Page 3 of Gamechanger

I glanced down at my project and realized I missed a stitch. "Damn!" I muttered to the world and myself as I unraveled therow. It was unusual to get distracted while working on one of my creations.

While I worked to fix the problem, I looked at the stack of eco-friendly product samples piled on my coffee table. The neon green packets of seaweed snacks were on top. Finn's suggestion of adding maple syrup came back to me.

"Maple mixed with the ocean. Was it a natural world abomination or just the thing? Was Finn onto something?"

I set my knitting aside and dove into a new task. Two hours later, it was past midnight, and my vision began to blur from so much reading my laptop screen. I'd let myself slide into a world of seaweed production methods and the ins and outs of New England Sugaring Season. Finally, I decided I'd read enough and needed to give the idea a trial run.

My joints cracked as I hauled myself up off the couch. My kitchen betrayed my bachelor lifestyle. It included high-end appliances that came with the apartment, proudly displaying gleaming stainless steel surfaces that gradually gathered a fine layer of dust due to lack of use.

I'd stuffed the freezer full of convenience foods that made up the bulk of my diet. After rummaging through the items, I pulled my head out and triumphantly held a box of frozen waffles aloft.

"That's step one—a sufficiently neutral platform."

Next, I tore open one of the bags of seaweed snacks. I laid two waffles on a large plate and carefully arranged a single layer of seaweed chips on top. The color contrast of green against gold didn't look appetizing, but flavor was the standard for my experiment. Design elements could come later.

After pulling the squeeze bottle of maple syrup from a cabinet, I paused with it in my hand. "Brilliant or disgusting beyond belief. Which is it, Moose? Only one way to find out."

I drizzled the deep brown syrup over my culinary creation, topping it off with an "F" drawn in the center. After nuking theentire creation in the microwave for a few seconds, it was ready for a test.

Heat unleashed a more intense aroma, but I couldn't say it was unpleasant. The seaweed gave the rich smell of maple a briny undertone. My nose twitched, and I pulled a fork out of a drawer. It was time to dig in.

The first bite surprised me. The waffle was crispy, and the seaweed had an oceanic crunch of its own. The syrup, a striking balance of sweet and salty, tied it all together.

"Holy shit! I think it works."

I devoured the entire plate while watching caribou migrate across Alaska and the Yukon. The taste of my creation wasn't merely acceptable. It was unique and fascinating, a flavor combination that would make jaded minds sit up and take notice.

I wanted to tell Finn all about it, but at 1:35 a.m., and without his number, I'd have to wait for another arena visit.

As I drifted to sleep that night, I dreamed about the ocean with a sweet maple syrup chaser. I sat on the end of a dock, making googly eyes at the handsome man beside me, his profile silhouetted by the setting sun. Where did he come from, and where were we going? The answers would have to wait.

Chapter two

Finn

The chilly air of the rink was a firm wake up call as I skated across the ice for early morning practice. The subtle scrape of my skates was a sound that always made my pulse race. To most of the guys, it was probably just another practice, but just over two weeks into my NHL career, I was determined to make my mark.

I warmed up by doing some lazy laps, gradually picking up speed as I worked on my edges, transitioning smoothly from inside to outside edge with each stride. As I did, I caught snippets of conversation from the veteran team members.

"… undersized rookie problem." Whether he intended it or not, Axel's gravelly voice carried across the ice.

"Runt" was the single word I heard from another player.

My jaw tightened, and I gripped my stick harder, the familiar texture of tape against my gloves grounding me. Time to put on a show.

Pushing harder, I picked up even more speed as I rounded one end of the rink. The cold air stung my face.

"Holy crap, Novak!" Quinn called out as I swept past him. "You trying to plant some crops with those skates?"

I grinned and slowed to skate at his side. Quinn O'Reilly joined the team at the start of the season, but even with a few extra months as a Lumberjack, he was still a rookie.

"Just my warm up," I told him as I matched his speed. "I'm the late arrival and have to make up for lost time."

"Lost time?" Quinn shook his head. "Keep up that speed, and you'll lap all of us by the end of the season."

"Shh… that's the plan."

"As if," Quinn scoffed. "Seriously, bud, glad to have you on the team. It's nice not being the newest kid anymore."

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