Page 22 of Drop the Mitts

“Sorry if he badgered you with that. Told him you had enough on your plate.” Country dried his hands on a dish towel.”

Jenna stood with her mug. “Yes, please. Not a big deal. I’m sure he’ll be able to?—”

“I’m going,” Grace blurted, guilt slamming into her full force. This charity game was important to them, and while the idea of giving any kind of legal advice made her want to rub sandpaper over her eyeballs, it was something shecoulddo.

Jenna’s face lit up with relief. “Oh, I’m so glad. We’ve been worried about ensuring the sponsorships and player contracts were set up correctly. I know you said you weren’t available to do all the paperwork, but even being there to point us in the right direction will be so helpful.”

Grace nodded. “Of course. Happy to help.”

Jenna and Country walked her to the door. She embraced them both as Jenna promised to send over all the communication she had regarding the adoption, then stepped out onto the porch.

Grace pulled out her phone as she walked to the car, her boots crunching over the hardened snow.

Grace

Where’s the meeting?

She silently pleaded that André would see her message. She should’ve asked Jenna, but that would’ve required her to admit that she’d initially declined.

Her phone buzzed as she settled behind the wheel.

André

You can just say you miss me

She ground her teeth, inhaling sharply through her nose.

The meeting, André

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Finally, the response came through.

9 a.m. Heads Up Alberta. I’ll forward you the address. Meet you in the parking lot

She typed the name into her GPS, then pulled out of the driveway. Mist had settled overnight, coating every bare branch in frost that shimmered like crystal in the rising sun.

It was breathtaking. Like a winter wonderland.

Morning traffic was surprisingly calm, which made settling her nerves a tad easier. She tried to take her mother’s advice as she drove into the city.

She couldn’t control this. She had to wait.

Grace drifted as she followed the navigation on her dash, but as she turned onto 6th Ave, something caught her attention. Her shirt was bubbling over her chest. She frowned and felt around, realizing one of her buttons was undone.

At the next red light, she tried to push it through, and the button came off in her hand. She groaned, flicking the fabric to see just how much of her black bra was visible through the gaping hole.

Most of it. Fantastic. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She flipped the button between her fingers as she pulled into a parking spot and did a quick, frantic inventory of her car.

No extra shirt. Anything in her purse? Glove compartment? Napkins, old receipts, a pen with no ink.

The first aid kit her mother bought for her ten years ago when she bought her first car. She lunged for it, shoving aside tire gauges and granola bars, finally landing on a single safety pin.

She murmured a silent prayer of thanks, then fumbled with the tiny metal clasp, trying to maneuver it one-handed over her chest, but the angle was awkward.

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