Page 16 of Ice, Ice… Maybe?

“See you Friday,” she said simply, as a way of saying ‘bye’.

“See you Friday, Becca.”

Hanging up the phone, she stared at the white bag curiously. Padding toward the kitchen, she grabbed a tiny box knife that she used to open anything she got in the mail and sliced the tape at the top of the bag. She was always one of those ‘let’s keep the bag and use it again next Christmas’ sort of person, whereas her younger brother Luke was the exact opposite. The man was a human paper shredder – and one bag would end up in fifteen pieces scattered around the room.

Dumping the contents of the bag on the counter, her eyes grew huge.

“What in the…”

There, on the counter, was a tiny, white velvet box. It looked like it was about three inches squared, so maybe her mind was freaking out over nothing.It could be an ornament, or a key chain, or possibly an air freshener, or anything else but jewelry, right?Sliding the lid off, she swallowed.

It was jewelry.

There, on a velvet background, was a tiny hockey stick charm that looked like it was sterling silver with gold markings – hanging on a thin silver necklace. She started to pick it up, saw how badly her hands were trembling, and immediately put it back down, stepping away and calling Travis back.

“Hello?”

“Dude…” she breathed, unsure of what else to say. “I’m a nobody – and that’snotnothing.”

“Double negatives – I guess I’ve impressed you?”

“You can’t… this isn’t… why would you do something likethis?”

“You don’t like it?”

“I’m not a hockey fanatic. I barely know what the parts are of a game. The y’all wave a bunch of stick thingies around, wear bulky uniforms, hack at a puck like it’s some rabid animal trying to get away, and then take your breaks when the macaroni machine…”

“Zamboni,” he corrected with a chuckle.

“My point exactly,” she retorted, waving her hand. “You’re too nice, and I’m not a duck-bunny.”

“Puck-bunny.”

“THAT,” she blurted out. “I’m not a puck-bunny about to throw down. I’m a good girl, from a good home, in a small town, with older brothers who would tear you limb from limb for taking liberties with me. Jewelry is a big deal with people who date – and we’re not dating… yet,” she finished lamely.

“Then I won’t,” he said simply, stopping her in her tracks. “And I’d love to meet your family because even though we aren’t dating… yet,” he paused softly, and she heard the tenderness in his voice. “I’m a normal guy who’s had to grow up a lot. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I don’t think that asking you out is one of them. If you don’t like the necklace, then exchange it for something you do like.”

“How many of those have you given out?” she asked bluntly, bracing herself.

“One – to my mother before she died,” he answered quietly, and she could hear the locker room around him. “When I got my first gig, I bought her a necklace with my first check because I wanted her to be proud of me.”

“Oh.”

“May I call you back shortly? I’m about to get out of the ice bath and throw on my stuff so I can head home to rest for the game tomorrow.”

“Yes – please.”

Hanging up the phone, she stood there in the kitchen for several minutes, eyeing the necklace. It was lovely. A sentimental little token that represented something he loved. She wasn’t sure why she was freaking out because it wasn’t a diamond, nor was it gold, and she mentally kicked herself.

“You are trying to justify and minimize it because Travis is probably the nicest guy you’ve ever met,” she whispered aloud to herself, her finger tracing the tiny hockey stick. “None of those other guys you’ve met for coffee or went to dinner with would have ever thought to get you roses or something so sweet as this.”

And she lifted the necklace from the box, almost like she was handling a snake, waiting for it to strike her. What was she scared of? Travis had gone out of his way from the very first moment she’d laid eyes on him to make her feel special – like she mattered. It wasn’t casual flirting but sweet things that seemed to mean so much more.

He wanted her to wear his number, giving her the jersey. Could he have done that for any girl in the stands… sure – but he didn’t. He picked her, singled her out, gave her his phone number even though it backfired, and still was making every effort to show that he was a nice guy.

“He’s a really nice guy… and I’m an idiot.”

It was almost ten minutes before her phone rang again – and she was wearing the necklace, unable to stop touching the fragile hockey stick charm that hung just below her clavicle and above her heart.

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