Page 23 of SlapShot Sweetheart

“Of course not. Reputations and such.”

“It would be terrible.”

“Just awful.”

“See you Friday then?”

“At the game,” she smiled, nodding. “Backstage tour and all that jazz. I’ll be the redhead in the green jersey.”

“Make sure it’s the jersey with the number 11 on it.”

“Did you think I would wear a different one?”

“To pick on me or spite me – yes,” he grinned and winked at her. “Number eleven – don’t forget.”

“Number eleven,” she confirmed softly, matching his smile. “Batiste.”

“C’est moi.”

“Ugh, again with the French stuff?” she muttered and treasured the way he laughed in unfettered delight, looking so carefree and joyful in that moment. “Go on, ya big jackal… take your snickering laughter and get off my porch before you cross a line. I’ve got dishes to handle and work to get done.”

“Oui mademoiselle.”

“You think you’re cute, don’t you?”

“I think the bigger question is, ‘do you think I’m cute’?” he asked quickly, standing there with a massive smile on his face – and she shut the door. His laughter rang out on the other side of the wooden separation between them as she smiled.

“I think you are terribly cute, ya’ big twerp,” she whispered, shaking her head and returning to the kitchen. She shovedthe faucet knob upward, allowing the basin to fill once more with scalding water as she cleaned up… and replayed their conversations between them, reliving every second of the past few hours.

Oh yes, she was definitely rethinking her ‘No dating Theo’ stance.

The next evening, Aimee was sitting at the table, trying to finish the last touches on this website that was irritating the fire out of her. If she had to create a ‘dancing cursor’ once more with a ‘trail’ that bounced all over the screen – she was going to scream. When the client mentioned he wanted a ‘red bouncing ball,’ she immediately thought of sing-alongs where the ball bounced on the words… but no. He literally wanted a red bouncing ball as a cursor, and if you remained in one spot too long with your mouse, the ball would bounce and move across the screen.

It was migraine-inducing.

She glanced up to see Éclair and Donut sitting on the windowsill, looking outside. Their little heads were moving two and fro in unison, in the strangest manner, revealing that they were watching something.

“Éclair? Donut? Come here, sweeties…” and paused as one of them turned and meowed at her, unmoving. No, something in the front of the house had their attention. She slowly rose to her feet, looking at the doorknob to verify it was indeed locked as she saw headlights a moment later.

“What in the heck is going on…” she whispered, running to the door and yanking it open, only to hear tires squeal a momentlater as some big orange older SUV that looked like a Suburban take off in the distance – and the license plate said ‘STICKS’.

She had a clue!

Aimee actually had a clue of who her mysterious man was that kept showing up at her house doing random things. As she stepped out onto the porch, she paused in disbelief as her foot bumped into something, causing her to look down and gape in surprise.

Her front porch was full of bouquets. There had to be at least ten of them, with varying flowers, different shades, and heights. She picked up the first vase, chuckling as she realized it was a summer-themed beach ball with yellow Gerbera daisies in it. There was a massive crystal vase that had a slew of pale pink roses in it – and that had to be her favorite. She set the beach ball down on the coffee table next to the door and moved to scoop up this one, burying her face in the roses and inhaling the sweet scents.

“Oh, you are going on the table,” she whispered to the inanimate object, smiling softly, before returning to the porch to gather up the others. There was a bouquet of tulips in a purple vase, a bunch of lilies tied with a bright blue ribbon, another cluster of deep red roses, and several others that were a variety of blooms. Her whole house smelled like a florist’s shop – that heady peat and flowery scent that was unmistakable.

“What am I going to do with all of these vases?” she chuckled, completely flattered. “This is the most extravagant and ridiculous thing… and I love it. Now, to find out who ‘Sticks’ is on that license plate.”

Twenty minutes later, Aimee was frowning.

“Nothing? I know it said ‘STICKS,’” she muttered at her computer screen only to hear her phone beep nearby. Reaching over to grab it, she saw Theo’s text and hesitated.

I can’t wait for Friday…

Did you come by my house?

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