Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
“Still kind of far.”
I nudged the cone forward a couple of feet. “All right, but we don’t want to get too close to the crease.”
“What’s the crease?”
“The crease is where the goalie works. A player can skate through the crease, but the puck has to reach the crease before a player can score. Of course, if the goalie is out of the net, anything goes.”
She wrinkled her nose in comical confusion. “I don’t know what that means.”
I chuckled. “Never mind. You just need to score. No need to worry about being offside today. Ignore the blue line behind you and—”
“What’s the blue line?”
I threw my hands in the air and skated to the line. “This. The line that’s blue.”
“Why is it blue?” she asked.
“Are you punkin’ me, kid?”
MK snickered. “Yes. But I have one more question.”
“Make it good,” I mock grumbled.
She pulled a funny face and fixed her glasses. “No, I changed my mind. I don’t think I’m supposed to ask.”
“Ahh, must be a nosy question. I’ll give you a hall pass. Go for it…one question.”
“Do you like my uncle?” she blurted.
I wasn’t a dummy. She wanted to know if I thought Nolan was cute or something. I could have laughed it off as a silly query, but it felt like a truth moment. I wasn’t out, and I didn’t intend to come out to a seven-year-old. However, I didn’t want to lie either.
“Yeah, I like him a lot.”
MK smiled. “Are you—”
“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Nolan said, skating up to us. He snatched my stick from MK and handed her a pee wee one. Then he dropped a dozen pucks and squeezed her shoulder. “There you go, Princess. Show us what you got.”
MK sucked in a theatrical breath and nudged her glasses again. She eyed the goal while adjusting her grip—right hand on top, left under the shaft. She wiggled her hips like a golfer preparing to tee off.
“Loosen up and let it fly,” I advised. “Don’t think too hard. Just go for it.”
She nodded and…went for it, nailing ten consecutive shots with more power than I’d seen from a few juniors. Ronnie and Nolan weren’t kidding. The kid had real talent. Sure, she was only seven and yes, she missed a few, but once she relaxed, she was a natural.
Nolan whooped and spun her in a circle. “Ice queen!”
I offered her my hand and squeezed her shoulder. “Well done. Looks like I owe you a few books. Do me one last favor and pass with me. Just to the other goal and back.”
“Okay.”
We skated a couple of feet apart and leisurely passed the puck. I had to chase after it more than once, and tried to make it funny by pantomiming some terrible figure skating moves that made her howl with glee. She stopped at the opposite goal, clutching her side when my double axel sent me into the boards. I still managed to pull off a decent pass, but I’d lost her to a new round of hilarity.
“Did you swallow a bag of feathers or something?” I teased. “What’s so funny?”
“You are.”
I grinned. “I like you, MK. Let’s go buy some books.”
The three of us piled into Nolan’s truck—Nolan behind the wheel, and MK and I in the cramped back seat. A six-foot-five dude had no business folding himself in half in an extended cab pickup, but her unfettered laughter spurred me on.
Everything was funny to her—my knees squished against the seat in front of me, the honky-tonk song on the radio, the new sign on the coffee shop with an artistic swirl of steam I offhandedly mentioned looked like poop. In between giggle fits, she asked questions.
Why did I play hockey? Had I ever been to California? What about Disneyland? Why did I move to Elmwood?
Thankfully, the drive to Pinecrest took less than fifteen minutes. Our impromptu shooting session had cut into MK’s perusing time. According to Nolan, that was a blessing.
“She can spend hours walking up and down these aisles,” he said with an indulgent smile, crossing his arms as his niece skipped ahead to the children’s section. When she was just out of earshot, he leaned into me. “Thanks for this. It was really cool to see her on the ice again. It’s been a long time.”
I didn’t have a chance to reply. MK called his name just as the owner reminded us they’d be closing soon.
Twenty minutes and twentysomething books later, we were on our way to Elmwood. We stopped at the Frosty Freeze, ate ice cream on picnic benches, and talked about dragonflies, magic portals, and the possibility of fairies living in the forest.
“Maybe. My dad used to tell me about the selkies who supposedly lived off the coast of Ireland,” I reported conversationally.
“What’s a selkie? Who’s your dad? Who’s your mom? Do I know them?”