Chapter 18
Joey
A Grand Gesture
Ping! My phone rings with an incoming text. My brows draw together when I read the message.
Mia: Emma went home. You need to go over to her house and see her ASAP.
Today is the day I’m going to ask Emma out to the French restaurant. Swiping the screen, I dial Mia’s number. This requires a conversation.
“What do you mean she went home? Is she sick?” I ask, the instant Mia answers.
“She’s really upset because she hasn’t heard from you. Emma thinks you’ve ghosted her.”
Ugh! I’ve been so caught up in my terrible play, I didn’t even consider what impression my radio silence was having on Emma. I’ll be lucky if she even speaks with me, let alone agrees to go to Le Chateau Gourmand.
“I blew it, didn’t I?” I say, regret leaking through my voice.
“Let’s just say you’d better rush over to her house, do some major groveling, and apologize for being an idiot.”
Ouch! Mia doesn’t mince words.
“What if she won’t talk to me?”
“I don’t know! Do something she won’t expect.”
Huh? What kind of advice is that?
“Okay, I’m on my way.” I end the call with no idea as to how I’m going to win Emma back. Hopefully, I’ll think of something .
~*~
Emma’s house looks deserted when I arrive. She’s definitely not sitting on the porch waiting for me with lemonade and cookies. I stride up to the front door and knock. I wait a few seconds, but no one answers. I pound on the door again, this time much louder. Putting my ear against the screen, I think I hear footfalls approaching the door.
“Emma, it’s Joey! I need to talk to you,” I shout through the screen and the sturdy wooden surface. When she still doesn’t open the door, I yell, “Mia told me you’re home. I’ll wait out here all night if necessary.”
A few seconds later, the heavy door opens a couple of inches. Emma’s eyes shoot daggers at me as she speaks through the closed screen door.
“Go away, Joey. We don’t have anything to talk about.”
When the door starts to swing closed, I implore, “Please hear me out! I didn’t mean to be an idiot.”
Her scowl could peel paint. “I can take a hint. We had fun building the gingerbread house with the kids, but you aren’t looking for a relationship right now. Well, neither am I.”
“That’s not true.”
Click! The latch clicks as she closes the door in my face. I lean my head against the wood frame, my mind swirling with ideas for how to win her back. What do guys do in books or movies to win the girl back? Oddly enough, my childhood has prepared me well for this exact moment. My mom and sister forced me to watch all those 1990’s romantic comedies with them. I rack my brain for the grand gestures those guys used to win back the girl.
I don’t have a boom box, so I can’t emulate the grand gesture from my mom’s favorite movie, Say Anything . Maybe playing my car radio would do?
I don’t have a stack of cue cards available to scribble down my confessions about how much I love her, like the guy in Love Actually did. Plus, Emma won’t open the door to read them.
I doubt Emma or her family are in a financial crisis, so I can’t be like Mr. Darcy and pay off her family’s debts.
What can I do?
A bead of sweat trickles down my neck. I need to think of a grand gesture that I can do right now, standing on this porch. No props...No plan...Just winging it.
In a last-ditch effort, I start singing at the top of my lungs. Hopefully Emma likes rom coms and recognizes this grand gesture, as I belt out the apology song from 10 Things I Hate About You . Unfortunately, I don’t have a marching band to back me up, but I can put everything I’ve got into the vocal performance.
When a couple neighborhood cats start yowling along with me, I almost quit, but I ignore them and keep going. A couple in a white sedan rolls by slowly. The man cranks his window down and gives me a thumbs up while his wife shouts, “Keep singing!” I grin and wave, their encouragement spurs me on.
My execution certainly isn’t even close to Heath Ledger’s performance. I forget the words about halfway through, but the energy I’m pouring into the song makes up for all the mistakes. I hope.
La la la! La la la la!
Feeling silly when the door remains closed, I suck in a loud breath and belt out the chorus one more time. At least I know the words to that. This might be the worst performance ever of “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” but I’m giving it my all. I even dance around on the porch, sweeping my arms out and holding the last note for several long beats.
A heartbeat later, the door slowly swings open, revealing a grinning Emma. “That was pretty horrible,” she says in a teasing voice.
“Do you want to hear it again?”
When I open my mouth, she squeals, “No way! Come on in, you big bozo!”
That’s when I know I’ve won her back. My heart flips as I sprint through the door before she changes her mind.
~*~
“I’m sorry.”
Emma tilts her head and gives me a confused look. “Why haven’t I heard from you since the gingerbread contest?”
Taking both her hands in mine, I blurt, “It’s me, not you.”
After the words leave my mouth, I wince. Why did I lead with a classic break-up line?
She frowns and tries to yank her hands out of my grasp, but I hold on. “Let me explain.” I tug her over to the sofa, motion for her to sit, then join her.
“I haven’t been very good company. Ever since the contest, I’ve been playing horrible, it’s embarrassing. Coach says it’s my Swiss cheese era.”
A small smile tips her lips. “That bad, eh?”
“We lost two games and barely eked out a win in two others. These are the most goals I’ve given up in four consecutive games since my freshman season.” I break eye contact and mutter, “The NHL scouts are going to put me on the ‘do not draft’ list if I keep playing like this.”
“Why do you think you’re playing so poorly?” Her question sounds genuine, and there’s compassion in her eyes.
“Who knows?” I shrug. “Maybe I shouldn’t have washed my lucky socks.” Coach suggested the same thing, but he didn’t put it quite as delicately.
Emma laughs. “You hockey players are very superstitious, aren’t you?”
“We are. Otto insists on sitting in the exact same spot on the bench.” Her smile broadens at the thought of our intelligent friend succumbing to an irrational belief. “Levi thought Bailey brought him good luck, so he had her sit in the same seat every game.”
“Remember the time she changed seats with that dad and his son?” Emma asks. The kid thought Bailey’s seat was better, so she traded, not realizing she was jinxing Levi.
I nod. “He had the worst game of his career.”
“You know that was just coincidence, right?”
Was it? “Facts don’t lie. Bailey changed seats and bingo! Levi played horrible.”
Emma snorts. “Right. And I’ve got a four-leaf clover in my pocket for good luck. I never go anywhere without it,” she jokes.
A thought pops into my head. “Wait! I think you’re on to something. When did I play my best?”
Emma displays a puzzled look. “I don’t know.”
“I had my best blocked shots percentage and allowed the fewest goals during the stretch when you and the kids came to the games!” Jumping to my feet, I fist pump the air. “That’s it! You and the kids are my good luck charms.”
I pull her to her feet, put my arms around her, and twirl her in a circle, her feet not touching the ground. She giggles as I put her back down. “You and the kids need to attend the rest of my home games!” I plant a sloppy kiss on her lips, pacing back and forth in excitement. Emma just stands there, not saying a word. I end my pacing and turn to her. “I need you, Em. Let’s start seeing each other again.”
“Why? Just so I can be your good luck charm?” she mutters, looking less than enthusiastic. When she crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me, my heart drops.
I’m blowing it again. Time to pull out Plan A.
“I didn’t mean that!” Putting my arms back around her, I gaze into her eyes. “A friend pointed out that I’ve never asked you on an actual date.”
She looks up, lost in thought for a few seconds. “That’s true! Building a gingerbread house together probably doesn’t count.”
“It doesn’t! Neither does going out for pizza after the game with all our friends.”
Biting her lower lip, she blinks at me with a glint of anticipation in her eyes.
“I want a relationship with you.” Squeezing her closer, I put my lips up to her ear and whisper. “I came here to ask you on a real date. That’s what we’re going to do! Block off your evening next Wednesday for dinner at that fancy French place. We’ll both dress up, eat pricy food, and share a high calorie dessert. What do you say?”
Her posture stiffens. “Gee, how could a girl turn that down?”
She’s right, that invitation was not romantic in the least. Plastering a serious expression on my face, I regroup, “Emma, may I have the honor of your lovely presence at Le Chateau Gourmand next Wednesday? I promise to use the correct forks.”
She barely cracks a smile at my lame attempt of humor. “And? What home games do you need me to attend?”
“There’s no hockey clause for this date or any future ones. I just want us to go on a real date together. No strings attached.”
Her eyes sparkle and she nods.
“But I might want to borrow that four-leaf clover.”
She smacks my arm as I haul her in for a kiss. “I’ve missed you.” Then I proceed to show her how much.