Page 4 of Tricky Puck

“No need for you to think. Just keep an open mind and let things happen as they may. You’ll know if there’s a spark.”

“It’s not the spark I’m worried about. I’m not interested in a committed relationship. I have too many things to do. Songs to write, a music career to launch.”

“How’s that been working for you?” she deadpans.

Shit. Leave it to Granny to fall back on her plain-talking streak, bordering on cruel in this case.

“Ouch. I’m working on it. You know that. Now that I’ve been unceremoniously relieved of my duties at the Honey Pot Bar & Grill, I plan to focus on my music. I’ve saved up some money and plan to go full throttle for the next six months.”

“You’re going to record your music?”

Shit. “Maybe.”

“You should, Delaney. You have the voice of an angel. Everyone in the church choir agreed. You can’t sell words on a page, but you can sell the sound of your voice, singing your songs.”

“You may be right.” I don’t point out that people sell words on a page all the time and that I haven’t sung in the church choir since grade school, but I get her point. “Selling songs is easier when they’re heard, but you know how I feel about being a vocal talent. It’s very different from being a songwriter.”

“And where is it written that you can’t be both?”

Nowhere. In fact, the most successful musicians are both. I smile and give her a hug. “I should get going if I want to meet my mystery date for dinner.” I wink at her.

“Dress up nice, Delaney. Put a real effort into this, the way you would if it was any challenge put before you. Give him—and yourself—a chance.”

She stops me with her earnest pleading, and I nod. “I will.”

Dammit. I had no intentions of dressing up. I’d been prepared to get a cab and go as I am in jeans, a white button-down shirt, and low black boots. I’m not even sure I’d have put a brush through my hair or my teeth.

But shit. Granny is good at shaming me to do the right thing, and I promised I’d make the effort. Changing out my jeans for a short black skirt and my boots for strappy sandals with a sexy heel, I glance in the mirror and unbutton one more button of my blouse. A little cleavage never hurt. I give myself an encouraging wink, satisfied with my effort.

I can keep an open mind about enjoying the evening even if I have no intentions of seeing this mystery man—no matter how much money he makes—ever again.

That should be easy since I plan to leave the city in a couple of days.

I’ve already sublet my studio apartment to Uncle Torin for six months. I’ll be escaping to my friend’s cabin in New Hampshire to work on songwriting for the duration. Though I’m using the word friend loosely here, he owes me, so I’m taking advantage of the chance to get away.

Three

LINK

Fast forward a few hours, and I find myself resigned to the matchmaking deal—temporarily. There’s nothing I can say that’ll get me out of tonight’s blind date.

My short visit home to Brooklyn was squeezed between pre-season and our first game in two days up in New Hampshire because I did not want to miss Grandma’s 90th birthday party.

However, I’m leaving first thing in the morning, so my date with the matchmaker’s young lady isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. I can handle dinner tonight, then I’ll figure out a way to deal with Grandma’s birthday wish in a more reasonable way later.

Grandma bangs on my bedroom door again—the same room I’ve had in her house since I was a kid.

“I have to go.” Holding the phone between my chin and shoulder, I zip my Portsmouth Whalers duffel bag. I’m ready to fly out of New York at six a.m. tomorrow and get back to my hockey life.

“Where’s the fire?” Jason, my best bud from the team, snickers. “You’re getting to bed early tonight, aren’t you? You better be if you’re having me pick you up at the airport at fucking seven in the morning.”

“My grandmother is expecting me.” I don’t want to go into details, but I feel compelled to fill the dead air after a couple of beats of Jason’s silence. “She’s expecting me to go to dinner.” It’s not a lie. If he assumes I’m going to dinner with Grandma, that’s on him.

I wish to hell I was having dinner with Grandma.

“Tell her I said hello. She’s a cool old lady.”

I end the call and open the door.