Page 5 of Put a Rink on It

“Did you eat dinner?” Ma asks when it’s the two of us. “We could grab a bite at Dolce Vita.”

I’m about to tell her it’s too late when I catch sight of my nails. The fancy ones Nero insisted I get. The ones looking pretty festive.

“You know what? Yep, let’s do it. I can catch up on sleep during my time off.”

“First, call Nero.” When I question her, she clarifies, “To thank him.”

Right.

I push his contact, and he answers after two rings. “Not even a picture, Ships? I can’t see your fancy nails over the phone.”

“I’ll snap a picture and send it in a minute. Ma wants to talk to you.” I hand the phone over to her.

“Nero, what a kind gesture. Thank you very much.” Her smile enlarges from his response. “Okay, sure. Will do.” She hands the phone back to me.

“Thank you. Juliet and Tate also send their appreciation.”

“My pleasure. It’s not often I get to splurge and spoil four women.”

A snicker tears out of me. “If that’s supposed to be a compliment, it missed the mark."

“Why? You jealous?”

“No,” I say too quickly, even though, like before with Juliet, I’m not lying. I’m not jealous he spoiled all four of us. He does enough special things for me. He could have paid for everyone in the salon—if there had been other people—and I wouldn’t be jealous. I don’t expect anything, but I am grateful. “Well, Ma and I are off to dinner. I’ll meet you tomorrow at seven and show off my fancy nails.”

Damn, two late nights out. Whatever was I thinking?

“Sounds great. Enjoy your dinner.”

“Bye.” Before he can get another word in, I disconnect the call.

“He’s in Havenwood?” Ma questions.

I’m confused why she’s asking and how she’d know, but Millie Keeley isn’t one to miss even the smallest things. I scroll back through what I said. Right, I mentioned meeting him tomorrow night. One would assume he’s here.

“Not exactly. I’ll explain over dinner.”

CHAPTER 2

nero

Ipull up to the rink at six forty-five, giving me time to get my skates on before I meet Marina. I’ll have to deal with any stragglers after a youth hockey practice, but I’ve been to this rink enough that few people bat an eye when I show up anymore.

Since I’ve been in Minnesota, I try to frequent the small, local rinks, paying more than the customary rental fee. It’s one of the ways I give back to the sport I love. Even if I’m not skating or using the ice for the entire time, I don’t consider the fee wasted. It’s funding some kid’s dream to get on skates or the owner’s dream of owning an ice rink.

“Wow, that’s Nero Champion,” I overhear as I enter through the sliding doors. My eyes scan over to where the voice originates, spotting a few boys about eight or nine.

While being in the public eye gets old the longer I play, having kids spot me and want to chat with me never does. If I have the time, I’m happy to answer their questions, sign autographs, and give them pointers. I’ve never forgotten the little boy in me who got turned down by his idol. That day, I vowed that when I made it to the big leagues, I’d never disrespect a budding fan like I was treated.

I’m proud to say I’ve upheld the promise to myself.

“Hey, what’s up? How was practice today?” I toss out, genuinely curious, not only to make small talk.

A familiar kid wearing a Minnesota Storm hoodie steps in front of the group. His cheeks are red, and sweat pools around his brow. “You came back.”

I flash my fan smile at him. “I did.”

“To skate?” another boy asks, a tilted head and confused expression like he can’t quite figure me out.