Page 21 of The Fireman and the Flirt

“Are you the actor from the movie?” I asked him.

“Lucien McDaniel. Did you want a selfie?”

“That’s all right,” I said, deflating him like a balloon.

“What is this blast from the past story you wanted to tell Mitch? I could use it for my backstory.”

“Lucien, for the last time, you’re not playing me in your Christmas movie,” Mitch said.

“It’s calledA Mountain Man Christmas, and you are very mountain man-esque. I’m drawinginspirationfrom you. What do you think of the outfit?” Lucien gave us a modeling pose of his flannel and jeans. “Doesn’t it absolutely scream mountain man?”

“Is that my shirt?” Mitch asked.

“Heavens no. I had our costume designer find comps. The jeans are designer from a boutique in Beverly Hills. What do you think?”

“I love it!” Charlie said, joining our circle. He was followed by a man with a pretty face also doused in makeup who was wearing the exact same green henley as him. I assumed it was the other actor, or else this was one hell of a practical joke. “Guys, this is Skip Houston. He’s studying me.”

Charlie beamed with excitement. Skip imitated his nodding head and gave us a wave.

“Mitch, how cool is this?” Charlie said.

“Not cool at all,” Mitch replied with a deep-throated grumble.

Which Lucien then tried to imitate, although he sounded like he was hacking up a lung.

“Question: When you do that grumble, does it start in the throat or is it more in the nose?” Lucien tried it a few more times. I was tempted to hand him a tissue.

“Do you still think this Christmas movie was a good idea?” Mitch asked his husband.

“Do you still think this Christmas movie was a good idea?” Lucien repeated in a below-average Mitch impression.

He shot Lucien a cold-blooded grimace that shut him up for good. Then he nodded for me to follow him.

Mitch and I ascended the spiral staircase. He collapsed onto a messy couch across from his desk and rubbed his temples. “I am never watching another Christmas movie for as long as I live. At this point, I don’t even know if I can watchDie Hardagain.”

“You will survive.” I plopped down next to him and patted his knee in support.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Mitch said. “Remember Bill Crandell?”

“Billy?”

“Well, he doesn’t go by that anymore, but yeah.”

“Of course I do. The king of the penalty box.” Mitch, Bill, and I all played hockey at South Rock High years ago. Bill was someone who used the ice to take out life’s frustrations, and that made him all the better as a player. I liked Bill and regretted that I’d let myself lose touch with my teammates. “What’s he up to?”

“He works in insurance. He lives a few towns over. He’s starting up a team. There’s a regional extracurricular league for adults. What do you think?”

Hockey had been a major part of my life. It gave me grit, discipline, camaraderie, and a healthy way to let go of my anger.

“I think I’m too old to get knocked around the ice.”

“We all are.”

“Are you joining?” I asked.

“I think I’m crazy enough. Could be fun.”

“Getting back into all that gear? Can our bodies take those blows?” Once I hit forty, my back and legs ached for no reason, as if it were a delayed reaction to years of hockey and manual labor.

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