Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
I hit reply and drop in the photo of the cat, then the owl box.
Lake: Thor’s very interested in the owl box I installed today.
Her reply is instant.
Remy: Wait, wait, wait. You have a cat on a leash? You hang owl boxes? This is on top of your hidden sunshine side and your puzzle mastery? What other secret talents do you have?
Lake: What secret talents do you have?
Remy: I can cut hair, groom a dog, assemble any piece of furniture in under an hour, fix a router, hang a picture, and plan the best dates
Lake: Let’s go back to that haircut thing. Can you give a haircut because of the dog grooming?
Remy: Nope. I taught myself when I was younger since I was convinced I wanted to be a stylist for a while. It’s not the most useful skill since I don’t cut my own hair.
I want to know more, but I have to get to work. I put the phone down in the console, doing my best to ignore the thoughts of her as I head to Miller’s home to collect our goalie.
I pull into his driveway right as he’s tossing a basketball into the hoop above the open garage. The man never stops moving.
I honk the horn because we’re assholes like that.
Spinning around, Miller glowers at me, then trots into the garage, littered with his teenage brother’s band equipment, and deposits the ball on a shelf. He grabs his gym bag and hops into my car. “Did you know studies show people who honk horns are dickweasels?”
“Yes. I knew that,” I say as I back up, then flash an asshole grin to match the honk.
“But do you know the only thing that sucks about being a goalie?”
It’s a setup, but I wade into the shark-infested waters anyway as I pull onto the road. “What is it?”
“I didn’t get to give you a hard time on the bench the other night about finally, fucking finally, going out with your longtime crush.”
“Fuck off.”
Miller leans back in his seat, slides on a pair of shades, and just grins. “It’s hilarious.”
“What part?” I bark.
“The idea that she might like you.”
I bristle. Is it really that hilarious?
Oh shut up, brain. No need to think about that stuff. You know this has a beginning and an end.
But I might as well make the most of the middle. When we reach the arena, I fire off a text to her.
Lake: Are you working today? If you get a break, I want to steal you for a few minutes to go over what’s next for the wedding.
As I stride into the locker room, a reply lands.
Remy: You bet I am! I’m going with some of the guys who are serving coffee at a local shop in between morning skate and the pre-game warmups. I can meet with you after?
Suddenly, I change my tune about promo events.
Lake: Got room for one more?
* * *
“Florence, here’s your gingerbread nutmeg soy milk latte with—”
I stop trying to read off the list of what’s in it. Florence damn well knows. She ordered it.
The friendly, curly-haired woman on the other side of the counter at Doctor Insomnia’s Coffee and Tea Emporium just laughs. “It’s all good, as long as I can take a picture with you?”
As if on cue, Remy slides by right next to me, smiling at the customer. “Take as many as you want.”
The woman turns around in front of the counter and snaps a selfie of us—with me behind the counter, wearing a leather barista apron and serving lattes. Wait till my dad hears I socialized just for a woman.
Florence lowers her phone. “Thanks again for doing this,” she says to me, her tone heartfelt. “Neighborhood Works is such a great organization.”
“They are, aren’t they?” Remy says, and I second her with a nod. Remy told me a bit about the non-profit’s jobs program, and it’s pretty cool that the team helps out.
But helping out also means serving another drink.
This one’s a chai latte, so I hand it to a man on the other side of the counter who thanks me. Miller’s serving some old dude a coffee and listening to his life story. Riggs is offering a hot take on whether koalas are cooler than foxes to a customer. And Corbin is riffing with a guy on what it’ll take for us to beat the Chicago Barn Owls tonight.
When the guy with the chai leaves, I turn to Remy, who’s managing the whole event with a certain kind of…pep. It’s cute, really, the way she likes telling us where to go, what to do, when to be where, her tablet like a clipboard the whole time. She’s in her element. I nod to the guy leaving. “Is that your favorite drink? Chai latte?”
“It is at the moment,” she says. “I change it up each month.”