Page 4 of Checking All Her Notes
“For me or the window?”
“Both.”
I bite my lip to keep from grinning. “You’re funnier than people say.”
“People talk about me?”
“Small town. People talk about everyone.” I stand up, brushing off my knees. “You’re the mysterious new player who never smiles. Very intriguing.”
“I smile.”
“When?”
“In my sleep. Maybe.”
Now I’m full-on grinning. “You’re not sure?”
“No witnesses.”
Before I can respond, the door swings open again. Dad reappears with Jerry from maintenance, who’s carrying a tape measure and looking far too amused by this situation.
Jude straightens instantly, somehow becoming even more solid. His entire demeanor shifts.
Dad claps him on the shoulder again. I’m starting to think this is his primary form of communication with players. “Good cleanup work, Blockton. Real team player.”
“Thanks, Coach,” Jude mutters, already edging toward the door like it might lock if he doesn’t move fast enough.
“See you at film review,” Dad calls after him.
Jude nods, then glances back at me. Just once. Quick. But his eyes hold mine for a beat longer than necessary.
Then he’s gone, taking his storm cloud eyes and his almost-smiles with him.
Jerry, the maintenance man, whistles low as he measures the window frame. “That’s gonna be a fun repair.”
“Can you have it done by tomorrow?” I ask.
“I think so.” He grins. “First time one of the boys broke something on this side of the building. Usually they keep the destruction to the ice.”
When the room finally clears and Jerry heads off to get supplies, Emma tugs on my sleeve.
“Miss Kessler,” she whispers, her eyes too knowing for a seven-year-old. “That hockey guy likes you.”
“Oh, I think he’s just being nice. As nice as he can be, anyway.” I smile and tilt my head.
“He smiled at you,” Sarah says, matter-of-fact. “I saw it.”
“That wasn’t a smile. That was a twitch or something.”
“Looked like a smile to me,” Rusty chimes in.
“Let’s get back to our lesson.” I wave my arm to get them over to the piano.
But I can’t stop thinking about how his eyes looked when he saidpuck’s faster. That was unexpectedly funny. Maybe he has a sense of humor under there somewhere.
Outside the window, I can hear the sounds of practice resuming. Skates on ice. Pucks hitting boards. My dad’s whistle.
And somewhere in that chaos is Jude Blockton, the grumpy defenseman who might have just made my very boring Thursday a whole lot more interesting.
