Page 9 of Penalties and Proposals

“I get it,” he says. As he bobs his head up and down, his mop of messy hair flops along with it. “We both know that the magic will come; we just have to sit still and let it happen. Hockey is like an emerald: too much pressure and we’ll crack it.”

“Good way to think about it,” I agree. “Like life.”

“One hundred percent.”

We walk along the trail, catching up on our worlds outside of hockey. Scotty fills me in on his twelve-year-old daughter, instantly making me jealous and bringing me back to my own questions about what I’m doing with my life. In turn, I fill him in on life in Virginia and what the Renegades are like. My words sound hollow next to his tales of school drop-offs, juggling coaching with school plays, and all the warm and fuzzy things that happen when you have family.

“Here.” He stops suddenly, pointing down a path. At first glance, it appears to go nowhere, but in the distance, I can make out a streetlight. “Follow that and it’ll come up to Maple Road, the town’s main street. The Glass Olive will be to your left and up the street half a block.”

“Thanks, man,” I say, watching as he jogs off, headed to get his pizza, a stab of envy infiltrating my heart.

The Glass Olive seems to be pretty quiet tonight, and it’s alright by me. The bar is empty and only a few of the tables in the large open main dining room are filled.

The young hostess stands with a pile of menus in her hands, beaming my way. I bet this is her first part-time job out of high school.

“Table for one?” she asks. I nod.

“Do you have a reservation?” When I shake my head no, there’s a wrinkle that forms in her brow as she scans a sheet on the desk in front of her. “Okay, I have a spot where I can put you, but it’s not the best. You’ll be at the back.”

“It’s fine.” Poor thing. She’s nervous. I watch as she goes to pull one menu out of her Jenga stack, only to have them all flop onto the ground around her. Bending down, I help gather them, only to have someone tap on my shoulder.

“You don’t need to do that.” Glancing up, a very beautiful woman with long blonde hair grins at me. She holds out her hand to help me stand, turning her attention to the young girl once I’m up. “Kara, I told you to wipe the menus off, then let me know when you are done. You’re not supposed to greet people while holding all the menus in your hands.”

Kara’s eyes meet mine, and I can feel embarrassment flickering between us. She gives me a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Mom.”

“Ixnay!” the woman hisses as she slices her hand in the air, a tight smile forming on thin bright pink lips. “Call me Molly when we’re here. Got it?”

Kara, her shoulders hunched, begins to slink away while Molly, who is still all smiles, stands in front of me, dripping with seduction as she places a hand on her hip. It’s like I’ve walked into the Twilight Zone of restaurants in this town.

When I look at Molly, this woman is giving me the old up-and-down. She’s taking in every inch of my body from top to bottom, and it immediately tells me what I need to know. Being in sports, you know this type of person. Today it’s Molly, tomorrow it could be anyone else—they flirt with you, give you a little extra attention because of who you are.

And I donotlike it.

“I’ve not seen you in Maple Falls before,” she says, her voicebreathy and low. Almost a purr, like a kitten. A very nasty older kitten who is perennially in heat. She leans forward, her breasts heaving out of the top of her dress like something my niece watches on that Netflix show,Bridgerton. “But, I think I’ve noticed you doing all the ice hockey things?”

Doing the ice hockey things. I would crack a smile at her attempt to ingratiate herself to me if I wasn’t so irritated at how she belittled her daughter in front of me mere moments ago.

Instead of doing what I want to do, which is to read her the riot act on parenting, I simply smile and nod. Another point for the anger therapy I’ve taken part in over the years. “You’re right. I’m here for the charity games.”

“Well, it’s nice to have you join us tonight.” Molly waves a menu in the air reminding me of a Southern woman fanning herself on a hot and humid August afternoon. “So, despite the look of the place, most of our tables are reserved. However, for you, I have a table in the front window …”

“Actually, Kara had already told me about the table in the back.” I nod my head toward the back wall of the restaurant where Kara stands, watching the exchange. “Is that the table you mean, Kara?”

Her eyes bounce to her mother’s and then to mine as she slowly nods. Turning to her mother, it’s my turn to grin. Beam, in fact. “Perfect. I’ll take that one.”

Molly takes the menu and starts to walk ahead of me, but instead, I stop her.

“Sorry, Molly is it?” I hold out my hand. “I can take the menu and seat myself, if that’s okay.”

Molly’s face goes blank, a ridge forming across her forehead, but she hands me the menu. I’m hoping she’s picking up on the fact that no, I won’t be talking to her further this evening.

“Sure,” she says bluntly as she nods at Kara. “Kara, be a sweetie and take a setting off that two-top.”

Mumbling my thanks, I nearly sprint to the table, sliding into my chair as Kara clears the spot. As I settle in with my menu,Kara looks around to make sure her mother is out of earshot before she cuts her eyes my way.

“Sorry about that.”

“No. I’m sorry your mother treated you that way in front of me.” Looking at this young impressionable girl, I want to reach out and hug her, tell her I get it. I was once in her shoes, dealing with a father who acted very much the same. Pushy. Bossy. Like he knew best, but to my detriment. “I think you’re doing a great job, but I also think if you don’t want to work in the same place as your family … don’t.”

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