Page 2 of Gamechanger

After the game, the locker room buzzed with the kind of energy only a victory could sustain. I wove through the players and journalists, congratulating those I recognized while trying to ignore the uneaten packets of seaweed snacks that lay around the room, swept into corners and under benches.

After dodging a half dozen flying towels and fist bumps that missed their mark, I spotted Finn Novak appearing a littlebewildered by the attention he drew. "Looks like you're making your mark, Finn. Are you leading these upstarts to the Stanley Cup next?" asked an over-zealous journalist.

Finn took it in stride. "If that's what the stars have in mind for us, sure thing. Just doing my job. Helping put the puck in the net."

As I approached, I towered over Finn with gangly arms and an oversized frame. My self-consciousness about my height put a stopper on my usual boisterous energy, like a cap on a shaken soda bottle, barely holding in the fizz. I lowered my voice to ask a simple question: "Enjoying the taste of victory?"

"Hey, yeah. You're the guy that fed us the seaweed. It wasn't so bad. Just a bit of an acquired taste… maybe like me." He showed off a pair of dimples with a hint of a Midwestern accent.

"That would be me, and you've got an adventurous palate. Most of these guys thought I was feeding them toxic waste."

"Well, you know, growing up in Minnesota, you learn to appreciate foods that take you outside the taste of hot dish and texture of shredded cheese. This is like gourmet fancy food to my taste buds."

I clutched my chest. "A man after my heart. Yes, gourmet, indeed. Those snacks are made from the finest sustainably harvested, organic, free-range seaweed money can buy."

Finn raised an eyebrow. "Free-range seaweed? Does that mean you let it roam the ocean floor without fences?"

I nodded and spoke in a solemn, respectful tone. "Absolutely. Local mermaids lovingly tend each seaweed plant before humane scuba divers ethically harvest them."

"They'd better be gentle 'cause I think I tasted a hint of mermaid tears in my bite."

Finn wasn't only fast on the ice; he was quick with a quip, too. I did my best to engage in hockey talk. "That was some jet-fueled skating out there tonight. Where'd you learn to move like that?"

He shrugged. "Oh, I guess it started with messing around on frozen ponds back home. When you're the smallest kid on the ice, you learn how to get out of the way of the big bruisers."

"You've got that down. You made those defensemen look like they were skating through molasses."

"Thanks." Finn smiled again, and something about it tugged at me. "I figure if there's no way for me to bulldoze through guys like Sergei and Axel, I need to learn how to skate circles around them. You know, a 'catch me if you can' way of doing it."

Despite the noise around us, we carried on an easy conversation about hockey strategies and saving the environment. We both leaned in, wanting to catch every word.

Finn spotted one of the seaweed packets and pulled it over to us with his stick. "They might taste a little better if they added some maple flavor. Everything's better that way."

I pulled my head back in surprise at the creativity of the suggestion. "You might be a product development genius. Maple-flavored seaweed snacks; it's no crazier than pickle-flavored potato chips."

"If we can embrace kale chips, why not maple seaweed?" Finn laughed.

As the other players began to filter out of the locker room, Finn hoisted his gear bag over his shoulder. "Hey, Moose, thanks for the talk… and tickling my tastebuds with a new experience."

I chuckled softly and tried to hide any hint of my disappointment at the end of our conversation. "Anytime, and you know, somebody's got to carry the flag for ocean-bottom cuisine."

Finn grinned and extended his fist for a bump. As I moved to match it, he suddenly opened his hand wide and wiggled his fingers. Caught off-guard by the gesture, I fumbled around, my big paw clumsily trying to mirror his moves. It turned into aweird tangle of fingers and thumbs—one part fist bump, one part high-five, and three or more parts awkward.

We both laughed. "What was that, Mr. Novak?"

"Sorry, bud. It's something I do with my brothers. Guess I should have given you a heads up."

I shrugged. "Not so bad. Now, you've initiated me into a secret Novak family ritual. Do you dance naked around campfires, too?"

"Oh, you have no idea what we do." Finn winked. "See you around, Moose." With that, he turned for the exit.

While Finn strolled to the exit, I stared after him, the sensation of his fingertips still dancing on my hand. He'd gotten under my skin somehow, but I didn't know what it meant. All I knew was I wanted to experience more of his quick wit, enthusiasm for hockey, and charming good looks.

***

Later that night at home, as I sprawled on my couch, my knitting needles (yes, knitting!) clacked in a constant rhythm while I worked on my latest project—a Lumberjacks scarf in the team colors. The TV droned in the background, playing some documentary about northern Pacific marine life. I was a fan of nature and had a biology degree to prove it.

The cozy nature of my evening was constantly interrupted by visions of Finn's boyish grin and twinkling eyes. I wondered what he was doing to enjoy his evening. Did he give me a second thought? Or was he wrapped up in some video game or already sound asleep?

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