The Frederick Arena & Sports Complex is a hotspot for ice skating and hockey. We have a separate field for soccer, field hockey, tennis courts, plus a track for the runners on the second level. I have worked here for longer than I would like to admit. Before I got pregnant, I was an ice skater. Nothing big league. My older sister got me into the sport. She had skated competitively back in the day. Just when I had followed her path, a financially responsible miracle happened. I fractured my right hip.
Yup. My youthful hip socket knocked off my dreams when I was sixteen. Most people would have carried on but I didn't have the drive afterwards. I preferred to have a working hip. I didn't give up entirely on that route and had turned my misfortune into coaching young kids and managing their starry-eyed, gold-medal hopeful parents.
The arena is open early every morning for the adult hockey teams. Getting a coveted slot on the ice is more difficult than getting a barista to spell your name right at Starbucks and this morning's particular hockey team consists of manly, sweaty, body-odor-dropping guys refusing to give up this sport they love.
And I'm not complaining about all the grunting and F-bombs dropped on the ice. No, there's something about men playing hockey that takes my breath away. Once they're on the rink, they're no longer middle-aged men succumbing to playing cornhole and sitting on riding mowers. They are athletes. All that diaper changing and Moby-wearing baby harnesses are set aside. Out here, they work out their stress. And God love them for it.
Walking towards the entrance to the arena, I'm toggling my big bag, a box of donuts, and a coffee tray. My sunglasses slide down my nose, threatening to slip right off as I reach the front entrance to the arena. "Ooof," I gripe, lifting my knee for support to adjust the coffee tray at the same time a hand grabs the handle and pulls open the door.
"Noooo!" I watch in a helpless scramble of my hand and his catching the tumbling coffee tray. The whole thing hits the glass, smacking the lids off at impact exploding coffee all over the glass doors as the donut box smashes against my chest. "Not the donuts!"
The guy swoops down in a blur of a hockey stick. "Sorry." His voice is gruff. And painstakingly familiar.
I blink twice, still in shock, looking at the coffee dripping down the doors.
"I thought I was helping," he offers, angling his head up and holding a stack of empty coffee cups.
"I don't want those," I snap and shut my mouth at the same time our eyes meet. My stomach flips. Oh no. That face...the eyes and the dark hair and that uneven grin that sticks to my heart.
"Shit Changes?" He does a double take and stands, smacking me in the face with the end of the stick.
"Ow." I jump back, my free hand flying to my face.
"Sorry. Sorry," he says profusely, setting his athletic weapon aside and slipping his hand tenderly over my jaw. I'm lost in his worried gaze as he examines my face. "I didn't mean to call you Shit Changes. It was the first that came to mind when I saw you. Are you okay?"
I'm not entirely sure calling me that is a compliment if that's all he remembers along with my vagina, but his hands are strong and warm on my cheeks. His thumb swipes beneath my eye. I wince. "I'm okay. Just keep your stick away from me."
His mouth cracks a subtle grin and his hand flattens over my jaw but my face hurts so I leave it alone. "You should put some ice on it."
I put my hand over his, heat spreads through my middle at his touch, at the concern in his eyes. I step back from his man hands. "I'm okay, really. Your hockey stick barely swiped me. But Doctor Bhatt. Why are you here? Shouldn't you be out there? Delivering the next generation?"
He laughs another brilliant smile. "I play hockey when someone's water isn't breaking."
"Or having a rash." Shut it Gwen. This isn't one of the Mams.
A slow smile breaks out on his mouth. "Is that all you think I do? Deliver babies and save women from rashes? And I have no life outsideof work?"
"I'm sure you do more. I'm sorry. That was inappropriate. It's weird to see you out in the normal world. I always think doctors live in their offices and only wear scrubs." My gaze moves up and down him. The athletic pants and long-sleeve shirt hugs his fit body.
"I do own regular clothes. Sometimes, I actually wear them. And, I've been playing hockey since I was a teen. I wanted to be a professional player, but when everyone in your family is a doctor, NHL hopeful would have been too much of a shock." His gaze lowers to my chest. "I don't have any napkins on me."
Napkins. Napkins. Why are we talking about napkins? I'm totally distracted by his face. "Why?"
He points to my arms, my chest. One of the jelly donuts is peeking out of the box with jam sticking to my top. "Shoot!" I unstick the glob from my shirt, noticing the sprays of coffee on everywhere on my white sweatshirt.
"Can I help?"
"No. The jelly donuts are dead. I've got this covered." I make a move to get the door but Doctor Bhatt stands there.
"Do you work here?" he asks, checking out my outfit.
"I teach ice skating full time." I gesture to the doors.
"Are you a skater?" He sounds impressed. A gentle light is in his eyes.
"No. Not in the way you think. I was once when I was young. Probably around the same time you had dreams of joining the NHL. I never competed. Now I teach. I should probably get this cleaned up. Can you open the door without causing a total catastrophe?"
He opens it at once, shaking off the coffee on his hand. "Sorry again, about that," he calls over his shoulder, but rushes off.
The arena is bustling with activity. The whiff of musty, warm bodies hits my nose. My hands are sticky from the coffee. The receptionist isn't in yet and the janitorial staff is somewhere in the building so I move fast and call Bruce, the building maintenance manager. He's the first one in the building to let the hockey guys in. He's elusive as a ferret. Once he's called, he appears.
"You scared me." I jump at the sight of Bruce.
"I saw it happen." He walks past me, keys jangling from the hook on his belt. He eyes me with his blue-gray eyes. "I'll take care of it."
Despite the coffee/door incident, the rest of the morning is smooth sailing. The hockey guys make it without dislocating a shoulder and I don't run into Doctor Bhatt again. From the gift store, I use my discount to buy a hoodie sweatshirt with BABES ON BLADES printed in feminine cursive. At least I don't have coffee and jam on me all day.
Closer to four o'clock, I prepare myself for my next class. The 8-11-year-olds. Now, I'll be the first to say, this age group is not my forte. I have one class in this age group I teach while another instructor does the rest of the week.
"Opal, hi," I say, coming out of the locker room. She's a cute girl with white-blonde hair and a swab of freckles.
"Hi Gwen," she says, smiling with a mouthful of teeth still in the process of coming in.
I keep walking and run into her mother. I straighten because I know what's coming.
"Gwen, hi. Do you have a second?" Jenny Parks stands in my way.
It's going to be worse than usual. Typically, she just spouts off her critique of the class.
"Class is starting in ten minutes, but sure, yes."
"It's just-you do the bowling on Sunday nights."
Was...that a question? "I do."
"I'm friends with Tara. I'm a MUFF. I haven't been able to go yet because each of my children have been sick and you know when one has a cold it goes through the entire house. So. Tara mentioned to me that you're Nate's neighbor. She told me all about the bet. I was like. I know her, she teaches Opal ice skating. Tara and I got to talking and do you even know if he's single?"
That IS a good question. One I ought to figure out for myself. Not for the MUFFs. "I actually don't know."
"I heard his wife passed away." She shakes out her honey blonde hair. "Now he has a doctor trying to win his heart." She gives me a sympathetic smile. "And an ice-skating coach."
I don't like the idea of Nate's widower situation becoming the focus of the conversation. "I don't know much about him. He seems kind of private."
She takes a sigh. "I'm sure Tara will find out anyway. Their daughters are close." Jenny waves her hand as if she'll have to solve this insurmountable problem on her own. "Anyway. The reason I want to talk to you..."
"That wasn't it?"
"Oh no." She laughs like I told a joke. "Opal's been complaining that she's bored. I see her in class, she's progressed so much. I would like to have her tryout for the pre-competition team."
"Before she can do that, she has to complete the Monarch's team first. We hold evaluations after the recital in December."
Another long sigh and I watch her process that this wasn't in the script. "I'm probably going to want to speak to Cami then. I really think Opal is ready."
This is also the same woman, who, on the first day of Opal's practice was upset that her daughter didn't learn a double axel. The Monarch group teaches the basics. Most of the class is ten years old and what I don't tell them is the very very small percentage of skaters who go on to do anything remotely memorable doesn't happen by jumping from one level to the next.
"You are more than welcome to talk to Cami."
Opal emerges from the locker room. Her smile bright. She holds her skates and runs right past us to the other skaters.
"I'll definitely be talking to Cami." Jenny smiles at me despite her threatening tone.
This isn't the first time Cami's name has been thrown into the conversation like an explosive. She's in charge of the competitive skating team and she's my boss. If Jenny thinks she's going to bust her daughter into that ring, she's going to be disappointed. If there's one thing Cami's professional skating experience has taught her is that everyone comes up through the same channels. Talent will always be talent, but it must be refined by respecting the basics.
My classes skate me through the day (no pun intended). By my last class, I stop by the front desk and get my purse out of a locked drawer.
The receptionist catches my attention. "Oh, Gwen, someone left you a note."
My brow furrows. "Who?"
"I wish I knew. There's just this piece of paper with your name on it." She hands it to me, her gaze curious.
"Did you look?"
"Maybe," she drawls and turns back around to the computer.
I open the paper.
I owe you coffee and donuts.
P.S. Sorry I hit you in the face with my hockey stick.
-Doctor Bhatt
###
"Is it like a date?" Lisa asks over the phone, later that night, when I've had enough time to analyze this to death.
"I don't know. The 'I owe you' isn't like 'come have coffee and donuts with me' you know?" I drag the fleece blanket over my legs. Seven p.m. and already in my PJ's. A new record for me. "It's not like I would go out with him."
"Why not? That line of men banging on your front door finally stopped?" Her youngest son erupts in a scream. "Hang on." A rush of movement, a door closes and, "I'm back. Go on, you were saying?"
"Well, there's the bet." I trace one of the reindeer/Christmas tree patterns on my sleeve.
"Right. But you told me you signed up for online dating. What's the real reason you're not going to talk to Doctor Hockey?"
Because I'm afraid he's too good for me. There. I said it. Total imsecurity drop. There's nothing Lisa can say to change that.
"My ex-sister-in-law just met her husband and she's pregnant with twins at 44."
I make a face. "I don't want twins. I just-want to play things safe. I'm slowly getting to know Nate. We sat on his front steps and we chatted. There's this saying about horses, no hoof, no horse."
"Are you the hoof?"
"Lisa-"
"I think online dating will be good for you. You need to build some confidence. There's no reason why you shouldn't be grabbing the life you want. Even though we're going to win this tournament, you can't put all your eggs in one basket. Nate is just one egg. Time to do something for you. You've never been in love. Not the kind that makes you believe in forever. Don't you want to experience that? Forever?"
Maybe. A little. A lot. Even if forever is getting shorter by the year. "How can I put this into words. You know when I used to take Daphne to the roller rink? I felt so out of place."
"You were at a roller rink. Everyone feels out of place. Save whatever story you have. It's okay to have your heart broken. But it's not okay for you to decide you aren't going to decide what Doctor Bhatt's note really meant. Next time you see him ask him out."
There's a lot to that statement I'm not going to decipher. "Aren't there rules about that? I'm a patient."
"So? Get a new doctor. What's that?" her voice drifts. "Sorry-I have to go. I'll see you on Sunday."
The knock at my door is the reason I don't dwell too long on this conversation. I tear off the blanket and walk over, expecting someone to be breaking the No Soliciting rules posted all over our community and selling new windows or rodent control.
I yank open the door to find Nate standing there. I love it when guys are casual and his dark fleece and jean look brings a smile to my face. "Hey."
"Hey. So," he says hesitantly, "did you talk to the owners about their dog barking?"
"I did." I completely forgot.
"The dog woke Noreen and I up at 3 a.m. I didn't have your number..."
"I'll send a second notice."
"How many notices do you need to send?" he asks calmly as his gaze roams over my pajamas.
"There's a process," I explain, clutching my collar at the sheet of wind that hits.
"Okay, then." He scratches his jaw. "Hopefully tonight goes better. Could I have your number?"
HECK YEAH. My heart warms right up at his quiet, kind way that he asks for it. Like he's nervous. My stomach is all kinds of nervous right along with him. I'm surprised an explosion of hearts isn't coming out of the tops of our heads. "Of course. Let me get my phone."
"Just tell me the number. I'll remember it."
I give him my number with a stupid smile on my face that I can't control. He says it back to me twice. "You seem pretty confident about all that number memorization."
Nate's frown breaks into a grin. "When something's important to me, I memorize it."
I probably stare at him too long, my brain working overtime with all these warm tingles swirling through me. But my eyes can't look away from handsome face. "Can I ask you a guy question?"
"Sure." He grins suspiciously.
"If a guy says I owe you coffee and donuts, is that an invite to a date?"
He shrugs. "If I want to ask a woman out, I will ask her out. If you have to read more into it, I'd say probably not."
"Do you want to have donuts and coffee with me?" I repeat the statement.
"No."
"What?" No. That was a mistake. I mean...if he had said yes? But still. He answered No. "No, I wasn't asking you out," I clarify at once with a lighthearted but bruised laugh. Trying to save some face as the mortification takes root.
Nate's front door creaks open. "Dad?" Noreen says loudly, "When are you coming back?"
"I have to go." He motions to his door. "Merry Christmas."
Once inside, I lock the door with a heavy hand and sigh. Merry Christmas? Oh God. My pajamas. "That's why I'm happy being a lazy hoof." I am one. Although, I'm still not sure I get the saying.
Maybe a tiny part of me would have been excited if he had said yes.
Okay, a big part of me.
My phone lights up and sure enough, it's Nate.
Told you I would memorize it.
My gaze drops to the gif that follows.