Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Poor guy. He had no idea that he’d be barraged with hot meals and desserts every day once hockey season was under way. No one here liked to think of Smitty struggling to cope in a foreign environment.
And yes, the fact that he was an eligible bachelor hadn’t gone unnoticed. Whether he knew it or not, Elmwood buzzed with speculation about his love life. We considered ourselves to be rather enlightened, and no one made assumptions regarding sexuality.
I’d overheard a whispered “Is he bi or is he straight?” debate at the bakery and had caught a group of teenage girls shamelessly ogling him as he walked into the bank yesterday. Penny Henderson wanted to set him up with her niece, and Dean Johnson thought his granddaughter might want to meet him. If that wasn’t enough, my receptionist commented on Smitty’s hotness daily.
“Guess who I ran into at Rise and Grind this morning? Sir Hotcakes.”
I’d spit out my coffee the first time I’d heard that one. “Sir Hotcakes?”
Tracy had grinned in unrepentant glee. “Sheila McNulty made that one up, and I couldn’t agree more.”
Well, me too, Sheila…me too.
They would have been surprised that I’d been intimately familiar with those hot cakes and even more surprised to know that I was doing my best to keep my distance. They’d think I was insane and maybe they were right, but I had my reasons. And I didn’t invite any speculation regarding my personal life.
People knew I was gay, knew I’d been married and divorced. They even knew my ex-wife. That was more than enough. I had a role to play here, and I did it well. I was the realtor, a town council member, a volunteer, a good neighbor. But first and foremost, I was a father. None of those things excluded having a love life—unless the person in question was a closeted hockey player.
The crazy thing was that I wanted…him. I was lonely as fuck, and I wouldn’t bother denying it.
I had a vision in my head about meeting the perfect guy—someone roughly my age with shared experiences. Maybe he’d be a dad too and hopefully close to his children. He’d probably be a businessman or a teacher. He’d enjoy a quiet life…no drama and minimal baggage. And most important, Jake would love him.
Smitty didn’t fit my admittedly narrow criterion. At all. He was younger than me, in between careers, and the weight of his personal baggage was unknown. Oh, yeah…and my son hated him.
“Tell me it’s a joke, Dad,” Jake insisted on the phone. “No way is Smitty Paluchek living on our street.”
I adjusted my ear buds as I pulled a bottle of Pinot Noir from my wine rack. “He is.”
Silence. My guess was that he was either stunned or stumped or too angry to formulate a sentence.
“I can’t believe it,” he huffed. “That was the only house available in all of Elmwood?”
“Yep.”
“Ugh. That’s going to make it very hard to ignore him when I come visit.”
I perked up. “Oh! When are you coming home?”
“Next month. I have a few days before the season opener, so I figured that might be a good time.”
“That’s a great time! I can’t wait to see you.” Geez, could I be any less chill?
“Same. But Dad…”
“Yeah?”
“Do not get all buddy-buddy with that jerk.”
I frowned. “I—what?”
“I know you. You’re always ‘Mr. Welcome to Elmwood’ and Smitty is the one guy who shouldn’t make the cut. Don’t become best friends. He’s not worth your time. Trust me on this…I’ve heard stories about him. On and off the ice, he’s a piece of work. If I’m lucky, he’ll be long gone next month anyway.”
He changed the subject and had to hang up soon after.
Just as well, since I was about to have dinner with his nemesis.
Look, maybe this made me a bad dad and a worse human. Maybe I should have tried harder to avoid Smitty. At the end of the day, I just didn’t want to.
I wasn’t sure what that said about me, but it couldn’t be good.
Twenty minutes later, I leaned against Smitty’s kitchen counter, sipping Pinot while he stirred marinara sauce and told me about his first practice at the high school.
“We kept it simple and fun. They were too anxious to really get in a groove. And yeah, they might end up surprising me, but my first impression was…yikes. They’re fuckin’ terrible.” He speared a rigatoni from the boiling water and held it up for me. “Taste this. Do you think it’s done?”
I bit into the pasta, aware of his heated gaze locked on my mouth. “Yes.”
He licked his lips as he turned off the burner. “Great. I have a big delivery of basic household items coming soon. In the meantime, I’ve got two bowls, two forks, and two chairs. Let’s eat.”
We sat at the peninsula, which was more of a cramped bar area. There was no way to avoid the press of his knee or the occasional brush of his elbow. I probably should have suggested eating at my house instead. Then again, I would have missed the pleasure of having a sexy hunk in gray sweats, a snug tee, and bare feet cooking for me. That hadn’t happened in…well, ever.