High Stick

by Alicia Hunter Pace

Alone with her thoughts, Merry expected the second-guessing and the regret to set in, but it didn’t. Regret took energy and she didn’t have any left. Besides, classes didn’t start for ten days. Maybe this could be like a tropical island vacation fling—not that she’d ever been to a tropical island or had a fling. But lots of people did. She could, too—minus the island and the sex that was usually implied in a fling. Yes. A Cinderella fling. Cinderella wouldn’t have had sex with Prince Charming at the ball. Maybe this could be like that. Maybe she could just roll through the next ten days, roll around in a Cinderella carriage until she had to roll into Civil Procedures II at 8:00 a.m. a week from Friday.

  And if it didn’t last that long, so what? If he stood her up for dinner tomorrow night, or didn’t call after the Chicago game, or expected her to have sex, it wouldn’t matter. It would just mean the carriage would turn into a pumpkin a little sooner. It wasn’t like she had feelings for him. Not yet, her tired brain shouted at her. Oh, shut up, she said right back.

  “Are you ready?” Ah, it was Prince Charming—or come to think of it, probably not. Prince Charming didn’t experience those awkward little moments. Maybe he was the Ice Prince. Yes. That was more fitting. “Have this.” He held out a paper cup with a top.

  “What is it?” She took the cup. It was warm.

  “Hot chocolate. It’ll warm you up and help you sleep—not that I think you’ll need help.”

  “Thank you.” There was a little catch in her voice when she said it. Where had that come from? She could not afford to think he was the most considerate Ice Prince who had ever skated.

  “Come on, the Uber is waiting out front,” Jarrett said.

  She stopped. “The what?”

  “Uber.” He moved her toward the door. “It’s a private taxi service that—”

  She waved him silent. “I know what Uber is. I just don’t know why we have one. We’re two blocks from the parking garage.”

  “Because it’s raining.” He looked so pleased with himself. “And I promised I wouldn’t let you get wet again when we left. And we’re leaving.”

  And before she could react, he wrapped her in his large overcoat and maneuvered her into the back seat of the waiting car.

  The driver looked over his shoulder. “This says Bridgestone parking garage.”

  “Yes,” Jarrett said.

  “You realize there is a minimum.”

  “No problem. Once we’re there, the lady will direct you to her car.”

  “You didn’t have to do this,” Merry said as they entered the garage less than a minute later.

  “Yeah, well. There’s plenty of stuff I have to do. I like doing the stuff I don’t have to sometimes.”

  When they arrived at her car, Merry said, “Thank you. I’ll just get out and he can take you to your car.”

  Jarrett just gave her a level stare, got out of the car, and helped her out. “I can walk to my car.”

  She unlocked her car and set her hot chocolate in the cup holder as the Uber pulled away.

  “Thank you for the pizza,” she said, turning back to Jarrett. “Here’s your coat.”

  “Keep it,” he said.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not? I can get it from you later. Besides, I have others.”

  “Not with you and it’s cold.”

  His shrugged. “I’m a hockey player. I’m used to the cold.”

  Right. An Ice Prince would be.

  “Any chance you’d let me follow you home? To make sure you get there all right.”

  “No chance.” Because if you did that, I might let you come in and you would expect things that Cinderella would not do. “You should get yourself home.”

  He nodded. “Will you text me to let me know you got there okay?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, come on! Independence is one thing, but—”

  “Jarrett, I don’t have your number.”

  His face froze. “And I don’t have yours. Can we remedy that?”

  “Yes.”

  He took out his phone. “Number?” He punched in the digits. “Now, I’m going to text you.”

  Her phone dinged. “Okay. I’ll text you when I get home.”

  “And I will call you tomorrow—about tomorrow night.”

  “Good night then.” She moved to get in her car.

  “Wait.” He put his hand on her arm. “What would you say if I said I was of a mind to kiss you?”

  Yes! her tired brained screamed.

  “I would say I was of a mind for you not to,” were the words that came out of her mouth.

  He looked surprised. “Probably for the best. I wouldn’t want our first kiss to be in a cold parking garage, anyway. But what about our first hug?”

  What was all this talk of firsts? So often firsts were also lasts. Would this be, too?

  She let him enfold her against him. After all, a woman only had so much resolve. She waited for him to grab her bottom and mold her against his pelvis or slide his hand to cup her breast—but he didn’t. She had not known she was tense until she relaxed against him. Being held for the sake of it was something that didn’t happen often.

  If she had been taller, it would have been impossible to avoid burying her face in his neck, but she would have had to stand on her tiptoes. With her face against his chest, the scent of him seemed like a perfume created by the gods.

  “You smell like Christmas,” she said. “Wood smoke and cedar.”

  “Wood smoke from the fire at the restaurant. I guess the cedar is from the body wash that my mom put in my Christmas stocking.”

  She laughed. “And I thought you smelled that way naturally. Do you explain everything?”

  “No. Only what I can, so not very often. I don’t have a clue about most things.” He trembled against her.

  “You’re shivering,” she said. “You should take your coat back.”

  “It’s not from the cold.” He took a deep breath. “I wish I could think of something savvy and smooth to follow that with—something that would make you like me more, but I can’t. I’m not good at that.”

  If only he knew that might have been the one thing he could have said that would make her like him more—no frills, no sweet talk, just honesty.

  Someone had to pull away, and it looked like it was going to have to be her.

  “Should I drive you to your car?” she asked as he helped her into her driver’s seat.

  He shook his head. “I’m not far.” And he smiled—not that quick, almost-gone-before-it-appeared smile—but a real smile that showed his perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth and didn’t disappear.

  “You’re smiling!” she said.

  He looked surprised. “Is that so unusual?”

  “I guess I don’t know you well enough to know what’s usual and what’s not.”

  “You will.”

  Would she? He closed her door and stood back. It took a second for her to realize he wasn’t going to leave until she started her engine and drove away. He was still smiling when she caught her last sight of him in her rearview mirror.

  He gave her a little wave.

  Chapter Seven

  Coach Colton blew his whistle. “Good one! Shoot out and you can go!”

  It had been a good practice. Jarrett was full of energy and could have gone another hour—though he was glad he didn’t have to. He’d made a 5:30 p.m. reservation at the Butter Factory and he was picking up Merry at Foolscap and Vellum. He skated to the north goal where Case Cole, the backup goalie, was in the net, and was the first in line to shoot. Ordinarily, he would have gone to the goal that Emile was defending, but he couldn’t leave the ice until he put one in and he wanted it over quickly.

  And it was his lucky day—first try, right through the five hole.

  “Shake it off, Case!” he yelled across the ice. “I’m just that good today.”

  “Today doesn’t count,” team captain Nicolai Glazov yelled after him. “Tomorrow counts! Friday count
s!”

  “Yeah, yeah. I got it, Glaz. Big games.”

  “You’re in a fine mood.” Packi stepped up and opened the locker room door. “After you.”

  Jarrett went to his stall and took off his helmet. “No reason not to be in a fine mood—at least none that I can think of.”

  Packi handed him a blue Gatorade and an orange.

  “Thanks.” Jarrett opened the Gatorade and took a long drink. “I think I’ll save the orange for later.”

  Packi looked surprised. “You always eat an orange as soon as you come off the ice—before you even take off your skates. You’re the only guy I’ve ever known who eats while he is still wearing his skates. I thought it was a ritual.”

  “No. I don’t have rituals.”

  “They all say that.” Packi jerked his head toward the door where Sparks, Bryant, and Thor were coming in.

  “But I really don’t. I just like oranges and I’m always hungry.”

  “And you aren’t hungry today?” Packi asked.

  “I am.” He set the Gatorade aside, sat down, and began to unlace his skates. “But I’m going to dinner at five thirty.”

  Packi laughed. “Are you joining the geriatric early bird set? Where are you going? Big Platter Buffet?”

  Actually, a guy could do worse than Big Platter if he was really hungry, but he doubted that Merry would be as impressed with the hot water cornbread and macaroni and cheese as he was.

  “Hardly. I don’t think the Butter Factory offers a discount.” But Packi was right. Mostly older people ate at that hour.

  “Nice place,” Packi said.

  “But not so fancy as expensive,” Jarrett pointed out. Nashville was a boots and jeans kind of town. “The food’s really good. You should take Mrs. Packi there.”

  “What makes you think I haven’t? Sounds like you’re trying to impress someone, so I assume last night worked out and the young lady agreed to go out with you tonight.”

  “I should have listened to you and driven somewhere instead of marching her down the street in the rain to Smashville Pizza. But it turned out good, at least good enough that she agreed to go tonight.” Though not good enough that she let me kiss her.

  “No rain tonight,” Packi said.

  “I’ve got this feeling that she’s the one.”

  Packi nodded. “Is that right? How long have you known her now? Three days? How many times have you seen her? Twice?”

  “More than three days. I met her December 22.”

  “And proceeded to go out of town until yesterday.”

  “Not yesterday. I got back the night before. And I’ve seen her three times—if you count when I went to see her at work yesterday.”

  “Ah.” Packi nodded. “That’s different. Three times. You probably haven’t even kissed her yet.” How did Packi know these things? Or did he just strongly suspect? Either way, Jarrett’s face must have confirmed it. Packi nodded again. “I thought not.”

  “I neither confirm nor deny.” Jarrett rose and began to strip. He needed to get to the shower.

  “Give me your skates. I’ll sharpen them.”

  “You’ll see I’m right.” Jarrett handed his skates over.

  “I might—if you slow down before deciding it’s a done deal.”

  A memory of something Emile had told him jangled in his brain—something Packi had said when Emile was courting Amy. Right. There it was.

  “I heard that you think time doesn’t matter. Emile told me you said that you knew the second you saw Mrs. Packi that she was the one and that Emile didn’t need to worry that he’d known Amy for such a short time.”

  The locker room was filling up now, but Robbie McTavish must be having trouble putting the puck in, because his stall was still empty. Packi leaned against it.

  “So have you changed your philosophy about time?” Jarrett leaned toward Packi so everyone wouldn’t hear.

  Packi shook his head. “Philosophy isn’t universal. It depends on the situation and the people. Time doesn’t matter much if you’re not looking for love—which, at nineteen, I assure you I was not. But my wife walked up and there it was. For whatever reason, Emile wasn’t looking either, but it found him and time didn’t matter. But you’ve been looking for love and marriage your whole life—so hard that you don’t stop to consider what the woman is like.”

  “I have not been looking all my life.” It wasn’t like Jarrett to lie, but some things ought to be private. There might have been some truth in that not stopping to consider thing, but that was in the past—gone like Thea, Lorelei, and the rest of them. It was a new day now, a Merry day.

  “Technically, that might be true. I doubt if you came out of the womb looking, but close enough. Consequently, you tend to fit the candidate of the moment into a mold without considering her flaws.”

  That didn’t sit well. “There is nothing wrong with Merry. She has a hundred good qualities—work ethic, brains, morals. She’s a pastor’s daughter and she is not one bit impressed that I am a pro hockey player. She wants to be a public defender and help people who can’t afford legal counsel.” And she thinks I am funny, which nobody else ever has—but he didn’t want to mention that. It sounded vain. “She’s a good person. I know.”

  “I have no reason to doubt that she is,” Packi said. “But you haven’t taken time to consider her flaws.”

  “Who says she has flaws?”

  Packi closed his eyes and shook his head. “Everybody has flaws, Jarrett. You’re looking for an angel to your saint. And there are no angels.”

  Close enough. Besides, what did Packi know?

  “Just don’t set yourself up to be disillusioned, like you have in the past. If you’re desperate for love, it clouds your perspective and keeps you from seeing the person.”

  “I see her. My instincts are good.”

  “Your instincts are excellent about what you want. Not so good about people.”

  “And I’m not desperate for love. I’m not desperate for anything.”

  “Uh huh.” Packi inspected Jarrett’s skate blades. “Not too bad. You aren’t as rough on your skates as most. Still, they need some work.”

  And he and his fortune cookie talk were gone.

  • • •

  Merry finished moving what little was left of the Christmas merchandise to the corner in the back of the store.

  Chelsea picked up some snowflake garland. “This stuff is so sad and shopworn that I really just want to toss it all in the dumpster.”

  “It’s not shopworn,” Merry said. “Or sad. Someone will be glad to have it, especially at seventy-five percent off. You’re just tired of looking at it. That’s why I put it in the corner.”

  “I appreciate it. The New Year’s display looks great.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chelsea moved toward the counter and began closing out the register. It was almost closing time, which meant it was almost time for Jarrett to pick her up. “Do you have New Year’s Eve plans?” Chelsea asked.

  “No.” Not yet—though she shouldn’t think like that. It was unlikely. “How about you?”

  Chelsea laughed. “Are you kidding? People with preschoolers don’t have New Year’s Eve plans. They have Legos and demands for Fruity Pebbles at 6:00 a.m. Not that I let them have Fruity Pebbles—at least not very often.”

  Merry almost offered to babysit—she opened her mouth to say so, but closed it again. He might ask. Probably not. He’d be tired from the road or maybe he wasn’t the New Year’s Eve type. But still. She was in Cinderella mode, so maybe.

  “Maybe Jarrett MacPherson will ask you out,” Chelsea said.

  “What? Why would you think that?” Merry asked. Thinking it was one thing, but admitting it was something else.

  “Harper told me he came in yesterday. He wouldn’t let her wait on him, but he bought nearly a hundred dollars worth of seals and wax—which he left here.”

  “It wasn’t nearly a hundred dollars,” Merry said. “It was more like seventy
.”

  “But he did leave it, didn’t he? So he must not have wanted it very much.”

  “That might be true,” Merry admitted.

  “So he was here to see you?”

  “He might have been.”

  “And?”

  “And what?” Merry asked.

  “Oh, come on, Merry. Give me something. I need something interesting to think about when I’m playing Candy Land and reading Goodnight, Moon for the eighth time.”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Merry said.

  “So, he didn’t ask you for a date?”

  Merry exchanged the brown-covered appointment book that someone—probably Harper—had put on a display easel for a pink one with silver stars on the cover.

  “We got pizza together after the hockey game. No big deal.”

  “There are worse things than getting pizza with a Stanley Cup-winning hockey player.”

  There are worse things than getting pizza with Jarrett. That part of her brain that seemed to have lost its filter was shouting at her again. If she wasn’t careful, that stuff was going to start coming out of her mouth.

  Chelsea got a dreamy look on her face. “Did you know that when Nikolai Glazov got the Cup for the day, he hid his wife’s engagement ring inside? That’s how he proposed to her.”

  “Who is Nikolai Glazov? And what do you mean by get the Cup for the day?”

  “You have got to be kidding. You don’t know that, after spending all that time at Sound games?”

  “I seldom have time to kid or watch hockey.” And this isn’t one of those rare times, because Jarrett is going to be here soon and I need to brush my teeth and make sure there isn’t mascara under my eyes.

  “Nickolai Glazov is the Sound captain. When an NHL team wins the Stanley Cup—do you even know what the Stanley Cup is?”

  “Yes, of course I do. I was there when they won it the last time. It makes for a hard night in suite land, I’ll tell you that. Everybody drunk—whooping and hollering. Demanding champagne. And I thought they’d never leave so I could clean up.”

  Chelsea nodded. “Each player gets it for a day. Lots of the guys take it back to their hometown. They’ve eaten from it, drank from it, taken it to sick kids in hospitals, and used it to baptize babies. But they have also let animals eat from it, left it on the side of the road, and used it for a urinal. That’s why the NHL sends an escort with it now. Do you know what Jarrett did with it when he had it?”