Page 8 of Cross Check Christmas
That sets off another round of incoherent noises and my heart does that weird flippy thing it used to do back in senior year whenever she'd push her glasses up her nose.
"Ugh!" Another squeak, followed by what I can only describe as a growl. It shouldn't be cute, but somehow it is.
The team has stopped doing their drills, fifteen teenage boys watching this exchange like it's better than Netflix. Can't say I blame them.
"Look at you - still setting the world on fire, Professor." I can't help the grin spreading across my face. "You know, Grannie mentioned you were teaching here now."
Her eyes narrow. "Don't change the subject."
But I'm already lost in memories - the way she used to sit in the front row of English class, hand always raised, while I slouched in the back trying not to get caught staring at her.
"It's really good to see you again," I say, meaning every word. "You look..." Amazing. Gorgeous. Like everything I remembered and more. "...great. When's the last time we saw each other? Graduation? You were giving that valedictorian speech about how high school was like a novel and that we were stepping into the next chapter of our lives."
My heart's doing that stupid dance again. She's still gorgeous, maybe even more than before. Back in high school, I used to spend entire English classes staring at the back of her head, trying to work up the nerve to ask her out. But she was way out of my league - student council president, straight A's, probably had her life planned out to the minute. Meanwhile, I was just the guy who could shoot a puck and make fart noises with my armpit.
“You remember that?”
“Yeah. You said something like, 'The pen is in our hands. So, let’s go out there and write stories worth telling.’”
“That… that was a long time ago.”
Okay to be honest, I wouldn’t have remembered her speech word for word all these years later, but Grannie insisted on playing my graduation video last night after dinner. Sue me.
Colette's face does this thing where she's trying really hard to stay mad but her lips keep twitching. I used to live for those almost-smiles in high school, back when I was too chicken to do anything but crack jokes in class and hope she'd notice me.
"You know what? We should catch up properly." The words tumble out before my brain can catch up with my mouth. “Tucker's place makes a mean cappuccino."
The team's collectively holding their breath. I swear I hear one of them whisper "Shoot your shot, coach!"
Colette lets out this little snort that shouldn't be adorable but somehow is. "I don't drink coffee."
"Since when?"
"Since always." She crosses her arms. "And you can't just waltz in here and-"
"Tea then?" I'm pushing my luck and I know it, but something about being around her makes me feel seventeen again - stupid brave and stupidly hopeful.
She opens her mouth, probably to tell me exactly where I can stick my tea invitation, when one of the boys pipes up: "Miss McAllister drinks peppermint tea! She has it every morning in the teacher's lounge!"
I shoot the kid a thumbs up behind my back. Mental note: that one's getting extra ice time.
Colette's anger seems to falter for a moment, replaced by something I can't quite read. "I- well-" She straightens her blazer. "This isn't a social call, Hendrix."
"But it could be." The words tumble out before my brain can catch up with my mouth. "Grannie and Aunt Goldie mentioned you might be free."
She raises an eyebrow. "Did they now?"
The boys are still gawking, so I wave them back to their drills. "Five laps, everyone. Now."
They groan but start skating. When I look back at Colette, she's got that same expression she used to get when I'd make paper airplanes in class and they’d wiz by her head.
She whips out a spreadsheet from her bag so fast I'm worried she might get paper cuts. "While you were busy charming the school board, they reallocated my Christmas pageant budget to buy new hockey uniforms!"
Oh. That explains the death glare.
"Hey, don't look at me. I just got here." I hold up my hands. "Though I gotta say, if anyone could make budget spreadsheets sound sexy, it'd be you, Professor."
Wrong thing to say. Her face goes from pink to red to white.
