Willow Rae Lancaster tugged her black hair up and out of the fitted burgundy and black jacket letting it fall down to fan across her back as she turned to look once more in the mirror, fixing her lipstick. The smell of her mother’s applesauce bread filled the downstairs, making it feel warm and cheery in the home.
A voice spread out into the hall from the family room and whatever YouTube video played. She should have turned it off instead of letting it auto-play when she’d gone to get ready. “And it really comes as no surprise that renowned hockey author Blade Kent will fill the role.” Willow started to turn toward the video, hoping they’d say a new book was about to be released. Blade Kent was her current favorite author, though he wrote in a completely different genre than her first favorite author, Patricia Veryan. The word ‘role’ made her wonder.
“I don’t know about that Jim, yes, he’s an absolute expert on the hockey, but—”
“No one makes you feel like you just watched the game you only read like he does.”
“—but he’s only done a few movies so far and this franchise is expecting big things in these three movies.”
“All the more reason for Blade Kent to be a part of it.”
She realized which hockey trilogy they were talking about, and she agreed Blade Kent was the best choice for the movie. He’d bring such genuineness to the role. She couldn’t wait! Wind howled across the ranch house chimney in the family room making it harder to hear Jim’s response.
“Yes, but they are hockey and so is he, look, Rainn, he’s only done a few movies, yes, but he’s talented, he’s just beginning and I, for one, think he’ll make an amazing team captain in A. W. Fontaine’s bestselling series.” Willow agreed there was really no one else who could be Thomas Taylor.
“You don’t have to convince me,” she swore the speaker made eye contact with her in the hallway mirror as the wind howled, so she tilted enough that she couldn’t see the television in the family room any longer, put away her lipstick as he turned his parting words into some sort of rallying cry for the public to get involved, and started talking about some contest. She didn’t have time. Dropping her lipstick into her purse, she picked up her keys and enjoyed each thud of her boots as she strode out of the house hurrying through the fall slush to her burgundy forester. Willow had told the girls she’d meet them twenty minutes earlier and she still had to drive in to town on the no doubt soggy roads—that part made her smile almost more than the teased hockey movie’s casting. Almost.
_____________________________________________
Rowan Alden and Georgia Winters sat in the back corner of the diner as she walked in with a damp gust of wind, flapping about the flyers taped to the window. Pretty, dainty blond Rowan and black-haired Georgia had their heads bowed together in conversation over a menu though they’d eaten there so often they couldn’t need to look at it.
“That’s it,” Georgia huffed, “I’ve come to your town enough times! Next time you girls have to come over to Cottonwood Falls and go to Leatherby’s with me.”
“Fine. You twisted our arms.” Willow Rae said with an amused smile she knew her friends wouldn’t be able to resist sitting beside them lazily glancing at the laminated menus.
“You know what you’re getting Miss Predictable.” Rowan said with an excited voice, pushing the menu down and leaning toward her as, with big eyes, she asked, “Did you hear about the contest? Tell me you’re going! I don’t want to go alone, and Georgia said she’ll only go if you do.”
Trying to control her laughing, Willow shook her head, her blue eyes bright with amusement as she said, “Hold on. Back up. I need to order my meal—”
Rowan waved that off as her mother walked over to take their order, saying, “She’ll have her usual, I’ll have onion rings and a vanilla shake, and Georgia—”
“Will order for herself.” Her mother eyed her and turned to Georgia who asked:
“Can I have a French dip and a root beer?”
“Sure can.”
“There. We ordered.” Rowan said as they were left alone, turning back on Willow as she asked, “Now answer my question.”
“What contest?”
Georgia shook her head at Willow Rae, but she wasn’t serious and looked just as excited as their slender friend.
“A slap shot contest; the top three finishers from each location go into the drawing and that’s how the winner is chosen.”
Eying her, Willow asked, “And the winner gets…”
“Oh, you really don’t know?” Georgia asked, settling back in her seat and thanking Mrs. Alden as she brought their drinks over. She leaned forward sipping her pop through a straw and letting Rowan explain.
Relishing the moment, Rowan took her time, looking around fanning herself like it was truly exciting. Willow rolled her eyes, but she was curious. “The winner gets to interview Blade Kent for thirty minutes then go with him to watch a hockey game.”
Willow Rae choked on her chocolate malt. With blue eyes watering, she gasped, “Say that again! Blade Kent… The Blade Kent?”
“Who else?” Georgia asked.
“Told you she’d be excited.”
Willow wiped beneath her eyes, saying, “He’s just a man, just another human. Why would I really want to drive all the way to who knows where just to try to meet him?”
“And go to a hockey game with him.” Rowan said as Georgia added:
“And you could publish your interview here and bring in some fresh readers to your Grandpa’s paper.”
“Fine,” she allowed herself to say, feeling a little proud of the way her voice sounded normal, “I’ll go… for you… if—if it’s not too far away.”
“It’s in Kalispell.” They said together and she just smiled, nodding.
“When is this wonderful event?”
Two weeks later, Willow Rae shook her head and bit back a grumble yet again as she found parking in White Fish where the contest was actually happening, not Kalispell. The scenery of Glacier and Flathead lake were enough to knock her over with awe, and her favorite Italian restaurant was in the resort town White Fish, but she avoided going to the bigger towns full of tourists because parking was difficult and she felt crushed by too many people. Or perhaps she was just spoiled rotten by her small town where they all knew each other and very rarely were there any strangers in town. The Yak was close by and with it the Sasquatch Festival in the summer but her town was quiet, peaceful, and beautiful. “One of you better win.”
“You don’t want to win?” Rowan asked.
And Georgia dimpled, adding, “Especially after having to fight for this parking spot?”
“I should have let you two off twenty minutes ago.”
“No,” Rowan said with soulful, blue eyes, shaking her head, “You have to try too. Our odds of winning are better if we’re three than two.”
“Not to mention you’re the only one who regularly plays in games at home whereas it’s been some time for either Rowan or I.” Georgia smirked, unbuckling as she added, “I’m fairly counting on you to win this, Willo-Rae.”
“Oh whatever,” she unbuckled, crawled out of her Forester and shut the door, locking the car as her friends finally got out. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“You know, you might actually have to start liking going into crowds like this if you start writing articles for that company like you want to and not just your grandpa’s,” Georgia put an arm around her shoulders, walking with her as she added, “Most stories don’t happen in a nothing town like ours or out in the wilderness.”
“I don’t know about that. Cottonwood Falls has had plenty of adventures the last couple years and even several noteworthy things happening out in the woods supposedly alone.” Willow Rae retorted, catching sight of several women wearing red button up shirts in the crowd.
Rowan sniffed, saying, “Cottonwood Falls has been worth talking about for much longer than that. Everyone knows that’s where the hottest guy in the state lives, Colby Winters.” Then she looked to Georgia and blushed even as their friend waved it off. Georgia was used to people talking about her second cousin and hadn’t, in fact, even known him personally until about ten years before when her parents had moved back to Cottonwood Falls—they’d moved away when she was four to teach in North Dakota for six years.
Still, Rowan’s comment about Colby Winters being that hot made Willow Rae snort: “You can’t possibly know that. You haven’t seen every man in Montana.” Maybe her being three years older really did give wisdom.
“But we’ve all seen Colby Winters and even as a family member, I know it’s hard to refute. Anyway,” Georgia said, “He’s settled down after all of that and I doubt you’re likely to get any exciting story to come as close as even Cottonwood Falls to us now unless one of the local retired marines has something unexpected happen, and you’re certainly not going to go visit our other closest town, which is only slightly larger than us, so that leaves…”
“No. I may have to venture out if I catch an assignment, Georgia, but I certainly don’t have to like it. How could I, when we live in paradise?”
“Most people wouldn’t call your nothing town paradise. Even whoever planted it only named it Middling.” Georgia said with a roll of her eyes.
Before Rowan could respond, they reached the table with all of the sign ups. There was a large crowd, but Whitefish was used to handling crowds since it was a resort town. She wondered if the people there had always liked it this way as she signed up.
Just a quick competition and her friends had promised her Mambo’s. She could handle the crowds for that long.
____________________________________________
Running a hand through her smooth black hair, Willow Rae set up her next shot. She’d done well so far as her friends had predicted but so had they. The contestants were down to just twenty now and Willow Rae and Rowan were both still in it. Georgia stood off to the side taking pictures just in case Willow Rae decided to write this up and try to pitch the story. She didn’t think it was very likely that anyone would want to read about girls from an unknown town like Middling, MT attending and losing a contest to see a celebrity even if it did happen in a beautiful town like Whitefish.
An hour later, Rowan stood at another angle taking pictures like this was some big event and Willow Rae took her next slapshot.
That round put her in the top five. The top three would have their names put into a drawing, a drawing she figured was staged so that those in charge could choose their winner. One of the other girls looked like a model and one of the guys she thought she’d seen in a commercial, neither were from around there. One of the other contestants wore one of those red button-up shirts so many of the women in her town and Cottonwood Falls had worn some years back, and then there was Fran from BitterSleet, the town to the west of them almost on the Idaho border.
The guy from the commercial went out next.
Fran assured her spot in the next round first of course. Miss Red Shirt missed and the blond model made it. If Willow finished this round successfully, she’d be the third finisher, if not then she and Miss Red Shirt would have to go against each other again for the spot. Fran smirked twirling her light brown hair and staring at her.
‘Ignore her’ Rowan mouthed and Willow Rae pictured Fran in the goal instead. She didn’t have to challenge Miss Red Shirt for the spot.
Georgia grinned, ecstatic. Willow Rae smiled sweetly at Fran and returned to her friends, knowing there was no way either she or Fran would win the drawing. The model would look far better next to him for any publicity pictures than two girls from north western Montana who cared more about outdoor hockey or making sure the animals on their family ranch were fed than make up and knowing how to make a camera love them. Only the blond model stood a chance from their location.
Still, she let her friends squeal and make a big deal about her, ignoring Fran when she tried to gloat about making the top three first, then they went to Mambo’s. She was starving!
After dropping her friends off, Willow Rae skirted Middling and stopped by the frozen pond between them and BitterSleet. The night was crisp and dark though the partial moon did give a certain glow to the ice. She couldn’t help herself.
Stopping, she put on her hockey skates and went out on the ice. There was no light pollution on this so often sports-themed battlefield, and she felt as safe as she had the first time her Grandpa had put her on the ice. Losing herself in the glide of her skates over the ice, the breeze about her, and the countless stars seeming to twinkle just overhead, she didn’t know how long she skated, moving from one hockey drill to the next before she heard a sharp correction and fixed her lax stance before stopping. “Turner?”
“Was driving home and thought I saw someone out on the ice.”
“You complainin’ coach?” She asked smartly.
There’d been a time she and Turner Hochstadter had been inseparable, but they’d both grown up since then and she figured he rarely thought of her as more than one of his players, certainly she rarely thought of the time that they’d dated. At least, she tried not to think of those days; it didn’t do any good to think of them. They were over. She’d ended them, and she didn’t need to look back even if she wondered if perhaps Turner had been the only chance at love she might have in her small town. She certainly wouldn’t date anyone from BitterSleet.
“The pond is technically BitterSleet’s this year, Willow Rae.” He reminded her.
“And the last three years, but we’ll win the tournament this year and it’ll be ours again for a year.” He didn’t say anything for a minute, and she skated over to him. “What is it?”
“Just came from meeting with Burl Grey.” She couldn’t think of a reason he’d meet with BitterSleet’s coach willingly. “There’s a rule in the bylaws, Will.” He drew a breath and let it out. “If one team wins the tournament for five years in a row, that town claims the pond permanently.”
“What?”
“If we lose this year, there will be no more chances to win the pond. I’m sure they’d still invite us to play. They like beating us.”
“They won’t this year.”
“You don’t know that.” He whispered.
Nodding, Willow Rae gripped his arm and said, “You’re a much better coach than Danvers was, Turner, and the team’s really come a long way. We’ll win this year.”
“Yeah, well we better.” He looked around, “Come on now, let’s get out of here before they spot us and shoot rock salt at us like they did when we were teens and would sneak onto “their” pond.”
Giggling despite herself, Willow Rae said, “You were pretty brave in those days, shielding me.”
“And it hurt so bad. You still owe me.”
“Guess I better help you win this year then.” She grinned moving to her Forrest and sitting, taking off her skates and putting them aside as she put her shoes back on.
“Something like that. Listen, Willow Rae, I wanted to talk—”
Her phone rang and he shook his head, nodding at it and letting her answer. “Will, hold on!” Rowan gasped before merging the call. Willow Rae could hear both Rowan and Georgia.
“You won!” They shouted together so loud she moved the phone away and rubbed her ear as Turner mouthed ‘Won?’ When she put the phone back to her ear, her two best friends kept talking at the same time, but it didn’t matter to her anymore because she saw she had a new email. From the contest. She ignored them as she skimmed it.
“I won the interview?” She gasped.
“Yes, you fly out in two days and get to meet Blade Kent!” They squealed and Turner mocked them silently pulling the most hilarious faces. She took a picture despite herself and then she realized what was happening. She, Willow Rae Lancaster of Middling, Montana, was going to get to meet and question the Blade Kent, and then go to a hockey game with him. It’d probably be one of the Southern California teams, but it’d be unlike anything else she’d ever experienced.
“Will, you okay?” Turner asked staring her in the face.
She handed him her phone and said, “I can’t,” shaking her head, “I don’t even know what I’d ask him.”
“She’ll call you back.” He said on the phone and hung up, turning to her. “What to ask who? What’s going on?” She told him—all of it. In excruciating detail just to make him wait.
She’d remember the look of shock on Turner’s face until she was at least ninety. And as she drove home that night, it occurred to her that maybe she could sell a story about the contest today with the pictures. It would lead to the biggest story of her life after all: an interview with Blade Kent. If she interviewed him well and wrote up the right story, people would know her name. She could have a future in writing surely without having to leave home and live in the big city even though this interview would be in one of the largest cities in their country.
What would she wear?
____________________________________________
Blade Kent moved about from task to task as though preparing for any other meeting though he still wasn’t sure about it. Coop Stevens, his manager, stayed calm and unruffled to all of the blond man’s questions.
“And you’ve provided her with an approved list of questions?” Coop asked, finally looking up from his own lists to study his leanly athletic client, waiting.
Blade looked at him with a sparkle in his blue eyes and a slow, slight smile as he said, “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly? Care t’tell me what this not exactly means, Blade?”
He took off and put away his thin rimmed glasses, moving to get his contacts as he said, “She’s a huge fan, from north-western Montana. She’s either an avid reader or she fancies herself to be somewhat of a hockey player…”
“Somewhat, she did well indeed at the contest for someone who only fancies herself.”
“All right, I know you looked into her Coop, she can play. But I know hockey.”
“You are hockey according to some sources.”
“No, that was Mr. Hockey and I’ll never be in his level. I wouldn’t dream of insulting him.” With his contacts in, he turned to face his dark-haired manager, “All I’m saying is, she’ll ask a few questions about hockey, probably more than a few about my books, and then she’ll try to get an idea about the movie series and probably be a bit of a fan girl about it.” The smile bloomed the rest of the way before he returned to his usual serious expression. “I didn’t think it was worth appearing less than open by requesting she submit her questions like a shark of a journalist.”
Shaking his head, Coop mumbled, “Of all the foolish… fine, okay, fine, Blade. You know where this is leading any way.”
“I’m still not sold on that. It’s too risky.”
“Too bad I’m sold and I make the business decisions.” Coop looked at him with a sparkle of laughter in his deep brown eyes as he chuckled saying, “Oh never look so serious, Blade. We’ll come about just fine, and you’ll enjoy every moment of it or m’name’s not Coop Stevens!”
“Well, it’s not really. You were born Joseph Cooper O’Brien unless I remember wrong.”
“But that’s not m’name anymore.” He waved him off as Blade shook his head, and then he moved for the door, calling back to Blade, “The limo picks you up in five minutes. Try not to let the girl wait above ten minutes for you to arrive please.”
“I’ll shoot for seven minutes.” Blade said with a smirk before turning to survey himself in the mirror. The picture of cool, collected, success. At least, how he pictured it from the standing collar charcoal sweater with the partial zipper to the custom jeans that should likely be slacks but seemed to fit his persona better. He made a final adjustment to his short blond hair and nodded. Ready to meet another fan.
___________________________________________
Willow Rae smoothed her dark green blouse down over her black skinny jeans, adjusted her black heeled boots, and reached for her jacket. The hood, and the length of the fitted but warm coat were definitely overkill for this city, even at a hockey game, but she could take it off and put it on the back of the seat if she got too warm and there was something about the intricate white and black pattern that always made her feel calm and… like she was alone at her favorite frozen pond ice skating. Liberated.
Freeing her silken black hair from beneath the coat and letting it spill down her back into the hood, she picked up her ID, shoved it in her jacket pocket and walked out to the waiting limo. Willow Rae had to come back for her phone and key. With a slight blush staining her pale cheeks, she hurried out to the limo, sure she’d already seemed strange coming out and running back inside.
As she drew close the door opened and out stepped Blade Kent with a softly amused smile. It made him seem so approachable as it lit his blue eyes that she almost forgot to be embarrassed until he asked, “Got everything?”
“I um,” and tucking her hair behind her ear, she tilted her gaze down saying, “I do now. Sorry about that.”
“No worries.” He said kindly, holding the door open and motioning for her to enter the limo. “After you, Miss Lancaster.”
“Call me Willow Rae.” She said, smiling at him and getting in, “Most do.”
He climbed in after her, closing the door and motioning to the sideboard of drinks and snacks as the limo pulled out, “Help yourself to whatever you like, Willow… Rae.”
“Thanks.” She moved over, surprised by all of the drinks. Picking one up at random and taking the decanter out, she sniffed the red drink and looked at him with an arch of a dark eyebrow, asking, “Punch?”
“Sometimes you just want something sweet and innocent.” He nodded aside, “Long as you’re old enough, the stronger stuff is in the back.”
“How old do I look?”
“That, is a trap.” He said with a laugh, “A gentleman never guesses a lady’s age.”
Settling in with what smelled and looked like ginger ale, she leaned forward again and put a cherry in her drink, telling him: “Your mother taught you well.”
“My father did.”
She nodded, “I’m twenty-three. Not that I suppose I should be the one answering questions.” Not that he had any interest in answers about her, he was Blade freakin’ Kent. She sipped her drink to hopefully hide the excitement in her eyes. She was actually sitting across from Blade Kent in a limo while he waited for her to ask him questions!
“Well, it’s only polite to answer a few questions before grilling me.” He settled comfortably back in the limo, and he was definitely used to the luxury. “One more and we can turn to the subject of the interview.”
“Okay?”
“How was your flight?”
“It was… okay, but… well, I wanted to drive you know. I just really wanted to see it all, you know.”
He laughed, taking another drink of his fruit punch, “I do actually. Drove myself from back east when I came.”
She had no idea how his light blue eyes seemed to twinkle at that, but she felt her smile reaching up into her own deep blue eyes. “Good, then you understand.”
Setting his drink aside, he looked around and asked, “Hope you don’t mind about having the interview in here, we’ll be comfortable and undisturbed while my driver deals with all of the traffic.”
“Okay, but… the game’s in the same city, right?”
“Close enough, but at this hour…” he checked his watch, “We’re looking at about an hour to get across the city to it. We can take a few pictures so you have proof of being in the limo, and you can use them with your interview if you want to share. I’m not sure if you wanted to interview me just to do so or to write it up in a fan piece…”
“Rowan and Georgia made me.” She covered her mouth feeling pale and sure her freckles were standing out, “I mean, it’s not that I didn’t want… who wouldn’t want to meet you?”
“Well, kinda sounds like it wasn’t on your list,” he motioned aside with his hand.
“I had to miss a practice with my team and we really have to win the tournament this year, plus the chances of winning were—I’m rambling.” She took a deep breath, “I did want to meet you, I just didn’t plan on the contest or winning and… I would like to write it up as an article, if you don’t mind. There was no fine print saying I couldn’t. I…think.”
That had him laughing quietly, then he leaned back pointing at her, saying, “Go ahead, but as one writer to another, you might want to take notes.”
“Oh, I will, on my phone.” She looked around, slowly took her jacket off and set it aside, before asking questions, getting the usual ones out of the way at once: how old did he first take to the ice? Was he a natural or was it hard? Which team is his favorite?
He was animated and laid back, drawing her to relax and almost forget to be nervous as they kept talking. He’d started on the ice a year before her, which she hadn’t expected. She asked if his parents played hockey next.
“Er… no. That is… well, not hockey.” She thought about asking more but something felt wrong, so she didn’t.
“Is there anything that surprised you about hockey once you got started?”
“Back checking.” He laughed and waved her off, “No, no, don’t tease me. When I was little and I heard the term, I thought it was like players checking each other with their backs, but when I started studying the defensive maneuver… it makes sense, though I still feel like I’d have come up with another name.”
She laughed with him, “You’d rename one of our strategies? I guess you really must be hockey to attempt such a thing.”
“I’m not. Hockey that is. Mr. Hockey was hockey and I can never be up to his level.”
“Gordie Howe was one of the greatest players of all times, you’re not wrong.” She studied him again and said, “You’re teasing me about back checking, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“Anyway,” she twirled some hair around her finger while she thought through her list, “what about lucky trinkets?”
“Do you want to hear I stop shaving or showering?”
“No… do you?”
“I don’t.” She noticed his hand moved slightly by his side as he said, “growing up… I was given a bronzed four-leaf clover…”
“Your lucky charm can’t be a symbol of luck.”
“It can’t?”
“Well, no one will believe me if I say that.”
“What if I show you?” And he took out his wallet, pulling out a much-worn bronze four-leaf clover that almost looked like it had been alive at one point and just dipped. “When I skate I—”
“Keep it on you?”
“Something like that.” He put it away and dropped his hands, “Aren’t you going to ask me how I like to tape my stick? Or what number I played?”
“Tell me.” She said and he sat there as he answered, moving to pick up his drink again when she stared at his hands. Something caught at her mind, and it was more than his technical description of his taping procedure. “You’ve had to answer that one too many times; I’m not even gonna ask about your number. Everyone knows it’s thirteen.” Eying his drink as he chuckled and labeled her feisty in an amused voice, she asked, “What about game day?”
“Game day?”
“What do you eat, before or after?”
“Not during?”
“You don’t, do you?”
He winked. And he kept answering her questions. Most of them she could have guessed, a few surprised her, and still she couldn’t keep her attention off his hands. When they arrived, he stepped out first as she pulled her jacket back on then he bent down and leaned back in offering her his hand. She didn’t need the help until she saw people gathered to take pictures of them. That almost made her stumble on the high heeled boots she was usually so comfortable in. “Easy there, they mostly don’t bite.” He said with a chuckle, steadying her and escorting her inside with just a few friendly waves to the cameras. Just before they reached the door someone called out:
“Who's the lady, Blade?”
“An adoring fan.” He answered with a smirk pulling at the corner of his pliable lips, then he guided her inside with a hand at the small of her back.
“Adoring fan, huh?”
“Did you want them following you home to Montana?” he whispered, looking up before leading the way out to their seats. She’d expected a box and was more than pleased that they weren’t so isolated from the game, but they were in the perfect place for the best view.
With a shiver she said, “No thank you. But still, you could have made up a name, aren’t writers good at that?”
“You want me to make up a name for you?” She smiled smugly, dipping one shoulder. And after a moment of considering, he said, “Teagan Rose.”
She turned her attention to the ice and said, “Feel free to use it if you ever need a spunky character who will embarrass herself by speaking before she thinks.”
“And if I’d like to put a character more like you?”
That made her shake her head as she looked over at him and finally nodded, “You’re good.”
“I can be.”
The game started soon after, and it was a good one. There wasn’t as much fighting in the professional games as the ones she was used to, but the skill and the smoothness of each play, the intensity and the way they seemed to work like one connected organism…always gave her chills.
After the first period, they debated the strategies the teams were using. That intermission passed almost entirely before she’d even realized it had begun. Leaning toward him, she countered his point by saying, “Yeah, but we’re not down there. From up here it looks so intellectual, and we can say how clear it is, but down there, in the moment, it’s all a blur and things look much different.”
“And closer.” He nodded, but he studied her even as she looked back out to the ice. She hardly even noticed they’d leaned together as they watched the second period, evaluating and debating, even cheering at the same moment. There were a few moves he told her everyone knew for a bad choice but, in her gut, she knew she’d have made the same call given a choice. And the team was ahead by two when the second period ended.
“Night’s almost over.” He commented, “How about a selfie?” She nodded and he took her phone from her holding it out, then motioned one of the workers he seemed to know over asking if the woman would take their picture with the ice behind them. She did and he thanked her by name, slipping her a twenty unless Willow Rae was wrong. “So, Teagan Rose,” he said, and she chuckled despite herself, “all out of questions?”
“I’ll think of one.” But she had to get up and go to the bathroom. He got up with her walking with her that far.
“Don’t want you to get waylaid by some paparazzi and not get to ask your last question.” He was light-hearted, but she had a feeling he was just an old-fashioned gentleman which she hadn’t expected. When she came out, she saw he was talking to two workers and stayed where she was a moment, snapping a picture of him acting more natural with an animated expression, hands moving as he described something, and a light in his blue eyes. He was almost too good looking to talk to, yet he seemed to be able to put her at ease. She wondered how much practice she’d have to get talking to strangers to develop that ability.
As the game ended, Willow Rae stood up with an excited cheer, and in the heat of the moment, she turned and nearly hugged him, hesitating when she remembered she hadn’t just watched possibly the best game of her life with one of her friends but a stranger. He winked at her asking, “Better than the last championship game?”
“Only because my team wasn’t in the last one.” She said hoping she sounded playful instead of shaken.
“Come on, let’s sit down a few minutes and let the place empty out.”
She nodded, sitting with him and people watching, half listening to a story he told her about one of the playoff games he’d seen between the local orange and her distant red and white. And as the area around them emptied, she asked, “Last official question?”
“Shoot.”
“I don’t have a stick or puck.”
“Willow Rae, ask me your question so you can come up with more for the ride back.”
“I thought I was Teagan Rose.”
“Knew you’d like that name.”
“What’s your favorite goal. Not to watch, but that you’ve made.” That only stopped him for a moment. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, took a sip of his drink she’d thought was empty, and began painting the perfect picture of a game with friends out on the pond, playing against their biggest rival with the big hot shot on the other team really hating him. She could almost feel it. Blade was talking about taking a blow to his pads from the other guy’s stick and struggling through it, then he laid the moment out like a sprawling movie scene put in slow motion. He went through and discarded several options before going with his gut and putting the puck in the net just as the hot shot plowed into him and the time ended.
Blade set his drink down and leaned back again, calm.
He spoke with his hands when he talked about an adventure and had so much animation in his face but just then telling her about his greatest goal… he’d never put his drink down until he’d finished. And without a plan to speak or a warning that the words would leave her lips, she opened her mouth gasping: “You’ve never actually played!”
