Carlson smirks and claps me on the back. “Screw it. We’ll go over the roster later. Cocoa sounds like team building to me.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Yeah. Team building.”
We follow the crowd toward the street, Ruth leading the pack as she gives several people instructions on how to get to her place.
The snow keeps hammering the side of my face, and I won’t argue a warm beverage sounds amazing.
We do our best to brush the snow from our coats and stomp slush off our boots before we enter Ruth’s Diner. By the time I get there, players and parents cram into booths, and they sip out of mismatched steaming mugs. It’s loud, as everyone seems to have something to say all at once. The blizzard is still hammering Mapleton on the outside, but here, it’s cozy.
I slide onto the same counter stool I sat on the other day. I like it here, where I get a view of the entire place. Coach Carlson grabs the stool next to me. It’s only a second later, and Ruth pops up on the other side of the counter with a full smile on her face. “Coffee, cocoa, or tea?”
“Cocoa,” we say at the same time. She disappears into the kitchen and reappears with two blue mugs, setting them in front of us. The only word that slips out of her mouth is, “Enjoy,” but the smile on her lips pins my gaze to her as she floats back around the counter with the coffeepot, refilling mugs as she passes through the long narrow aisle.
“Uh, oh,” Carlson mutters as he peers over the rim of his mug. “I think she uses real cream.”
“Are you allergic?” I half-smile, because I’m only half-listening. I’m too busy watching Ruth buzz around, talking to everyone like they are all her best friends.
“No, not allergic. More like obsessed.” He chuckles as he takes a sip and exhales slowly when he lowers the mug back to the counter. “I have a new addiction.”
I recognize Noah behind the counter. He’s still wearing his practice jersey, but I can’t help but notice how he pitches in,helping his mom by grabbing the plates out of the window like he’s done this a few times. It’s sort of nice to see a young kid working so hard.
Then I hear it behind me:
“Did you see that wrister I put top shelf?” a loud voice booms from across the room, clearly bragging, which I hate. Maybe he didn’t realize I’m sitting within earshot, but he needs to learn to shut his mouth if he’s going to be on my team. I can’t stand cocky guys.
Another kid chimes in, “I deked two guys on that last drill. They went flying in the other direction.”
Laughter erupts, and I toss a glance over my shoulder to the round table in the corner. I like confidence, but in my opinion their confidence is a little too loud. I make a mental note.#5, #41, #88. Cocky with egos.
Maybe they’re good.
Shoot, they might even be great.
I’m not building a calendar of pretty boys. I want to fill my locker room with guys who have the maturity to know when to shut their traps.
Almost instantly, my eyes drift back to Noah serving cocoa. That’s the kid who was fast but struggles with his stick-handling. He’s sure quiet, and a tad small. He did wipe out, but he got right back up. The best thing is, he keeps his mouth shut and gets to work.
A little girl at the booth directly across from me erupts in a wailing cry like she’s hurt. She’s probably a sibling to one of these guys. Noah’s behind the counter again, and his gaze skips right over me to the kid’s mom. “Is she okay?”
“She’s fine”—the mom sighs—“just crabby. It’s been a long week for her. We couldn’t get flights, so we drove from Texas in two days.”
One corner of Noah’s lips curls up into a thoughtful smile before he disappears back into the kitchen again. I sip out of my cup, noting this is the best hot cocoa I’ve ever had. Agreeing with Carlson, it’s because it’s made with real cream. Noah reappears with a fleece blanket draped over one arm, and he walks it over to the little girl, handing it to the mom.
“Here, I totally know how she feels, so much so that I leave this blanket in the office for when I need a nap,” he says, not even waiting for a thank you before heading back behind the counter. I watch with wide eyes as the mom wraps the child in the blanket, and she snuggles into her mom. The child is instantly soothed.
Something about it hits me right in the chest. It wasn’t about the blanket at all.
Kindness when no one asked for it.
That’s something you don’t see very often with these young kids.
Carlson leans over, nudging me with his elbow. “Something wrong? You’re staring at that kid.”
“He’s a good kid,” I murmur.
Ruth appears by my side with her coffeepot. “Everything okay here?”
“Everything is fine. Thank you.” I smirk. “I’m enjoying seeing what the guys are like when they don’t think anyone is paying attention.”
