Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 52100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
“Guys, we’re not fighting over cheese dip. It’s going between the two of you, okay?”
“It’s really good, Dad. You should try it,” Spencer said.
“I’m going to, but I’m minding my manners and not eating when we’re still talking to Shea.”
“Oh.” Spencer put his breadstick down.
“I have to get back to the kitchen,” I said. “Save room for dessert because your server will be bringing out flourless chocolate cake for you later. Both the cake and the grissini are off-menu items that we reserve for our most special guests.”
Spencer beamed at me. “Can I help in the kitchen tomorrow?”
“Sure. Can you come by around ten in the morning? We can make cookies.”
“Can I, Dad?” Spencer asked.
“I want to come, too,” Marley said.
“Are you sure you have time?” Holt asked me.
“Absolutely. And in the afternoon, there’s a birdhouse-building workshop for kids on the lawn if you guys have time.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Holt said. “Thanks, Shea.”
God, I liked it when he looked at me like that. Frankly, I liked it when he looked at me in any way. I felt a stab of guilt over my thirstiness because Holt was a newly divorced single dad. He was also a friend of my brother’s.
I could spend time with his children, but I had to keep my distance from him. The last thing I wanted was to complicate the life of a man who’d been put through an emotional wringer recently.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Holt
“This is unreal,” I said as I looked at the wood-framed walls of the Sven’s Beard Youth Hockey Complex. “The snack bar is bigger than the locker room in the old facility.”
“They’ll still sell the same hot dogs, though,” Grady said. “I made sure of that.”
I shook my head and nudged him. “Working on a happily married pot belly already? You guys haven’t even said your vows yet.”
“I never gave a shit about washboard abs. Avon says I have a man-bear bod.”
Grady’s best friend Coulter snorted with laughter. “That’s because you’re so hairy, man.”
Grady silently flipped him off. Times hadn’t changed; we’d all given each other endless shit when playing sports together growing up.
“Sorry I’m late,” Keller said, putting on a hard hat as he approached us. “I was delayed taking off in New York because of a storm.”
“We were just giving Holt a tour,” Grady said.
“I’m sure he told you we’ll still have the same hot dogs,” Keller said wryly.
I laughed and nodded. “He mentioned it, yeah.”
A man in jeans, work boots, a T-shirt and a hard hat approached us. “Hey, how’s it going?”
Keller shook his hand and said, “Holt, this is Frank McMahon. He’s the on-site foreman. If you ever have questions, he’s the one you want to find. Frank, this is”
Frank reached for my hand. “Shit, man, I know who this is. Holt, I’m a big fan. My nephews and I have followed you your whole career, and now they’ll get to be coached by you. It’s a real honor.”
It was the first time since coming back to the Beard that anyone had recognized me more for my years in hockey than for being a native.
“Honor’s mine,” I said, shaking his hand. “You guys are doing an incredible job here.”
“Thank you. Any questions I can answer for you guys?”
Grady furrowed his brow. “Did you guys get the door issue taken care of for the Zamboni?”
“Yep. That opening will accommodate the biggest Zamboni out there with room to spare.”
Keller grins. “I’m planning to drive the Zamboni as much as possible.”
It was easy to picture our local billionaire perched on the ice-cleaning machine. No matter where in the world he went or how much money he made, Keller had always thought of the Beard as home. I’d thought he was crazy for that when I was younger, but now I understood.
“I have to get back to the station soon,” Grady said, looking at his watch. “I want to go check out the locker rooms.”
Frank took us on a quick tour of the facility, which was massive. We saw where the main game ice rink and three other rinks would be, and we saw the framed walls for eight locker rooms, several coaching offices, equipment rooms, meeting rooms and bathrooms.
I felt a stir of excitement. Coaching youth hockey had felt abstract until now. Standing in this dream facility made it real.
Keller gestured to a wall right inside the front doors to the facility. “We commissioned an artist to paint a mural of Sven on that wall. He sent me his drawings and I think it’s gonna knock everyone’s socks off.”
Sven Karlsson was the Viking who had founded our small town way back when. There was a statue of him in the town square that had to be at least eight feet tall, his flowing beard a good luck charm that had been rubbed countless times. No one asked how much of Sven was myth and how much was truth because that would ruin the fun.