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)
Or maybe that was his game-show voice. Either way, the diner erupted in an instant, everyone hopping to their feet to cheer and offer hearty congratulations. Awkward.
I shook my head as I made my way to the counter and perched on the empty stool in the far corner next to where Vinnie was busy wrestling his son, Alec, into one of those toddler backpacks.
“Uh…where are you getting your information, Vin? Jake hasn’t been called up. Yet.”
“Oh.” Vinnie widened his eyes, then returned to the business of fastening Alec into the contraption, kissing his son’s chubby cheeks and deftly hefting him onto his back. “Really?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure Jake would have mentioned it when we talked this morning.”
“McD told me he got a call and”—he winced—“I should know better. The guy was my agent for twenty years before he was Jake’s. He’s a windbag and a half. On the bright side, the fact that he’d mention it at all must mean something’s in the works.”
“Maybe, but now the whole town is going to congratulate Jake—and me, by proxy default for something that isn’t true,” I pointed out, thanking Dierdre for the breakfast menu.
“Ouch.” Vinnie stood, bouncing the towheaded toddler strapped securely behind him as he waved his hands above his head. “I apologize, Elmwood. That was false info. Jake is still making us proud in Syracuse. Enjoy your breakfasts!”
Amused grumbles and sighs filtered through the diner.
“I think you owe us free coffee for that one, Kimbo,” Dean Johnson chortled, lifting his empty cup.
Someone else chimed in with a good-natured jibe that had Vinnie rolling his eyes and adding a snarky comment.
The early morning atmosphere was small-town congeniality at its best. Everyone here shared a history of sorts.
For example: Mr. Johnson was a retired grade-school teacher and if I remembered correctly, he’d taught Vinnie and his husband, Nolan, many years ago. That alone would be more than enough reason for Vinnie to agree to pay for his coffee, even though the older man was clearly joking. In a town as small as Elmwood, those ties were the glue that bound the citizens together.
Perhaps that sounded a tad provincial, but it was true.
Elmwood Diner was over a hundred years old and was owned by the same family, the Moores. Nolan Moore married Vinnie Kiminski, who happened to be the best friend of his older brother, Ronnie. Mr. Johnson was an Elmwood native who’d been tight with Coach Moore, Nolan and Ronnie’s father. See?
Coach Moore had passed away over a decade ago, but the man was still a legend in these parts. In fact, Vinnie openly credited his former coach for laying the groundwork that had inspired Vinnie’s crusade to put Elmwood on the map. And with the help of some talented retired NHL stars like himself and Riley Thoreau, he’d done it. The summer camp run by professional athletes had become an international sensation and had propelled Elmwood into the spotlight as a hockey mecca of sorts.
Hell, Dean Johnson’s three grandsons attended those camps, played club hockey, and one of them was on the brand-new Elmwood High team. Dierdre’s niece played Bantam, and the fry cook’s cousin was one of the top goalies in the country.
The folks in this tight-knit community took their hockey very seriously. It had been front-page news when Jake signed on with an AHL team, but going to the NHL? The last Elmwood native to go all the way was Vinnie Kiminski, and he’d retired years ago. So Jake getting called up would have been huge news, all caps…if it were true.
But it wasn’t.
“You know, since Vinnie’s paying, I’ll take a coffee too, Dierdre. And Jean-Claude’s veggie scramble, please.” I slid the menu across the counter.
“You got it.” Dierdre snickered as she turned to Vinnie, lifting the carafe. “Shall I put that on your tab?”
“Yeah, yeah.” He sighed dramatically. “But no more coffee for me. This munchkin and I are heading to the park. Aren’t we, kiddo?”
I tugged at Alec’s sleeve playfully. “Have fun, little guy.”
The eighteen-month-old babbled adorably and stuffed his fist into his mouth. I chuckled at his toothy grin, fixing his miniature ball cap just as Riley bounded into the diner, marching purposefully toward me.
“Hey, I was just about to text you.”
“Me?”
Riley fist-bumped Vinnie in greeting and blew raspberries for Alec before replying. “Yep. I have a new client for you. Possible client, that is. I’m trying to hire a high school hockey coach and it’s been brutal, but there’s a slim chance my prayers have been answered.”
Vinnie frowned. “What happened to the guy from Wisconsin?”
“He found a job closer to home, but…we have a new candidate. A really fucking good one.”
“Watch your language, Uncle Riley,” Vinnie scolded, hiking his thumb at the drooling toddler behind him.
“Sh—sorry. My bad.” Riley peeked into the kitchen, waved to his husband, then plopped onto the stool next to me. “I gave him my ‘Elmwood is so great’ speech and I’ll show him the rink later. I think he’s interested. He even asked about housing in the area, which is a good sign. I need to wow this guy. Number one, I’m running out of time. If I don’t find a coach in two weeks, I’m going to have to do it myself. And number two, he’s perfect. Experienced player, experienced coach, takes no BS but still likes to have fun…”