Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I remove my tie and shove it in my pocket.
“Ivo, the darts?” Leo prompts. “I wasn’t kidding about being in a hurry.”
A glance toward the front of the bar confirms that Heidi Jo hasn’t arrived yet, though, and I have half a mind to stall, just to fuck with Leo.
I’m about to tease him, when my gaze snags on a beautiful woman at the bar. She’s holding a book in one hand and a martini glass in the other. I can’t see her face. But everything inside me goes quiet. Maybe it’s the tilt of her head that’s so familiar. Or the particular shine of her glossy black hair.
But that has to be Chiara at the bar. I just know it.
The front door swings open, admitting a blast of chilly air, plus three or four more of my teammates. The one in front is Silas, though. He glances at the woman at the bar, and does a slight double take, like I just did. Then he lengthens his stride toward me.
“Dude,” he says when he arrives. “Your girl is at the bar.”
“She is not my girl,” I say automatically.
“But you have to go over there.”
I want to. But I’m not sure it would be welcome. “She looks like someone who wants to be left alone.”
We both take a second glance at Chiara, whose chin is down, her nose practically buried in that book.
“Nah,” Silas whispers. “This is our bar, on a night after a home game. That’s why she’s here.”
“You think?” I mean—I wish it were true. But she’s never come in here before.
“Dude. You always go to her restaurant when you want to see her.”
“Yes.” It’s true. Although I do not do so very often anymore. I do not like to see the happy couple together. For a while I only went on Tuesdays at lunch, when he would not be there. But even that eventually made me feel pathetic.
I miss the pizza, but I miss her more.
“She came here for a reason,” Silas presses. “I mean, it’s theoretically possible she didn’t know you would be here. But once she stepped inside and saw all the Hockey paraphernalia on every surface…“ He laughs. “She’d have to get a clue you know?”
I laugh, too, but I can’t stop staring. I haven’t seen Chiara’s smile in way too long. But her face is still hidden from me. “Take my game of darts.”
“Go on.” He claps me on the shoulder. “You’ve got this.”
It’s nice, but I don’t need the encouragement. I’m not afraid to talk to her. I am not afraid of anything much these days. Once you move 6000 kilometers away from home, to a country where you don’t speak the language, and face down every major league hockey competitor in the world, not much can scare a guy.
But I don’t head straight for Chiara. Instead, I duck under the bar instead and grab two glasses. “Evening, Pete.”
“Evening,” he says without even blinking at this strange turn of events. Nothing rattles that man. He should play hockey.
I fill both glasses with ice. Then I use the gun to squirt seltzer inside. I add two lemon wedges, perching them on the edge. Then I carry them back around to the customers’ side of the bar, where I take the empty seat next to Chiara.
She looks up at me, and there’s no surprise in her expression. “Hi,” she says quietly. And the tone is a little sheepish.
Sheepish is a fun English word. It makes me think of fuzzy sheep. And even as I get my first good look at Chiara’s beautiful dark eyes, I feel a pang of longing for the language game she used to make me play. “Hi,” I echo. “I brought you my favorite drink, because I don’t know yours. Want to play a game?”
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Answer four questions, and I will provide cookies.”
Her smile forms slowly. “All right. I’ll play.”
“Question number one—is something wrong?”
Her eyes narrow slightly. “How does this game work, exactly? I don’t know how you’re going to figure out my score.”
“This is a game you cannot fail.” I shrug. “Is something wrong?”
She looks away. “That is more complicated than you’d think. It will sound like yes. But actually no.”
“I’m not sure that answer makes sense,” I tell her. “But I’ll give you a point anyway.”
She swallows hard, and that’s when I notice that the delicate chain around her neck no longer holds a ring. My gaze drops to her hands, and they are free of jewelry.
My heart gives a kick. “Question two—did you lose your engagement ring?”
“Sort of.” One shoulder lifts half-heartedly. “In a manner of speaking. Actually, I gave it back last month.”
I suppose it would be rude to cheer and do somersaults. So I ask another question instead. “Number three—is that why you are sad?”