After the National Anthem, I slide onto the ice, do a warm-up lap, waving at everyone, and wonder how the guys will play hockey since the snow is now really coming down. Volunteers shovel, and then the ref blows the whistle.
Mindy and Thomas usher me under the bleachers, where I still have a full view of the game, and can remove the mascot head without risking a child pointing and screaming that someone decapitated Gus. I slug some ice-cold water to cool down.
“That was something,” Mindy observes cheerfully.
Thomas says, “You made a lot of kids happy. That’s what matters.”
He’s right. Seeing those little faces light up was worth the humiliation. Mostly.
Then the puck drops, and I forget about everything else because Patton Cross on the ice is what’s impressive.
The man is fast, controlled, and powerful. Every movement is precise and purposeful. He anticipates plays before they happen, positions himself perfectly, and when he has the puck, he’s unstoppable.
I knew he was competent. I’ve seen him work efficiently, thoroughly, always three steps ahead.
But this is different. This is attractive. Dare I sayhot.
Unless that’s the costume, which is entirely possible.
Then again, who am I kidding? The Patton Cross starter pack should come with its own fire extinguisher.
He’s intent as he skates, laughing when one of his crew members—James, I think—nearly crashes into the boards. When he scores, the crowd erupts with cheering and clapping.
“She’s got it bad,” Mindy sing-songs.
“Why do you say that?” I ask, feigning innocence. Is it really that obvious?
“The ear-to-ear grin,” Thomas supplies.
“I’m just appreciating athletic skill.”
“You’re drooling.”
“I am not—” I touch my chin. It’s wet. I jiggle the water bottle. “I’m hydrating.”
Thomas leans over. “You know you’re going to lose that bet, right?”
My stomach drops. The bet. I’d completely forgotten about it.
Get Patton to smile at the Fireman’s Ball. Prove he’s not as grumpy as everyone thinks.
Except he’s already smiled at me. Multiple times. Real smiles that crinkle the corners of his eyes and make my heart do the kinds of leaps a real squirrel makes effortlessly between tree limbs. But no one has witnessed those moments. As far as my coworkers are concerned, I’m a lost cause, and my feelings are unrequited. I’m on a mission to win Patton over, that’s doomed to fail.
The Fire Department wins the hockey game and everyone goes wild. That’s my cue to put the mascot head back on and get out there. During the victory lap, as the snow turns heavy, Patton scans the crowd until he finds me.
He winks.
I smile back.
Meanwhile, I just look like a large, frenzied squirrel, but everything else fades away and I imagine us alone on center ice.
Afterward, he makes his way through the congratulations and backslaps, heading straight for me. He’s slightly breathless, hair damp with sweat, cheeks flushed from exertion.
“You were really good out there,” I squeak.
Something in his expression softens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Really good.”
