Normally, he had a knack for reading a room, a rink, or a person. His approach involved sharp observation, analyzing possible plays, and anticipating the next move, especially when it came to the puck’s trajectory. He knew what others expected from him: fans wanted wins, teammates needed him to be unbeatable, the press hoped for another oddball goalie with good sound bites, lovers desired him to be superhuman. But this woman was different. She wasn’t trying to get anything from him. And she hadn’t signed up to be a cosmic chaos cleaner today.
“It wasn’t anything intelligent or captivating. Just a fleeting thought.” A dimple appeared with her shy smile. “You are notably tall, you see, surpassing most gentlemen I’ve encountered. And more— How do I express this delicately... ?” She gestured at the breadth of his chest. “Are men from your place of origin generally as imposing as yourself?”
He processed her question, still adjusting to how she spoke.
A soft patter of raindrops whispered through the air.
It took a beat to figure out she was asking if guys in his time were as ripped as he was. Standing at six-two, he was average by NHL standards. “I’m taller than most,” he said, keeping his face neutral so as to avoid showing his satisfaction and closing her off. “And to answer your other question, no, not everyone is as, uh,muscular.” Despite the rain, despite the disorienting strangeness of the day, the corner of his mouth twitched, a smile emerging. When all was said and done, he kinda liked this weirdo.
So would Nora. Lizzy was her type of person.
Shit.
Lizzy read his face, her hair clinging to her cheeks in wet tendrils. “What’s the matter?”
He meant to say his usual “Nothing,” but the truth snuck out before he could catch himself. “My sister... She won’t know what happened to me. She’s going to be frantic and there’s nothing I can do. And I’m all she’s got, since our parents, well, they don’t really...” He swallowed back the words. He wouldn’t bring any of their nonsense here.
She turned her head, surveying him with surprise. “You hold your sister in high regard?”
“Yeah, but I don’t always show it,” he admitted. “I’m cold, standoffish, even, and—”
“Always believe you know best?” she broke in.
“Oh no, she’s the brains.” Tuck wiped a wide hand over his face. “I got the brawn, as you pointed out. She’s studying here, actually. Well, England. The University of Bath.”
“She’s permitted to do advanced study?” Lizzy repeated the fact under her breath as if it were unusual. “But there is no University of Bath.”
“Dunno.” Tuck shrugged. “Must have been built later. But it definitely exists in my time and she’s there getting a master’s degree in British literature.”
“British literature? What does that mean?”
“She’s always talking about this one writer... something Austen.”
The rain intensified, fat droplets pelting their skin as they stood facing each other.
“Austen,” she parroted blankly, loosening a breath. “I’m sorry—what was the rest of the author’s name?”
He frowned slightly, trying to remember. “It was like... Janette or something. Pretty sure it started with aJ.”
“Jane.” The color leached from her cheeks.
“Bingo.” He snapped his fingers before silently swearing at her frown. He needed to quit saying words she wouldn’t understand.
“Jane Austen. Are you certain?” There was energy behind the question, an urgency that he didn’t understand.
“Yeah. Why? Is Jane Austen a big deal now too?” He shook his head. “What’s with the hype?”
Chapter Six
“Youknow Jane Austen?” Lizzy asked.
What made her head swim more, the sudden knowledge of her friend’s fame or Tuck’s intent eyes? How had she overlooked those lashes? Or the fact that his irises were less brown and more copper, a near shade match to a three-pence coin?
“I guess even the frogs back in that pond know her. Let me guess, you’re a fan too?”
Too?“I—I—I.” She veiled her stammer with a delicate cough. “I’m beyond familiar with Jane; we’re close friends. Very close. She’s completed one book, under a nom de plume, titledSense and Sensibility. A London publishing house distributed it in three volumes last autumn, though she bore the printing costs and— Oh!”
Lizzy slipped on a mushroom patch, half concealed by the sodden undergrowth on the forest floor. Arms windmilling, she twisted to steady herself on a nearby oak trunk, but Tuck moved faster, wrapping one hand around her upper arm while sliding the other beneath her lower back, ensuring she regained her balance.
