Lake: With all these pics coming up at the cake tasting, it seems like a good time for a haircut. You up for showing off those skills?
15
FOR FOX’S SAKE
REMY
Confession time—I had to read one of thoseHockey for Dummiesbooks when I took this job.
I had zero idea how the sport worked. I got the gig here since I was friendly with Daniel from an event planning agency I’d worked at. He asked if I wanted to interview for the community relations manager role, and I said yes.
Then I tunneled down into the rabbit hole of hockey for a crash course, watching videos, researching the sport, and devouring the book.
I want to say I love the game, but I’m not obsessed with it like I am with setting up an event, or planning an amazing proposal for a couple. I don’t often slip away to watch some of a game in the press box. But tonight…after I answer Lake’s text with aYes, I feel an almost inexplicable pull in my chest to learn more about hockey when it’s game time.
If I’m going to study the gameplay, maybe I want to do that alone.
When I’m done with my work—planning an upcoming event with a youth sports clinic where the players are going to teach the kids for a day—I head up to the concourse, passingthe plant wall, weaving through the food court, then flashing my badge at ushers. I don’t need a seat. I can simply stand at the top of the bowl, watching from there, blending into the crowd.
First period’s underway and already the arena seems to be vibrating with energy. The Foxes had a wobbly start to the season but they’ve been on a tear recently, firing on all cylinders.
Rowdy fans in purple jerseys sail past me carting nachos and gourmet pizza, sodas and cocktails. Determined to expand my hockey knowledge, I narrow my gaze to number seven. With the ends of his hair spilling out just past his helmet, Lake’s racing down the ice, flanking Corbin, flipping the puck back and forth with him. Jostling for an opening, Lake finds none, so he passes the little black disc to Riggs, who flies around the back of the net.
That makes sense. It gives Riggs a chance to scan the ice for a teammate to pass to. In a nanosecond, Riggs sends the puck zipping right to Lake. My breath catches as Lake lifts his stick, swings, and aims for the goalie’s legs. That’s a wrist shot.
“C’mon,” I mutter, crossing my fingers, hoping so hard.
But the goalie blocks it, and a D-man gets the rebound, then ferries the puck toward Miller.
The game goes like that for the rest of the period, tight and scoreless, as I file away the details of each play and each penalty. But soon, my shoulders are tight. Must be because I’ve been focusing so hard, trying to record all the info.
No, you wanted Lake to score. You wanted it so bad.
I blow out a breath, tear myself away from the stands, and tell myself to go home and focus on Romance By Design.
I have a new client at long last. A referral, and that’s such a relief. I should plan his upcoming special date, but as I ride home on the bus, I’m staring out the window, watching thewaterfront roll by and daydreaming about the haircut I’m going to give the hockey player with the finest flow on the ice.
* * *
When I arrive home, I bound up the steps to my porch on the side of the townhome, ready to punch the code into the keypad, but I stop in my tracks.
In front of my door is a huge gift bag from the Foxes gift shop. Tissue paper spills out of the top, and anticipation bubbles inside me.
This could just be a work gift, maybe. Something from Daniel? I pull back the paper, and once my fingers brush across soft, plush material, I don’t think this is a gift from my boss after all.
I grab the bag, punch in the code with lightning speed, and carry it inside. Once the door snicks shut, I drop my phone on a table, sink to the floor in a squat, and paw through the bag like a ravenous dog.
I pluck out a stuffed fox.
A tiny ferocious one, and he’s holding a note. My breath catches as I reach for the small white card in the fox’s paws.
I unfold it and read.
For fox’s sake, will you have coffee with me?
Tingles rush down my arms. I fish around for another fox. This one, in a cute little purple jersey, holds a card tucked under its arm.
I don’t give a fox about anything but taking you on a date.
