Page 10 of The Parent Playbook
“Naw, I’m good. You’ve got this, Doug.”
He tilts his head at me and then looks at the crowd. “Folks, you remember Scotty MacFarland, right?”
A murmur rolls over them and I would like to drop through the stage to the center of the earth.
“He was a legend, and still is, when you see what he does from the sidelines for the Ice Breakers. He might be a bit crowd-shy, but …”
Doug continues singing my praises, something about being an Olympic contender, about my record assists in my last season on the ice, while Blair Radcliffe, publicist to one of our key players, Cooper Montgomery, sidles up to me. Blair is a dogged promoter and has done a lot to make tonight happen. And she’s also the one who gave me the very delicious fruit basket. “You’ve got to say something, Scotty,” she whispers, her voice sharp while her smile remains glowing for the crowd. It’s an impressive act.
“I’m no good at this.”
“Scotty, this isn’t about you. It’s about charity. It’s about giving those kids a chance at something better. Use that charm you pretend not to have.”
Taking a deep breath, I step up to the microphone, the cheers turning into a curious hush. I clear my throat, my hand instinctively reaching up to adjust a tie I’m not even wearing. Old habits die hard.
“Uh, hi there,” I start, my voice sounding foreign under the echo of the ballroom. “I’m not much for speeches. The last time I tried to give one, I ended up talking about fishing techniques to a room full of vegans.”
A ripple of laughter spreads through the crowd, easing the knot in my stomach.
“I’m here because of the kids at Happy Horizons. I’ve heard about what that place does for them. It’s more than a camp; it’s a place where they can forget their troubles, play, and just be kids,” I say, finding my rhythm.
A round of respectful applause takes over the room, and that’s when I see Angel. She’s clapping like her life depends on it, while her face looks like she might throw up. Poor thing. I should have told her who I was, but she was on a roll.
“I may not have three swimming pools, but I promise we’re here to make a splash for a great cause.” I couldn’t help myself with the joke, but the crowd seemed to enjoy it. I have to hold back a laugh as Angel’s eyes widen more. “But what we have is a team committed to making a difference. And tonight, with your help, we hope to score a big win for Happy Horizons.”
The applause that follows feels different—warmer. I glance over to where Blair is standing, and she pops me a couple of thumbs up.
“Thanks for listening. I’m going to do everything I can to make the Ice Breakers a winning team for Maple Falls. Now let’s make tonight a game-changer for those kids,” I conclude, stepping away from the microphone as the applause grows louder.
As I make my way off the stage, Blair whispers, “See? Not so bad after all.”
“Yeah, well, let’s not make a habit of it. Pretty please.”
“Pretty please?” Blair echoes. “You’ve got to hang out with people over the age of twelve. Mr. Hart! So great to see you,” and Blair is off to hob-knob with the philanthropist who made the Ice Breakers a reality.
As for me, I think I’ll stick with twelve-year-olds. My hair braiding has come a long way in the last few years, even if my bracelet beading skills leave something to be desired. Speaking of which, I think I’ll pop by the TV room and check on Lily.
As I’m about to make a stealthy exit, Angel catches up to me, and a whiff of those apples gets me again.
“Scotty, was it?” she starts, her shoulders turned to the side as if she’d like to be running in the other direction. “You put on a good show. I truly thought you were there for my coat.” She bites her lip and something in me lights on fire. “About my rant about hockey players … I might have been out of line.”
“I’m sorry I accepted your coat.”
Her eyes scan me from top to bottom, and I suddenly become acutely aware of my mismatched socks. I never cared before. If anything, it was my signature style, but now I feel like I need to offer an explanation.
“Wait a second,” Angel crosses her arms, her entire demeanor changing, “I insult your whole profession when you’re the one raising money for my charity, andyou apologize?”
I shrug. The realization of how downright pretty she is has stolen every word from my brain. “It’s not my profession anymore.”
“But you’re the coach, right?” She looks confused.
“I am for now. Otherwise, I’m a handyman at a luxury hotel and dog spa.”
She starts choking, seemingly on air, and heat rises up my neck.
“Excuse me. Must be the champagne. I just didn’t have you pegged as the dog spa type.”
“What can I say?” I shrug yet again. “I love those furry rascals.” I should walk away now, say something like “pleasure to have met you,” and focus on the reason I’m here, but there’s something about Angel’s candor that’s disarmingly attractive.
