Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
My other takeaway from that brief conversation was that I really liked hearing his name with mine. The JC and Thoreau Show had a ring. We were a good team, and I couldn’t help thinking we could be something real.
I didn’t say anything, though. The sentiment sounded corny and very difficult to put into words. Not to mention complicated. I lived on the other side of the country, for fuck’s sake.
I had too much on my plate to devote unnecessary worry to our logistical issues. I chose to believe we’d be okay. He showed me every damn night how much he wanted me. And I did the same. We made love fiercely, coming together and falling apart in passionate waves that were sometimes hungry and ferocious and other times, gentle and almost…beautiful.
Okay, that sounded like bad poetry, but it was true.
We were solid in a way I hadn’t felt about anything in years. I was solid. I didn’t need orange tape on Wednesdays or omega-3 tuna salad boosts. Not to say I wouldn’t partake, but the desperation was gone.
I felt as if I’d healed and found my missing piece in the process. I knew who I was and what I needed to do. I wasn’t fucking retiring, and I wasn’t sitting out the rest of the season like an impotent figurehead either. I was going to Seattle to play hockey.
I spent a lot of time on the phone with my agent, management, and my coach in the days leading up to my departure. I drove myself to my final doctor appointment, scheduled an MRI with the team physician, and agreed to a press conference to discuss my injury, recovery, and future with the Slammers upon my return to Seattle. It was kind of exciting.
Jean-Claude was my biggest cheerleader. He was thrilled I didn’t need sunglasses anymore, happy for me when I picked up my rental car, and was genuinely excited to know the Slammers were prepared to welcome me home with a bit of fanfare.
He was also swamped with a huge holiday dinner event the weekend before I headed out. It was the type of event that required major menu planning and his most experienced hands on deck. If he seemed a little distant at times, I figured he was in chef-mode. He was a professional who didn’t leave details to chance. And if he seemed quieter than usual, I figured he was tired.
He took two days off afterward to be with me and yes, we spent a lot of it in bed, but we also explored Elmwood’s winter wonderland.
It snowed in Seattle, but never like this. Elmwood got a foot of snow last week, and though most of it had melted, the town was covered in a beautiful blanket of white. It glowed in the early evening moonlight. Christmas lights twinkled on houses and storefronts on Main Street, and live garland was wrapped around nearly every lamppost. Gorgeous.
I bumped Jean-Claude’s shoulder, tilting my chin toward the picture postcard vision. “It’s like something out of a movie.”
“Oui. A horror movie where a villainous Santa steals toys and murders Bûche de Nöel for fun.”
“How do you murder a yule log?” I asked, rolling my eyes as I pushed open the door to Rise and Grind.
“You make it with bad whipped cream or something equally terrible.”
“Bad whipped cream? Is there such a thing?”
Jean-Claude gave me some heavy side-eye as he took his place in line behind Penny Henderson, whose family owned the amazing bakery next door. We said hello, commented on the weather and the growing holiday madness, then continued our conversation.
“Of course, there is such a thing. It’s always better to make your own whipped cream. And marshmallows. Speaking of which…” He stepped up to the counter. “Two large hot cocoas with marshmallows…the good kind I make for you, please.”
Ivan grinned. “We wouldn’t dare serve anything else. Will that be all?”
“Yes. I thought you had today off,” Jean-Claude commented, tapping his credit card.
“I’m covering for Stacy. She’s helping her mom set up for bingo tonight. We close in an hour, so I’ll head over afterward. Do I lead an exciting life or what?” He held his hand up like a stop sign. “Don’t answer that. But actually, it is kind of fun. JC never goes, but if you’re looking for a real taste of Elmwood before you get back to the real world, this is your chance, Riley.”
“Uh…we’re on our way to the juniors game. But it sounds cool, huh?” I glanced over at my suddenly grumpy-looking date.
“Bingo? No, I am not eighty.”
“Close enough.” Ivan snorted.
“If I don’t make it, I’ll catch you next time,” I interjected, elbowing Jean-Claude.
Ivan bit his bottom lip and raced around the counter, pulling me in for an impromptu hug. “We’re going to miss you. Don’t be a stranger.”