Page 137 of I'm Your Guy
“Grumpier than you?” Emilia asks, rolling her bag into the kitchen.
“Definitely,” he says.
“Maybe that’s Carter’s new market niche—designer to the grumpiest hockey players in Colorado. He’ll need new business cards.”
If that’s all it took, I’d have them printed out by dinner time.
* * *
It takes about fifteen minutes to move my stuff into Tommaso’s basement. Then we all get in my car and head for the Denver airport.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t come to the Trenton game?” Emilia asks as we exit the highway.
“I’m sure,” he says. “But Gia is messaging me, saying she wants to see me at the hotel. She’s bringing me an Italian sub from Sal’s and disco fries.”
“That’s generous of her,” Emilia says. “Driving a sub all the way to Trenton.”
“It is,” he agrees. “Kinda makes me think she has an ulterior motive.”
“Gia? Never,” his mother says, and then they both laugh.
After we pull up to the departures area, Tommaso gets out of the car. He hefts his mother’s bag out of my trunk and says goodbye to her at the curb.
I watch as he wraps his big arms around her frail body and hugs her goodbye. Then he stands there, forlorn, as she rolls her bag toward the automatic sliding doors.
Before she goes, she turns to give her son one more wave and a smile. I can’t hear them through the window, but I can tell she’s said, “See you soon!”
Please, Lord, let that be true. I watch her disappear into the airport.
Tommaso stands there another moment. Then he turns and slowly climbs back into my car.
I pull away from the curb and pretend not to see his red eyes. And I pretend not to notice that he’s staring silently out the window so that I won’t see his anguished face.
Eventually, though, he reaches for my hand. And we have a quiet but peaceful ride downtown to collect his car.
After we separate, I call Hale while I’m driving back alone to Red Rock Circle.
“Hi there!” I say when the goalie answers. “My name is Carter Flynn, and I believe one of your new teammates gave me your name…”
“You’re the decorator,” says a gruff voice. “Tommaso’s guy.”
“Yeah.” Tommaso’s guy. I like the sound of it so much that I don’t even argue with the fact that he called me the decorator.
“Looks like I’m stuck in Colorado,” the goalie grumbles. “Gotta make the best of it. I’m renting a condo in Boulder. Starting from scratch. Need some furniture.”
What is it with hockey players and a lack of furniture? “I understand,” I tell him. “If you could show me the space, we could go over your options.”
He sighs. “I don’t have a lot of free time.”
“I’m familiar with your time constraints.” I try to sound soothing. “And I can do a lot of work remotely. But I can’t furnish a space that I’ve never seen. And you don’t want to hire anyone who thinks they can.”
Another broody sigh. “I’m leaving on a trip tonight.”
“For Trenton,” I say. “That’s fine. Why don’t I text you after the team is back, and we’ll find a moment that works for you.”
“All right,” he grumbles. “Uh, thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now go beat Trenton to a bloody pulp and we’ll talk after you get back.”
