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“Go on.” He claps me on the shoulder. “You’ve got this.”
It’s nice, but I don’t need the encouragement. I’m not afraid to talk to her. I am not afraid of anything much these days. Once you move 6000 kilometers away from home, to a country where you don’t speak the language, and face down every major league hockey competitor in the world, not much can scare a guy.
But I don’t head straight for Chiara. Instead, I duck under the bar instead and grab two glasses. “Evening, Pete.”
“Evening,” he says without even blinking at this strange turn of events. Nothing rattles that man. He should play hockey.
I fill both glasses with ice. Then I use the gun to squirt seltzer inside. I add two lemon wedges, perching them on the edge. Then I carry them back around to the customers’ side of the bar, where I take the empty seat next to Chiara.
She looks up at me, and there’s no surprise in her expression. “Hi,” she says quietly. And the tone is a little sheepish.
Sheepish is a fun English word. It makes me think of fuzzy sheep. And even as I get my first good look at Chiara’s beautiful dark eyes, I feel a pang of longing for the language game she used to make me play. “Hi,” I echo. “I brought you my favorite drink, because I don’t know yours. Want to play a game?”
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Answer four questions, and I will provide cookies.”
Her smile forms slowly. “All right. I’ll play.”
“Question number one—is something wrong?”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “How does this game work, exactly? I don’t know how you’re going to figure out my score.”
“This is a game you cannot fail.” I shrug. “Is something wrong?”
She looks away. “That is more complicated than you’d think. It will sound like yes. But actually no.”
“I’m not sure that answer makes sense,” I tell her. “But I’ll give you a point anyway.”
She swallows hard, and that’s when I notice that the delicate chain around her neck no longer holds a ring. My gaze drops to her hands, and they are free of jewelry.
My heart gives a kick. “Question two—did you lose your engagement ring?”
“Sort of.” One shoulder lifts half-heartedly. “In a manner of speaking. Actually, I gave it back last month.”
I suppose it would be rude to cheer and do somersaults. So I ask another question instead. “Number three—is that why you are sad?”
She winces. “I’m not very sad. Just kind of confused, pretty angry, and a whole lot embarrassed.”
“Question four—Do you want to take a walk with me and talk about it?”
She gives me a sly, teasing glance. “I don’t know. Will there really be cookies?”
“There could be. There is a package waiting for me at home, and I suspect it contains cookies.”
She pushes her stool back from the bar. “I would love to take a walk with you. But aren’t you supposed to be celebrating with your teammates?”
“Nah,” I shrug. Then I use a couple of English phrases that show off my new capabilities. “I spend every waking moment with those psychos. They can party one night without me.”
“Listen to you! Your English has come a long way. But you still have a cute accent.”
Cute. Hmm. Puppies are cute. Hockey players not so much.
“…Okay, let me settle up here and visit the ladies room.”
“I will settle up with Pete. You go ahead,” I say.
I am just paying the bill when Heidi Jo comes through the door. “Hey, Ivo! Those idiots are playing darts without me, aren’t they?”
