Page 2 of My Athlete Neighbor

Several trips later, most of her boxes were piled in her empty apartment. The storm had worsened, dark clouds turning afternoon to early evening. She was searching for her phone charger when the lights flickered once, twice, and died.

"No." She fumbled for her phone. 10% battery. Her story time notes were in her email, not downloaded. And it was getting cold fast.

A knock at her door revealed Kane, holding a flashlight. "Power's out in the whole building," he said. "Want to come charge your phone at my place? I've got a generator."

She hesitated. On one hand: stranger, man, alone. On the other hand: freezing cold, hungry and no power. Not to mention she couldn't let down twenty preschoolers because she was too proud to accept help.

"I need to prep for story time tomorrow," she said. "I'm a children's librarian," she added at his questioning look. "If I could just charge my phone enough to download my notes..."

"Mi generator es su generator," he said. "Come on. I've even got coffee."

His apartment was everything hers currently wasn't: warm, furnished, lived-in. Sports equipment tucked in corners, comfortable-looking leather couch, huge TV mounted on the wall. Very bachelor, but clean. She perched awkwardly on a bar stool while he got her phone plugged in.

"The coffee maker's also on the generator circuit," he said, reaching for mugs. "Emergency priorities."

She was about to answer when voices in the hallway made her freeze. Male voices, lots of them, getting closer.

Kane's eyes widened slightly. "Ah. I forgot—"

The door burst open, letting in a wave of loud conversation and cold air as several men crowded into the apartment.

"Emergency team meeting," someone called out. "Power's out everywhere—"

Kane stepped smoothly between Allison and the doorway. "Why don't you work in the kitchen?" he said quietly. "It'll be quieter."

She nodded gratefully, pulling up her email as sounds of more arrivals filled the living room. She tried to focus on her notes, but fragments of conversation kept catching her attention.

"—losing streak can't continue—"

"—playoffs looking impossible unless—"

"—need some kind of miracle—"

She glanced through the doorway. Her breath caught. Team gear. Everywhere. Bags with logos, jackets with names, and in the middle of it all, a woman in a sharp blazer saying something about "next game."

Horror dawned slowly. She hadn't just moved into any apartment building.

She'd moved into a hockey player's apartment building.

She looked up Kane, hockey, Connecticut on her phone.

Her helpful neighbor wasn't just any neighbor. Kane Norris was Captain of the Charm City Chill. The AHL team was formerly from Baltimore, Maryland but was now making its home in New Haven, Connecticut. The team was building a passionate local following despite their rollercoaster performance record. By the looks of her search results, Kanewas also active in a lot of youth charities. And he seemed to be an all-around good guy. Too bad she’d given up on hockey players.

“Power's not coming back tonight," Kane said, poking his head in the doorway. "I've got a guest room. No pressure, but it's got to be better than an air mattress in the dark."

She should say no. She had about a million reasons to say no, starting with him being a complete stranger, and a hockey player to boot. She’d have to call her grandfather and see if he would vouch for him. She hoped, though, that he didn’t know him. Even if that meant, she’d risk freezing to death in her apartment.

“Give me a few.”

“You got it.”

But she was practical. Professional. And she had twenty kids counting on story time tomorrow. She called her grandfather.

Olympic hockey legend Michael Warrant answered the phone on the first ring. “How’s Connecticut treating you?”

“It’s cold and I’m in a jam.” She told him about the power outage and her helpful neighbor.

“Hmmm, I don’t know Kane. But I know Vicky.”

---