Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
KENZIE
It's snowing. I'm wearing a matching down jacket, gloves, Uggs, a hat, and a scarf.
“I feel like a snowman.”
“You look cute,” Bo comments as she pets Sherlock.
“I'm hideous!” I look at myself in the full-length mirror beside the front door. This isn't the sexy I wished for, but it's impossible in winter. We're a step away from Arctic temperatures.
“It's freezing outside—it's February. What do you expect? You're the one who agreed to sit in the freezing temperatures.”
“The things I do for love,” I grumble. “And I do love hockey,” I concede. I've been watching games on TV, and I love the action.
“I hope he appreciates you going.”
“He does,” I happily chirp. I couldn't turn him down when I discovered Chelsey didn't want to go.
“Did you look Chelsey up?“ Bo inquires.
“Yes, it's just as he said.” Meanwhile, there has been no media coverage of them being seen together.
“Maybe Mikael is afraid to make a pass at you.”
“He's known her for two years and is only now getting to third base.” I throw my hands in the air. “I don't know. I'm as confused as you.”
“Maye he has a small dick.”
I burst out laughing. “Really? That's the conclusion you reach?”
“Well, why else would he hide it from you? My God. It's as if he's packing the Gringotts vault in his pants.”
“I don't know. Anything is possible, I guess.” Meanwhile, I'm dying to know what it's like to be with him, under him—my mind strays.
“Maybe he's afraid of commitment.”
“I think he does what's comfortable. He said he has a habit of dating women he's familiar with in his inner,” I make air quotes, “circle.”
“He'll be here any minute.”
“Oh, crap. I need my purse.” I lunge for my purse on the counter and walk to Sherlock. “Mommy will be gone for a few hours.” I kiss his face and rub our noses together as if he's a toddler. Hell, I might not be able to have kids, so my actions are exempt from judgment. I hug Bo as well, and we giggle.
“You're a nut,” she exclaims.
“I'm your nut,” is my retort.
“Yeah, for now. But I'll be happy to pass the torch when you land this hockey player!”
My phone pings.
He's here.
“Noted,” I call over my shoulder as I approach the door.
Mikael stands before me. He's ruggedly handsome with a day's scruff on his face. His shoulders fill his jacket, and he smells fresh and minty, like spring. My pussy clenches. Damn him. Why does he look at me like he knows every detail of my body?
“Hello,” I say, dragging out the second “l.”
His eyes sparkle like a lake under a full moon. “Hi! I hope you're ready for this. My friends will be there. Did I mention that?”
“That's great!” I'm meeting his friends! This has to be a sign. No?
I glimpse Bo's face—her smile confirms my thoughts.
Don't get ahead of yourself, Kenzie.
I can't remain rational because I am elated.
Within thirty minutes, we're at the event and have valet parking take the car. Stars have privileges I can't fathom. Mikael takes my arm and steers me through the crowd, and we enter a tent for sponsors.
There are servers and bartenders who serve hot drinks and liquor.
“What will you have?” he asks.
“Hot chocolate.”
He smiles and orders two.
He hands me the drink and touches my cup. “This is great. Thank you for coming.”
“For sure. I'm excited. I've never been to a live game.”
“It's not as exciting as the pros, but it's a rite of passage for novice players like the men one finds in beer leagues.”
“Beer leagues?”
He chuckles. “It's a term for rec leagues. They have them for all ages. There are even eighty-year-olds playing.”
My mouth drops. I never knew this world existed.
“Let's walk the pond.”
The snow crunches under my boots, and we pass what I assume are burn bins. I notice rusted garbage cans, the old- fashioned ones like the ones on my grandfather's chicken farm. I've seen him burn old newspapers and junk mail in them occasionally.
They look like old-fashioned trash cans for burning household garbage, and men dressed in hockey gear hover around them. We stand near the frozen pond, and it begins to snow profusely.
“How are they going to play?”
“Immediately before the game begins, they will shovel the snow off the ice, and then it's game on.”
I watch, mesmerized by the frenetic activity. It's freezing, and I rub my gloved hands together. I should have worn mittens. Statistically, they are warmer.
Mikael is in his element. A group of handsome men approaches.
“Friends of yours?” I ask.
“Hey!” he hollers to them. The men hike to us, and their unspoken camaraderie consumes me. Their jeans and ankle boots give them a rugged appearance, but their chiseled chins and happy eyes dance as they approach.
For me, it's like Christmas morning! I stare at the man candy before me. Their eyes lock on mine, and I blush. Introductions are made.
The man named Finn takes a back seat and observes Mikael. Then, his razor-like focus is on me.
“Kenize, tell me about yourself.”
“There's not much to tell. I'm a baker. I have a lab named Sherlock.”
“That's a cute name,” he smiles. I take it he loves animals.
“Mikael loves dogs,” he states and I wonder if Mikael has spoken about me to his friends.
“Yeah, I love dogs too.” OMG. Can I add anything that sounds like an adult? These men are all older than me, and I speak like I'm in the kiddie pool of adult conversations. “I mean, both Mikael and Sherlock love the hockey puck, too.” Okay, this is so not helping. I’m bumbling through the first meeting with his best friends and I sound as sophisticated as a teenager.
“We've been looking at dogs, maybe a Labradoodle or a small breed. What do you think of Labradors?”
“They are loyal, good with kids, and they do talk, and he loves to burrow under blankets, and he even takes naps under them!”
“I've never had a dog. I don't know much about it,” Simon adds. “We have a three-year-old, and I think it would be good for her.”
“I agree,” I state emphatically. “Dogs are loyal companions and very affectionate.”
“Mikael, where's our team?” Finn asks. I sigh, relieved the focus is on him for a change.
“We're right here. The Brew Kings is our team.”
I turn to Mikael. “You sponsored them?”
“Yep. These teams come from all over the U.S. They have flights and Airbnbs, so it becomes costly. It's a fun day for us and gives us a team to root for.”
“That's so cool.” My heart warms at his generous nature. This, combined with his charity work at the hospital, makes him a saint. Bo is going to flip when she hears this.
We're settled into the action, and I'm sipping my hot cocoa when a TV camera appears in our faces.
“Mind if we ask you a few questions, Mikael?” A man stands before us with a microphone. “I'm from Maine's Communications, and we're putting this on tonight's news.” The announcer knows the team because he's not as nervous as me .
“Sure.” Mikael tosses his cup into the burn bin and faces the camera. I step aside, but his arm wraps around my waist like a snake. He pulls me into his chest, much to my amazement.
“When did you start sponsoring teams for the Winter Pond Hockey Tournament?”
“I had the idea two years ago. We can't risk an injury out here, but we wanted to be a part of the tradition.”
“How do you recruit teams?”
“We have ways of finding teams to sponsor,” Mikael smiles devilishly. “If I opened it up, we'd have too many applicants. I like to be hands-on with projects I take; it's personal to me.”
The announcer nods. “What other projects did you take up?”
“Oh, Jared, you're not going to get me to dish on my pet projects,” Mikael chuckles.
“Fair enough,” Jared smiles. The light on the camera goes out, and Jared turns to me.
“And what is your name?”
“Me?” I croak.
“Yes,” he beams like he's the cat that ate the canary.
“I'm Kenzie, Kenzie Jones.”
“You need to do a story on her bakery,” Mikael says.
“Really. Where is it?”
“Main Street. The Le Petit Patissier. Do you know of it?”
“I thought the owner was Gabriel.”
“I'm buying it from him.” I stand taller as I say this. I'm proud to take on the role of owner. It's a dream I never would have had the guts to take if Mikael hadn't encouraged me to do it.
“Great. I'll be in touch,” he says as he writes in a tiny notebook.
“Thank you,” I smile.
Jared moves on to interview hockey players who are gasping for breath on the sidelines.
“They're having a difficult time breathing,” I murmur.
“Yeah. It's the cold. It freezes your lungs.”
“Do you have that happen to you?” I inquire.
“Yes. Not all the time, but often. When we play in Denver, we have to acclimate to the high altitude, so that gives the other team an advantage.”
“Wow. I never thought about the logistics.” I must have conveyed how concerned I was for him as he shifted on his feet and his fingers caressed my face.
“It's all part of the job, Kenzie,” he assures me. “Don't worry. We're tough.” His hand slips away.
“I know. I mean, the hits I see on TV are brutal.”
“Oh, so you're watching games?” He sounds amused at my foray into the sport.
“Yes. It's action-packed. I love it.”
He beams and glances at Finn, who sends him an approving look.
What was that about?
“Are you cold?” he asks.
“Yes. I think I'll move to the fire.”
“I'll go with you. I need to get you another hot drink.”
I'm not used to a man caring for me and asking how I am. I'm touched he's so thoughtful.
We stand around the pond, and I listen to the other men who are friends of the players and locals who enjoy the annual competition.
“Stay here and warm up,” Mikael says.
“Aren't you cold?” I ask.
“We live for this. I’m used to it,” he says.
Damn. I'm such a rookie. How did I not know these men grew up in ice and snow? I know from the names on the teams that many of them are foreigners and come from places much colder than Maine's winter.
The afternoon passes quickly, and I notice it’s getting dark.
“Let me get you home. Your nose is red,” Mikael says.
“I'll defrost once I get out of these damp clothes,” I add. “Thank you for taking me. I had a great time.”
“I did, too!”
The ride home consisted of hot air blowing on blast mode, and the seat warming my shapely butt. Perfectly content, I lean my head into the headrest.
“The announcer seemed nice. Do you know him?” I ask.
“Sure. The stations have sports reporters. So, we will build a rapport with them at home. Why?”
“Do you think he'll cover my store?”
“He will pass the story on to a co-worker who covers the downtown area.”
“Interesting. I should know more about marketing.”
“Don't sweat it. There is a learning curve with every new adventure, but I'm sure you'll figure it out.”
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make me comfortable when I feel like I'm never good enough.”
“I believe in you. Stop doubting yourself.”
“I'll work on it.” But will I ever stop working on myself?
Doubtful.
He parks the car and walks me to the door. This feels like a date and I fumble the key. He retrieves it. I'm nervous about him standing next to me, and we're alone. I've been on enough dates to know that being alone implies intimacy.
He opens my door.
“Thanks again,” I reply with faked happiness. I'm already commiserating the fact that he'll be returning home to Chelsey.
His eyes are like tropical pools of warm water, and I want to submerge myself in him. His cologne wafts over me on the evening wind, and I inhale, committing it to my memory.
He leans in, and my heart skips a beat, anticipating his perfect lips, but he kisses my cheek.
“See ya later.”
I watch him walk to his car. He glances up before he puts the car in gear and waves.
I swallow my disappointment and weakly wave back with a smile pasted on my mouth.
I open the door, and Sherlock greets me with a bark and tail that thumps the foyer wall.
“Sherlock, I love you!” I bend to snuggle his cute face.
Thank God for small miracles. If it weren't for him, I'd cry in my Cheerios.
“How did it go?” Bo inquires.
“Great. I got a kiss on the cheek, so you didn't read him correctly. He's into women as he has someone on his arm, and more are lined up. You say, 'He's into you,' but I say—bullshit.”
“I can't figure it out, but I've never been wrong.”
“There's always a first time,” I moan.