“Perfect,” Elliot says, already gathering the papers. “Lunch it is. My treat—consider it a welcome to the extended hockey family celebration.”
Before I can come up with a polite excuse, I find myself following Elliot through the facility’s gleaming hallways, the distinct feeling that I’ve just been expertly maneuvered tempered by the fact that I actually enjoyed our conversation at the rink.
The restaurant is upscale casual—the kind of place where they don’t list prices but the food is actually worth it. We’re seated by a window overlooking a small courtyard, the Seattle drizzle providing a soothing backdrop.
“So,” Elliot says once we’ve ordered, “voice-over work for the team. That must be exciting.”
“It’s good work,” I say carefully. “Steady, and they pay well.”
“I heard some of the recordings. You made corporate copy sound actually interesting, which should qualify for miracle worker status.” She takes a sip of water. “Have you always done commercial work?”
“Mostly. Some audiobooks.” I’m not sure why I add that last part.
“Audiobooks? That’s fascinating. What kind?”
“Various genres. Romance is popular right now.” The words feel strange coming out of my mouth in this context.
“I bet that’s challenging—bringing all those different characters to life.” Elliot’s phone buzzes on the table. She glances at it, then looks up with a slightly sheepish expression. “Speaking of my overgrown child of a husband... apparently he and Dex just finished their meeting and are looking for lunch. They want to know if they can join us.”
My heart does something complicated at the mention of his name. “Oh. I?—”
“I can absolutely tell them we’re having important female bonding time,” Elliot offers, though something in her expression suggests she’s hoping I’ll say yes. “Brody’s used to rejection.”
I should say no. Should stick to my safe boundaries. But looking at Elliot’s open, friendly face, thinking about how normal this conversation feels...
“It’s fine,” I hear myself say. “If they’re hungry anyway.”
“Great!” She’s already texting back. “Fair warning—they’re probably starving. Hockey players eat like teenage boys, regardless of age.”
A few minutes later, I see two familiar figures entering the restaurant. Brody I recognize from games, and beside him, looking unfairly good in team gear with damp hair from the rain, Dex.
“Ladies,” Brody grins, bending to kiss Elliot’s cheek. “Thanks for letting us crash your lunch.”
“As if I had a choice,” Elliot says dryly. “You two are like stray cats—feed them once and they never leave.”
“You must be Golda,” Brody extends his hand as Dex pulls out the chair beside me. “I’ve heard great things about you from Tyson. Kid’s got real potential.”
“He’s been working hard,” I manage, hyperaware of Dex settling beside me. “Coach Malone has been very patient with his learning curve.”
“Just Dex,” he says, and when I look at him, his smile seems less practiced than usual. “How’s he doing with those backward crossovers? He was determined to master them.”
“Practicing constantly. Our driveway looks like a war zone.”
“That’s what we like to hear,” Dex laughs, and the sound is genuinely warm. “Means he’s got the bug.”
“Speaking of bugs,” Brody grins, “did I ever tell you about my rookie year initiation? Veterans convinced me I had to ‘season’ my new gloves by sleeping with them under my pillow for a week.”
“Please tell me you didn’t,” I laugh.
“Oh, I absolutely did. Woke up every morning smelling like a locker room.” He shakes his head. “Took me three weeks to figure out they were messing with me.”
“That’s nothing,” Dex adds, leaning forward. “They told Rodriguez he had to eat a peanut butter sandwich before every game for ‘energy balance.’ Kid did it for two months before he realized the veterans were just trying to see how long he’d believe them.”
“The hazing stories get worse every year,” Elliot observes. “Remember the one about the helmet blessing ceremony?”
“Don’t,” Brody warns, but he’s grinning.
“They convinced this poor rookie that his helmet needed to be blessed by the Zamboni driver before he could wear it in a game,” Elliot continues. “Had him standing in the tunnel for twenty minutes waiting for some mystical equipment ceremony.”
