The Man Upstairs (You, Me & The Kids)

by Pamela Bauer

  Even though she was the one to inadvertently mention her father, she was grateful when Lisa changed the subject. “So tell me how everything is with you. Are you happy with your new job?”

  “So far, so good,” she said with caution. “It’s going to be a lot of pressure, but that’s to be expected. It’s the nature of the work. I’m going to have to put in some long hours, but it’ll all be worth it.”

  “Ryan said you were stopping over because you need a donation for a charity auction?” Lisa remarked with a lift of one eyebrow.

  “Yes.” She started to explain, but before she could finish, the back door opened and in trudged her brother and nephew, both of them dusted with snow. As they exchanged greetings, Dena thought Ryan looked like a lumberjack, with his red plaid jacket, knit stocking hat and full beard. He pulled the hat from his head to reveal wavy blond hair the same shade as Dena’s.

  “Perfect timing,” Lisa said, getting up from the table. “Dena just got here.”

  Ryan kicked off his boots, then took a seat at the table next to his sister. “So what kind of auction item are you looking for, again?”

  “That’s what I was hoping you could tell me,” she answered. “You’ve lived in this area for quite some time. What type of item do people purchase at a charity auction?”

  “It depends on the kind of crowd it is,” her sister-in-law told her as she helped Luke out of his snow-suit. “When they had a silent auction at Bethany’s school to raise money for the new gymnasium, the hot item was a basketball signed by one of the Timberwolves. I would think that memorabilia signed by professional athletes would always be popular.”

  “I suppose I could go to one of the sports stores and get an autographed baseball,” Dena pondered aloud.

  “If you do that it’ll cost you a few bucks,” her brother pointed out.

  “Why don’t you just ask that guy upstairs from you to donate something?” Lisa suggested. “Didn’t you say he’s a professional hockey player?”

  “That’s what I’ve been told, but I haven’t even seen the man, let alone talked to him. If it wasn’t for the fact that I heard some noise up there one night last week, I wouldn’t even know anyone lives upstairs.”

  “You’d think you would have run into him by now.”

  “I’m relieved I haven’t. I don’t have time to get chummy with any of my neighbors.”

  “You don’t have to get chummy with him,” Lisa said. “Just ask him to autograph something and donate it to the auction. I bet people would pay good money for one of his hockey sticks.”

  “If he has a name people recognize.”

  “What is his name?” Ryan asked.

  “Quinn Sterling,” Dena replied.

  Ryan’s jaw dropped open. “He’s the hockey player who lives on the third floor of your building? You didn’t tell me he was in the NHL.”

  “I didn’t know,” she said in her own defense.

  “Quinn Sterling,” her brother repeated in amazement. “Who would have expected him to be living in a boardinghouse with a bunch of women.”

  “It isn’t a bunch. There are only three of us and we each have our own apartment,” Dena reminded him.

  Ryan shrugged. “I guess the guy has to live somewhere…and it probably helps him keep a low profile.”

  “So what’s he like? Is he nice?” Lisa asked, turning her attention to the stove.

  Ryan chuckled sarcastically. “Defensemen usually aren’t described as ‘nice.’”

  Dena wrinkled her face. “He isn’t one of those guys who’s always fighting, is he?”

  “I’m sure he’s spent his share of time in the penalty box. He has a reputation for being bad…which is one of the reasons the fans love him.”

  “Then he’s popular?”

  “In Minnesota he is. He’s a good hockey player,” her brother stated matter-of-factly. Luke was at his side, arms outstretched, waiting for his father to lift him onto his lap. Ryan scooped him up and propped him on one knee.

  “Would you say he’s like the Michael Jordan of hockey?” Dena wanted to know.

  Ryan gave her an indulgent look. “Basketball and hockey are two different sports, and no one’s like Michael Jordan. Quinn’s made a name for himself, although I don’t think he’s ever made the All-Star team.”

  “But would a hockey stick signed by him bring in big bucks at a charity auction?”

  “Probably anything signed by Quinn would do that.” Lisa had set three mugs of hot chocolate and one small cup for Luke on the table. Ryan reached for the small cup and helped his son take a sip.

  Dena thought again of how different he was from their father. So patient, so protective. So interested in his son.

  “Quinn Sterling was born and raised in St. Paul,” her brother continued. “That’s one of the reasons he’s so popular in this area. Hockey fans around here were very happy when the Cougars got him on a trade.”

  “Sounds like the right guy to ask for a donation, Dena,” Lisa stated.

  “Yes, but how am I ever going to get it?” Dena pondered aloud. “I can’t just walk up the stairs, knock on his door and say, ‘Hi, I’m your new neighbor, give me a stick.’”

  “Why not?” Lisa asked, taking the chair next to Ryan’s.

  Dena’s eyes met Ryan’s and he chuckled. “Lisa would do it.” His eyes were full of affection as he smiled at his wife.

  It was obvious to Dena from the glances they exchanged they were just as much in love now as they’d been as teenagers. Ryan had proved his father wrong. How many times had he warned Ryan that if he were to marry Lisa, he’d end up in the same predicament his father was in? Dena was relieved to see her brother and his wife so happy.

  She pushed a loose strand of hair back from her face and sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to do this. This is so not me.”

  “Even if you work up the courage to ask for the stick, you might have a problem getting to the guy,” Ryan warned her. “Professional athletes know how to avoid the public.”

  “She’s not the public, she’s his neighbor,” Lisa pointed out.

  “A neighbor he’s never met,” Dena reminded her sister-in-law.

  “And I think he’s one of the hockey players who keeps a low profile,” Ryan added.

  That didn’t come as a surprise to Dena. She hadn’t seen anyone going in or out of his place, but then she hadn’t had any guests since she’d moved in, either. The day Leonie had shown her the vacant room on the second floor she’d explained the rules of the house. Guests were welcome as long as they didn’t impose on anyone’s privacy.

  So far the only resident who took advantage of that rule was Krystal Graham, the hairstylist who occupied the other half of the second floor. She had a steady stream of visitors, and Dena could understand why. Krystal was a people person. From what her brother was saying, the man upstairs probably wasn’t.

  “You might want to think of another item for the charity auction,” Ryan said, reaching for a napkin to dab at hot chocolate that had dribbled down Luke’s chin. “We don’t know this guy. For all we know, his persona off ice could be the same as it is on ice.”

  “He’s not going to be mean to his neighbor,” Lisa insisted. “Stop trying to discourage her.”

  “You don’t think I can get the stick, do you?” Dena said to her brother.

  “It’s going to be difficult,” he warned her.

  “Yeah, so what else is new?” she retorted.

  “So you’re going to go for it?” Lisa wanted to know.

  “Yes. I want my donation to the auction to stand out from the others. I just have to figure out a way to get the stick.”

  “The Cougars have a game at the Excel Center tomorrow, which means Quinn Sterling is in town,” Ryan announced.

  “Now’s your chance,” Lisa encouraged her. “If you don’t want to knock on his door, you could always bump into him on the stairs.”

  An equally unsettling thought for Dena, who knew that she was right. It was now
or never. The auction was only a little over a week away. If she didn’t get to him this weekend, there was a good chance he’d be on the road and she wouldn’t have another opportunity.

  “You’re right. I’m going to do it. Wish me luck.”

  BEFORE DENA COULD DO SOMETHING so bold as to introduce herself to a professional hockey player and ask for an autographed stick, she needed to be prepared. That’s why she made sure to leave her brother’s house early enough so that she had time to stop at the library on her way home.

  Later, armed with a stack of periodicals and a couple of videotapes, she climbed the stairs to the second floor at 14 Valentine Place. Once she was in her room, she slipped a tape cassette into the VCR and pressed Play.

  As scenes of hockey players flashed across the screen, a voice announced the featured segments of the weekly sports program. If she watched the entire thirty minutes she could get an analysis of the games played the previous week, hear an interview with the head coach of the Minnesota Cougars hockey team and watch a demonstration of stickhandling at its best. Since she’d checked out the tape for one reason only—to see the player profile feature—she pressed the fast-forward button until she found that particular segment.

  Images of bodies being pushed into the boards and sliding across the ice as skaters battled for the small black puck flashed on the screen. “Every team has one…a big, mean skater who patrols the blue line using his physical presence as a weapon,” the narrator said as a player rammed another against the boards. “He’s as tough as nails, adding muscle and strength to a defense that is out there for one purpose—to keep the puck away from the guys who want to stuff it in the net.”

  Dena grimaced as two men collided with a thud that could be heard above the noise of the crowd. “Around the league he’s established a reputation for being a leader on and off the ice, and with good reason,” the narrator continued. “With a solid work ethic and an attitude that conveys he’s going to get the job done, he’s what every head coach wants a defenseman to be—rough, tough and ready to do battle. This week we profile number thirty-two…”

  The hockey player who’d been banging bodies into the boards stopped in the center of the rink, the camera catching the action of his blade on the ice at the same moment the narrator said, “Quinn Sterling.” It was then that Dena saw for the first time the face of the man who lived upstairs.

  The first word that came to mind was gladiator. Maybe it was the helmet he wore. Or it could have been the rugged features that seemed to be all angles. Dena frowned as she realized that it was also a familiar face. Where would she have seen him before? Maybe as a professional athlete he’d done a commercial she’d seen. He certainly had the kind of look that could sell products.

  As the profile continued, Dena listened to stats and figures that had little significance to someone who didn’t follow hockey. Then the question was raised. “Is Quinn Sterling one of the meanest guys on the ice?”

  The camera moved to one of Quinn’s teammates, who grinned and said, “All hockey players have a mean streak. It’s just that Quinn wears his on his jersey.”

  The next shot was of Quinn. He stood with his helmet off, his dark hair damp from exertion, defending the accusation. “It’s my job to make sure my teammates are safe and protected on the ice. If that means I’ve got to get rough to do it, then I’m gonna do it. No one’s going to run up on one of my guys.”

  Footage of him getting rough followed. Dena winced as a sequence of collisions was shown, all of them resulting in bodies being knocked to the ice. When a brawl erupted, gloves dropped and fists were raised. Dena decided she’d seen enough and stopped the tape. She didn’t need to watch grown men who were supposed to be professionals behave like little boys on the playground.

  She looked at the stack of sports magazines and wondered if she should even bother to read any of the articles on Quinn Sterling. Curiosity had her flipping one open and reading a brief bio. He was born and raised in St. Paul and played his first hockey game at the age of five. He’d left college early to enter the NHL draft. Now he made his living fighting on the ice.

  She heaved a long sigh and tossed the magazine aside. The task of having to ask him for the donation seemed to be an even more unpleasant one than it had earlier in the day. She wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to simply go buy an autographed stick or jersey from a sports shop. Of course it would be easier, but it would also be costlier.

  Lisa could be right. Quinn Sterling might be happy to donate the stick simply because she was his neighbor. She just had to work up her courage and ask him for it.

  As she scooped up the periodicals scattered across the floor, she noticed one was a woman’s magazine. Whoever had pulled the magazines for her from the library stacks must have accidentally included it. She looked again at her request slip and saw that it wasn’t a mistake.

  According to the guide to periodicals, Quinn Sterling was in the magazine. Dena flipped through the glossy pages until she came to the article called, “Why We Love Those Bad Boys.” It didn’t take long to find his name in boldface type.

  “What could be more tantalizing than a professional hockey player who plays rough?” the writer asked. “He’s cold and cruel on the ice, but what we want to know is what he’s like when he’s not slamming bodies up against the boards. This thirty-one-year-old bachelor may look like every girl’s dream with those baby-blue eyes, but don’t expect him to behave like the boy next door. Taming this bad boy is definitely going to be a challenge. He’s been quoted as saying that the woman hasn’t been born yet who can tempt him to hang up his blades.”

  Dena rolled her eyes and groaned. “And this is the guy I have to ask for a donation for a charity event?” As she turned the page a photograph of Quinn Sterling stared back at her. Without his helmet he still looked rugged. And tough. And handsome.

  He also looked familiar. Again she asked herself why. Her answer came as she noticed the small scar along his jaw—a scar that hadn’t been noticeable on the videotape.

  She had seen him before. The night of Maddie’s wedding. In the men’s rest room. Dressed in a suit, he’d looked very different from the man in the hockey uniform. He’d flirted with her, and she smiled as she remembered their encounter.

  The question was, would he remember her? She doubted it, not with the number of women who probably came and went in his life. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t even be a blip on his memory radar.

  All weekend she watched for a sign that he was home, but not once did she see him or his silver SUV parked out back. His absence made her do something she hadn’t done on previous Monday mornings. She went into the kitchen on the main floor.

  “This is a nice surprise,” Leonie Donovan greeted her. “I was beginning to think you didn’t eat breakfast.”

  Dena didn’t want to admit that she often skipped breakfast and simply said, “I usually grab something on the way to work.”

  Leonie nodded in understanding. “You put in long hours, don’t you?” She didn’t expect an answer to her question and continued, “Krystal’s the same way. I haven’t seen much of her lately, either.”

  “What about Mr. Sterling? Does he use the kitchen much?” she asked as she busied herself getting a cup of tea.

  “Quinn? No.” There was a hint of regret in her voice. “When I had the third floor remodeled, I put in an efficiency kitchen up there, but I doubt he does much cooking. He’s seldom home.”

  Dena filled the kettle and set it on the stove. “I noticed. Actually, I’ve been trying to connect with him.”

  Leonie raised her eyebrows. “You have?”

  She nodded. “I have a favor to ask him. Maybe you can tell me if you think he’d be interested in this.” She sat down across from Leonie and told her about the charity event being held at the high school, including what items had already been donated to the auction. “I was hoping he’d be willing to autograph a stick or some other hockey memorabilia for the event.”

  “I
don’t see any reason why he wouldn’t do it, especially since he went to the same high school as Aaron Jorgenson,” she said over her cup of coffee.

  “He did? I knew he was from St. Paul, but I didn’t realize that.”

  She nodded, then set her cup back in its saucer. “His family used to live right around the corner. He was always over here with my boys, slapping pucks around on the small skating rink my husband would make in the backyard every winter.”

  Which would explain why he was at Dylan and Maddie’s wedding, Dena concluded silently. “Did you ever think he’d get to the NHL?”

  “I knew he loved the game,” she admitted, then smiled. “Lots of young boys dream of becoming professional athletes. I think mine did at one time, too. It’s nice to see that dream come true for Quinn. If anybody deserves it, he does. He’s worked hard to get where he is.” There was admiration and respect in her voice, which had Dena wondering if Leonie realized the kind of player Quinn was.

  “You sound very fond of him,” she commented.

  Leonie smiled. “I am, and with good reason. He’s a good guy. I’m going to have to introduce you two.”

  An alarm rang in Dena’s head. One of her reservations about moving into 14 Valentine Place had concerned her landlady’s occupation. Maddie had told her Leonie was a romance coach, but she had also assured her that her mother-in-law wasn’t the kind to try to do any matchmaking with her tenants. Now Dena wasn’t so sure Maddie had been right about that.

  As if Leonie could read her mind, she said, “Don’t look so frightened. I’m not going to throw you two together with a couple of candles and some Barry Manilow music. I just meant you should know each other because you’re neighbors. I like to think that my tenants look out for one another.”

  Dena gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to that conclusion.”

  “It’s all right. I should have explained to you when you moved in just what it is a romance coach does. I help people put romance in their lives. Have you seen my column in the paper…Dear Leonie?”