Page 9 of Gamechanger

I nodded, my face burning hotter than a furnace. "Uh, yes. Good eye. It's, um, excellent for warm socks."

Ms. Rivera glanced from the yarn in her hand to the needles scattered across her desk, then to me, still frozen in my chair, hand outstretched from my failed briefcase grab.

For a moment, silence reigned. Then, surprising even myself, I grinned and said, "Well, I guess you could say I'm pretty good at spinning a yarn."

The tension broke. Ms. Rivera's laugh caught us both off guard, starting as a snort and building into a full-bodied chuckle. As I scrambled to collect my runaway craft supplies, she asked, "You knit?"

"I do," I admitted, stuffing the traitorous red yarn back into my case. "It's a great way to de-stress, usually. Plus, I make a mean pair of mittens for Christmas gifts."

I paused my clean-up efforts and held up a half-finished project—a beanie in Lumberjack colors. "I was thinking of donating a set of these to the local children's hospital. You know, to spread a little team spirit to the kids who can't make it to the games."

Ms. Rivera's gaze softened as she looked from the beanie to me. "That's... a wonderful idea, Mr. Moretti."

She stood up and walked around her desk to help me pick up a few stray balls of yarn that had rolled to the far corners of her office. She eagerly helped me, and I detected no negativity.

When she returned to her chair, she asked a question half related to the interview and half pure human curiosity. "We've been looking for ways to expand our merchandise line and appeal to a broader demographic. Tell me more about this knitting idea of yours."

The earth may have tilted oddly on its axis, but a tremendously embarrassing experience turned into a great opportunity just like that. I launched into a pitch about community knitting circles and player-designed patterns, silently thanking my briefcase for its perfectly timed rebellion. Sometimes, a little chaos is what you need to knit together the perfect opportunity.

By the end of the interview, Ms. Rivera was scribbling furiously on her notepad, and I'd relaxed into the conversation. "Well, Mr. Moretti," she concluded, "you've certainly given us a lot to think about. We'll be in touch soon."

As I left the office, I smiled from ear to ear. Whether I got the job or not, I'd taken the bull by the horns and followed my instinct. The interview was over, and I didn't bomb. In fact, I dared to think it went well.

While I walked down the hallway, my adrenaline began to ebb. A familiar whisper of doubt crept into the back of my mind. What if Ms. Rivera was only being polite? What if my composting analogy was as utterly ridiculous and off-base as it now sounded in my head?

The corridor ahead of me looked like it went on forever, and for a moment, the walls felt like they were closing in. My breath caught in my throat. I loosened my tie, desperate for a breath of fresh air.

Get it together, Moose. You're fine. Everything's fine.

With my heart pounding, I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. The cool surface against my back calmed me. In the distance, I could hear the sounds of the rink—the scrape of skates and the thwack of pucks against sticks. Slowly, the tightness in my chest eased.

I didn't need to hyperventilate. I was fine. So what if I'd made a fool of myself? It wouldn't be the first time, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. I straightened up and adjusted my tie. Itwas time to put on the Moose show again. After all, wasn't that what I did best?

I gravitated toward the rink. Practice was in full swing, players darting this way and that across the ice. As I scanned the group, I spotted Finn in the middle of it all. He was in the process of stealing a puck from Axel.

I couldn't stop watching. Finn moved with power and grace that mesmerized me. I stepped up close to the boards.

Quinn waved, and then Finn spotted me and skated over, his cheeks rosy from exertion.

As he approached, I became acutely aware of my appearance—the suit that had felt so professional in the interview now seemed stiff and out of place. I resisted the urge to loosen my tie to appear more casual. Instead, I squared my shoulders and smiled.Act confident, Moose. Fake it 'til you make it.

As Finn skated to a stop, he removed his helmet, revealing his dark brown curls damp from sweat. "Hey, Moose! Fancy seeing you here. Was it the interview? How'd it go?"

I leaned against the boards, trying to appear like I took it all in stride. "You know," I shrugged, "I only tripped over my words about a dozen times and spilled my entire collection of knitting kit on her desk. Pretty good, I suppose, all things considered."

Finn laughed. "Knitting kit? You didn't strike me as the crafty type."

"A man of mystery," I grinned, suddenly feeling a little more comfortable. "I should show you my crochet hook collection. Only my stash of obscure biology facts is more extensive."

"I do appreciate a man of many talents." Finn's eyes twinkled. "Any chance you could knit me something lucky to carry around? I could use all the help I can get."

I grinned. "For you? I certainly could. How about a tiny, knitted hockey stick? Maybe I could even assemble a little Finn Novak doll, complete with your curls." I imagined spendinghours perfecting those little yarn curls, trying to capture how they fell across his forehead.Wait, is that weird? Too much?Fortunately, Finn was smiling.

He chuckled and reached up to run his fingers through the curls. "That would be great to see. You know… you clean up nice, Moose. The suit… it's great on you."

"Suits me?"

"Suits you." We both laughed.

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