed it into the yolk and spooned a bit of the green stuff onto it. When he bit into it, his eyes rolled backward in his head. “Oh my god.” He finished the rest of the piece of crispy bacon in two bites. He picked up his knife and fork and cut into the Swamp Monster, and I followed suit. “This is incredible.”
“Eugene loves to experiment and I haven’t seen him get it wrong yet.”
“This needs to be on your menu.” Nick finished the first Quorkie.
Laughing, I shook my head. “GJ hasn’t changed the menu in thirty years, she’s not about to add a Swamp Monster under the Quiche Lorraine.”
Nick dabbed the corner of his mouth with the napkin. “At first I wasn’t too sure about the name, but now I can’t think of anything else you could call this masterpiece.” He finished the second Quorkie and set to work devouring the stack of bacon.
“Speak of the devil,” I muttered under my breath.
Nick turned in his chair and then raised his hand to wave at GJ. My grandma had short white hair, blue eyes, and freakishly muscular arms. The woman could do twenty pull-ups back in the day and last year on her eighty-second birthday, she did two. I could barely eke out one on a good day.
“Mr. Tinsel. I see you found the dining room. How is your breakfast?” Her eyes glanced to the plate. “Or should I ask, what was your breakfast?”
