Page 57 of Must Love Christmas

“Oh. Maybe not.” Garen scanned the rink while he pondered the question. The other five sheets were occupied by curlers squeezing in an hour of practice before doubles league games started at seven o’clock. They were all busy attending to their own issues, but he still felt like he was on display. Surely by now news of his struggle had entered the Shawlands grapevine.

“I guess for a draw,” Garen said finally, “it’s not so much pushing off as it is sort of…falling into the slide.”

“Riiight.” Oliver grinned down at him. “So what determines how hard you fall into the slide?” Before Garen could speak, his coach gestured to the hack. “Don’t tell me. Show me.”

Garen slid a stone in front of the hack, then placed his right foot onto its slanted rubber surface. “This is one factor,” he said. “The higher I put my foot, usually the faster I go.”

“Okay, what else?”

Garen went through his pre-shot routine, taking one full deep breath as he pretended to read his skip’s signal from the other end of the sheet, then tugging on his left sleeve, followed by his right sleeve.

He crouched down and took hold of the stone’s handle with his right hand. Then he raised his hips and drew back, bringing his sliding foot parallel to the hack.

“Oh!” Garen froze in place. “The farther my sliding foot goes back, the more momentum I get.” He looked back at Oliver for confirmation, but his coach seemed unimpressed.

“True,” Oliver said, “but do you need such a big adjustment for a draw?”

“Erm…” Draws were the slowest-moving shots, the sort that didn’t knock out any stones. But they were key to scoring points and thwarting opponents’ opportunities. “I guess not.”

Oliver came over and put his hand on Garen’s left calf. “Right now you’re in the ‘back’ position. As you start your slide, the time it takes your foot to go from here to here”—he gave Garen’s leg a gentle push until it was parallel to the hack—“is key to throwing a draw with the right weight. It’s all about that ‘back to hack’ interval.”

“Wow.” Garen shifted his sliding foot back and forth. “How am I just now learning this?”

“You’ve always knownhowto throw a draw. My job is to help you understandwhyit works, so you can get it back.” Oliver went to the nearby bench and picked up his laser timer, which was so thoroughly used, it was held together by electrical tape. “Our little ‘speed trap’ friend here can show us how fast you’re going compared to how fast you think you’re going.”

Garen proceeded to run through Oliver’s drill, attempting to throw a pair of stones so that their velocities were nearly the same. Over the course of an hour, the feedback from the laser timer helped him calibrate his throws until they were as precise as they’d ever been.

“Any more questions?” Oliver asked as they arranged the stones in proper order for the upcoming league games.

“Just one.” Garen used his foot to slide the yellow stone with the 2 on it into place, then checked to see if anyone was within hearing distance. As usual, there was too much noise in the echoing rink for normal conversation to carry far. “Any plans as to when and where you’ll propose to Luca?”

“I was thinking Christmas morning by our tree?” Oliver gave a small grimace. “Bit clichéd, I know.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Garen fought to hold back a smirk. “Of course, anyone can do that. You and Luca, however, have a special history.” He pointed to the ice. “This is where you met, after all.”

“That’s an idea.” Oliver ran a hand over his head, mussing then smoothing his nut-brown waves of hair. “But I don’t know how to trick him into coming here on Christmas. The rink closes for the midyear melt on the twenty-third.”

“True.” Garen examined his broom head for debris. “You just have to ask yourself, what’s more important: thewhenor thewhere.”

There came a knock on the window to the warm room. Gillian waved to Garen, then pointed to her watch.

He gave her a thumbs up as he glanced at the clock above his head, slightly annoyed at being rushed. There were four whole minutes before their Jingle Bell Rocks meeting.

He turned to Oliver. “Gotta go, but thanks so much for sorting me out.”

“It’s literally my job.” His coach clapped him on the shoulder. “But even if it weren’t, I’m happy to help anytime.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it.” Oliver’s eyes met his. “For the two years I’ve been coaching you guys, you’re the one who’s needed the least guidance. I don’t know how you float through life not worrying about anything, but at some point even you need help.”

Garen thought about this as he entered the warm room and went down the hall to the dressing room to change shoes. But as soon as he pulled his Jingle Bell Rocks materials from his locker, his focus turned to his most immediate problem.

No other rink members had stepped forward to take the lead on the Christmas curling charity event, so if it was to happen at all, Garen had to chair the committee. He was normally allergic to responsibility—especially leadership—but there was a first time for everything. Maybe his regained confidence on the ice would carry over to this endeavor, too.

As he was slipping on his street shoes, his phone buzzed on the bench beside him. Simon had finally replied to his earlier text:

Garen: Going to rink directly after work. You ok on your own tonight?

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