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Craig reaches out and wipes away a droplet of rain that I can feel streaking down the side of my face, his footsteps never faltering. “Because things change, and we don’t always know what’s going to happen next, do we?”
I feel my proverbial foot wedge back into my mouth again, realizing too late that Craig Connelly gave up his dream of being a hockey player in order to be a single dad and give his son everything he needs. “That’s true,” I reply uneasily, letting an uncomfortable silence fall between us again. Jesus, I think. Can I make things any more awkward? “So, you’re obviously one of those guys that makes skating look really easy, huh?”
Another scoff. “It’s one of those things I’m good at, yeah. You can’t skate?”
“I’ve only tried a few times, but I swear, I’m like one of those four-year-olds on the ice holding on to the back of a chair, ready to do the splits like Bambi at any moment.”
He laughs loudly, I’m presuming at the mental image, a sound that dissipates the tension between us. “Well, I guess that settles that, then.”
“Settles what?”
“We’re going skating on Wednesday night,” he advises me. “I’ll teach you.”
“You’re going to teach me how to skate.” It’s not a question. “Why?” I ask, coming up to the front door of the Chronicle office. “Maybe I already have plans,” I add with a smirk.
“You do,” he grins. “With me. Not only because it’ll be fun to have a reason to don a pair of skates again, but because I’m not going to lie, I’m interested to find out if you’re really flexible enough to do the splits like Bambi. Could be a fun night.”
The man has the audacity to wink at me.
I blush, again. Damn him! I open my mouth to retaliate with some kind of witty retort, but he just laughs. “Have a good rest of your afternoon, Megan,” he calls over his shoulder as he makes his way down the sidewalk, heading back toward his repair shop.
Chapter Six
Craig
The repair shop has been a fucking madhouse today. Six appointments, which wouldn’t have been bad if three of them hadn’t turned out to be much more involved than originally planned. It took me all damn day to diagnose the issues, fix what I could, order parts for what I couldn’t, and try desperately to keep every customer happy.
I’m completely exhausted after today, and not only am I realizing that I might have to suck it up and try to hire some help in the shop, but I’m very much aware that I am beginning to feel much older than my early twenties.
No matter how tired I am, though, I still manage to smile with the anticipation of taking Megan out to the community arena in Belltown, about fifteen minutes away, to go skating. The notion of getting to lace up my hockey skates is exciting enough, but getting to spend some one-on-one time with Cardon Spring’s newest addition only makes it better.
Megan is fun, there’s no other way to say it. Obviously, she’s carrying her own baggage, but who isn’t? She’s heard the short version of my sordid story, and she admitted what brought her to this sleepy town, so I feel as though we’ve maybe crossed a line somewhere and actually delved into the realm of being friends.
Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
One thing is for sure, however. When I asked my mom if she’d be able to stay with Ellis for a few hours tonight, finally admitting that I was taking Nancy’s niece out to the arena, it’s safe to say my own mother is hoping Megan and I are becoming friends, too. She told me to stay out as long as I wanted, and to have fun. Then, she winked. My own mother winked at me, like she was giving me silent permission to go out and make a move on this girl.
It was all a bit humiliating.
But I’ve just pulled up in front of Nancy’s house, and I can see the warm glow of lights on inside. I’ve done my best to clean myself up and not look so much like the mechanic with stained hands and motor oil for cologne that I have been all day. It looks like I’m going to take Mom’s advice and try to have some fun.
I’m debating whether or not to go inside when the front door opens and Megan steps out onto the front porch. I’m thankful because I know damn well that Nancy’s mind is reeling in the same romantic directions that my mom’s is. Hell, the two older women are probably going to have a gab fest on the phone all fucking evening while we’re gone
, planning our futures and naming our future children.
“You look pretty.” The words fall from my lips without thinking when Megan climbs into the passenger side of my truck. And she does. In her baby blue, fitted cashmere sweater and light-colored jeans with a matching blue toque that allows her straightened locks to peek out from underneath it, she looks absolutely adorable. “You look like a puck bunny,” I smirk.
Her initial smile falters slightly, and I see her eyes narrow in the glow of the dashboard lights. “I’d say thanks, but I’m not sure what that means.”
“You don’t know what a puck bunny is?” I ask, incredulous.
“Well, what are you then, a puck daddy?” she sneers, drawing out the last word.
I burst out laughing. “I am most definitely not,” I assure her. “Though that’s quite the term you’ve coined. A puck bunny is a woman with more interest in the hockey players than the game itself, Megan. They dress cute to get the players’ attentions.”
“So, definitely not a compliment. Thanks for that,” she says with pursed lips.
“I said you look cute!” I laugh. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t believe you didn’t know what a puck bunny was.”
