Page 7 of Slap Shots & Sweethearts

I groan. I do not need my overprotective big brother at a speed dating event. Two things would happen. One, anyone that is a fan of hockey, which is everyone in this city, will be asking him for autographs. Two, any man I am interested in dating would exit stage left without so much as a goodbye when Lou turns his icy glare their way.

"Please, Dad. Don't. You know how he is."

"Doing my job for me since you kids moved so far away."

"It's where the jobs were." After graduating with my bachelor's in public relations, Lou had put a good word in for me with the team. They were just getting going and needed someone who knew hockey to get them noticed. My boss tells me I do a good job, and so do my friends.

"How's Missy and Gabe?" I ask, wanting a change in subject.

Mom rattles off the latest news on Missy's pregnancy and reminds me that I need to buy my plane ticket for the gender reveal party and baby shower. How I’m supposed to buy for a baby shower without knowing the gender, I don't know. But Mom has planned both for when Lou has a game that will take him to our home state.

"I'll bring some Glacier Bay baby merch with me."

"Wonderful, and make sure you put Lou's name on the card too. We both know he'll forget."

"Does his name really need to be on it, if our last name is on the jersey?"

"Hannah."

I sigh and with my phone on speaker, make a note on my calendar. "I'll make sure it's on there."

"Wonderful. And let me know how your date goes. I'm eager for more grandbabies you know. Oh, your sister is calling."

My mother hangs up before I can tell her or my dad goodbye. Somedays it really sucks to be the middle child.

I eye the flower commercial from where it is paused on the TV. No doubt I'll be seeing lots of flowers at the office tomorrow, and with it, the pitying glances that I don't have anyone to send me any. If I have to listen to Tiffany with her smirk and fake pity tomorrow I'll be tempted to throw my stapler at her. Before I can second-guess myself I pull up the website on my phone and place an order.

At least I won't feel left out at the office now.

The next day, I swallow my revulsion of Valentine's Day as I pick out what to wear to work that would also work for speed dating. Normally I wear something that lets me blend into the background, but one outfit stands out to me. I'd bought it on a whim, and then never had the courage to put it on. The power suit is made from a hot pink fabric and I pair it with a black blouse and my red heels. Might as well lean into the holiday color scheme.

After pulling on the suit I turn so I can see the different angles in my full length mirror. Surprisingly the suit doesn't make my trouble areas look worse. In fact, it actually flatters my figure. The jacket helps disguise the extra pounds on my hips and the pants hit the perfect balance between fit and flair.

A bottle of hair product Lia gave me as I was leaving book club catches my eye. It is supposed to be easy to apply and help tame my curls. I follow the instructions, and much to my delight, my curls look good enough that I decide to wear my hair down. I put a hairbrush and a clip in my bag, just in case I need to put it up later.

Feeling good about myself, I leave my apartment with a big smile on my face. My confidence falters at a couple of the double takes people give me on my short walk from my car to Maria's bakery.

The bell above the door chimes as I open it and to my delight, Maria stands behind the counter in a purple tee, and mint green apron. I can't see the sassy saying on her shirt, but her smile when she sees me makes me feel like a thousand bucks.

"You look stunning!" Maria declares.

"Thanks." I do a little twirl. "I thought it would be nice to dress up for speed dating tonight."

Maria lets out an excited yell and runs around the counter to hug me.

I hold out my hands in self-defense when I see the flour covering the bottom half of her apron. "I'll hug you all you want later. This is dry clean only."

She stops and looks down at herself. "I'll hold you to that."

The bell over the door rings and another customer walks in.

"Text me the details?" I ask her. "And I need a box to go."

She gets me a variety of my favorites and fills the box. Then she grabs a little container and places a Left Wing Lemon Bar inside. "Tell Lou it's from me?—"

"And he still sucks. I'll let him know." I pay for the items and start to walk away.

"Don't let him take anything else. He's still banned."

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