Not just a while. But a long while. Did she even meet Eliza? I can’t remember. “Since what?” I ask.
To her credit, she doesn’t roll her eyes. She does, however, push on. “Is she someone special?”
That’s a loaded question. I could tell her Mabel’s the woman I can’t stop thinking about. That she’s someone I wanted to ask out seven years ago. Or I could say she’s my new business partner.
Maybe she’s even my good luck charm.
All of those may be true, but none matter as much as this: “Yes, she’s the woman who’s finally helping me make my mom’s dreams come true.”
Annabelle’s smile turns sad. “I’m so glad to hear that, honey.”
I give her a tight nod, then turn to go. But halfway down the steps, I stop and turn around. That same uncomfortable feeling from the Foxes gift shop returns, but I push past it once again. “Annabelle, the cake?”
She tilts her head. “Yes?”
I grit my teeth, then blow out a breath, trying to release the tension. “What color is the frosting?”
Humming thoughtfully, she looks down at the cake, studies it, then raises her face. “It’s the soft blue of the early morning before the sun rises. It’s calm, restful, but a little wistful.”
I blow out a breath, and that clawing desire to take off has vanished. Like it was released somehow.
That’s good. A relief. But I still need to go. After I thank Annabelle and say goodbye to her and to Seven, I hop on the bike and head home. Once I’m in my house, I text Mabel. It’s the right thing to do.
Corbin: The cake tastes as good as it looks. It’s the color of the pre-dawn sky, right?
Mabel: Yes!!!! How did you know?
Corbin: I asked someone.
Mabel: I’m so touched. Also, I have to tell you something.
Ah, fuck. Nothing good ever starts with those words. I can’t even imagine what’s coming. But I brace myself as I reply.
Corbin: What do you want to tell me?
Mabel: I wasn’t sure if I’d be any good at working with someone else. I’m a little…
Corbin: Lone wolf? Free spirit? Intensely, incredibly, unequivocally independent?
Mabel: Tell me what you really think.
But I can’t do that, so I write back with something else.
Corbin: You were saying?
Mabel: You make it easy to work with someone else.
Easyis not how I’d describe this desire for her. There’s nothing easy about it.
Corbin: Same for you.
As much as I want to text more, I stop there. I have to.
Fine, fine. Mabel’s clearly not my good luck charm, and I’m not complaining. We win the next game on the road, and since she’s not here in Phoenix, it was foolish of me to think she’d been the thing that broke my point-less streak.
It’s just hockey, plain and simple. And it’s best I keep my eye on the game.
In the visitors’ locker room, as we get dressed to travel to Los Angeles this evening for tomorrow night’s game, Miller is riding that post-game high. “I’m feeling like some bocce ball, boys.”
