Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 52183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
My pen is frozen in my hand and there’s a lump in my throat. Kit looks up at me, tears shining in his dark brown eyes, and I want nothing more than to climb over the top of the table and hug him.
Raw, real answers like that are great in stories, but something stopped me from writing in my notebook as he was talking just now. He looked and sounded like it was hard for him to even remember that Christmas, let alone tell me about it, and I’m not sure I want to share that part of him with the world.
“Thank you for telling me that,” I say softly.
He sniffs, composing himself. “Have you ever had a Christmas like that? One that you inevitably think about every year, even if you don’t want to?”
The memories hit me hard, but I shove them down, keeping the emotion from my face as I shrug a shoulder.
“Most of the Christmases I had as a kid were like that. My dad passed away when I was two and my mom was an alcoholic.”
“God, Molly, I’m sorry.”
Kit’s brows are pulled down, his expression one of sincere sorrow.
“It was a long time ago.” I clear my throat and pick up my pen. “Based on interviews I’ve done with your high school hockey coach and that teammate you had then, it sounds like you could have gotten college scholarships to play either baseball or hockey. What made you choose hockey?”
I tear open a couple more sugar packets and quickly stir them into my iced tea as he considers my question.
“There’s always been something about hockey for me. I love how fast-paced it is. You’re competing at your hardest level every second you’re on the ice.”
“So was it a tough decision for you?”
“Not at all. I could’ve gotten a full ride to college on baseball, and played minor league ball, but I don’t think I’d have made it to the majors.”
“You felt like your prospects were better with hockey?”
“Yeah, and my coaches thought so, too.”
I take a sip of the tea, which is now almost sweet enough.
“You want some tea with your sugar?” Kit quips.
“Gotta make up for my lack of sweetness somehow,” I say wryly. “If you weren’t a pro hockey player, what do you think you’d be doing for a living?”
“Oh, man. I’m not sure I’ve ever thought about that.” He looks aside for a moment and then back at me, making my heartrate kick up a notch. “I think I’d make a pretty good firefighter.”
“So—”
Kit interrupts, asking, “What about you? If you weren’t a reporter, what would you be doing?”
For a second, I think about it. And I come up with…nothing. I can’t imagine myself being anything but a journalist. It’s a huge part of who I am.
“If you keep trying to interview me, I’ll have to ask my boss Lou to put you on the Gazette’s payroll, and he’s not hiring at the moment,” I say lightly.
It’s my way of dancing around the truth—I’m not like Kit, who walks into a room and shines. I’m much better at asking questions than answering them. That way, I don’t have to worry about what anyone thinks of me.
“We have a home game tomorrow. You should come,” he says, a smile tugging on his lips.
Gentleman Viking lips, set right in the middle of his short, full beard.
I square my shoulders, clearing my mind. I don’t want him to think I’m charmed by his invitation, but I do want to go to some of his games as research for my story.
“I might,” I say, trying to sound noncommittal.
“A bunch of us are going out to eat and shoot the shit after the game if want to come with me. Observe me in my natural habitat.”
My mind is stuck on the words going out. Even though Kit didn’t mean it like going out with me, it’s been so long since a man has said those words to me that I can’t focus on anything else.
I hold my pen above my notebook and give him a this-is-my-most-professional-serious-face look. “Some of your teammates will be there?”
“Yeah, a bunch of them. A few wives and girlfriends, too.”
“Okay, as long as I can get credentialed for the game, I’ll be there.”
Kit’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “You know I can get you in, Molly, and you’d be in the friends and family box.”
“I can’t accept that.”
He grins, and something about it makes my cheeks warm.
“Old school,” he says. “I like it.”
He didn’t say he likes me, but that’s what my heart seems to think. And even if he did like me—which he doesn’t, I’m a reporter and he’s my source and this has to stay professional. I won’t get a promotion out of this story if I get all heart-eyed over Kit. And it will crush me to see someone else get the city hall beat after all the work I’ve put in toward it.