Page 22 of Some Like It Hot

“I said it would be yours when you have a wife and a family.”

I just stare at her, shocked. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I’m putting it on the market because it’s too big for you. It’s not a single man’s house. It’s five bedrooms. It’s meant for a family.”

She can’t be serious. She looks serious. But she can’t be.

“So, what, you’re punishing me because I’ve been too busy with my career to reproduce?”

“Plenty of men play hockey and get married and have babies. You just don’t want to. And no, I’m not punishing you. But that property would be a waste with just one lone bachelor hermit rattling around in it.”

Even though I frequently refer to myself as a hermit, I’m offended she said it.

“I’ll just outbid everyone,” I tell her. “You know I have the money.”

Checkmate, Gran.

“I won’t accept your offer.”

Not checkmate. Damn it. The wheels start turning in my head. I know better than to argue with her. She’s too stubborn. I can form a company and buy it in a trust…

“Don’t even think about trying something shady, like buying it as an LLC. I’m going to require video interviews with all parties making an offer.”

I stare at her. “You’re serious,” I say flatly.

“I’m serious.”

“You would take away what you promised me?”

“I always said when you’re married and have a family.”

“You did not.”

“Didn’t I? Well, I thought it.”

“Gran,” I say with a frustrated groan.

She sips her martini again and opens her menu. “I think I’m going to order the crab salad.”

This is not cool. I want that house. I’ve spent nearly a decade envisioning myself living there after I leave hockey for good. I want to plunge into an icy cold lake and shake off the joint inflammation I have from playing goalie for twenty years. I want to see a bald eagle in the trees, damn it. I want a fucking fire pit filled with wood I chop myself.

“I have a girlfriend,” I tell her, impulsively.

Maybe if she thinks I’m dating someone, I can still get the house.

“Oh? That’s lovely. What’s her name?”

“Elise.”

Now why the actual fuck did I say that?

Maybe because she’s the only woman in my head and has been for months.

Gran seems interested. “What does she do?”

“She works in a bakery,” I say, triumphantly, because I know this answer. If Gran digs any deeper, I’m going to run out of details. I can’t exactly tell her the extent of my knowledge about Elise is her job and the fact that she makes the sexiest little sound when she comes. “Called Books and Buns.”

“That’s a cute name. Isn’t that Luna McNeill’s bakery?”

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