Page 76 of Pucked Up Plans
“Your turn. What secret are you going to reveal to me?”
I think for a minute. Even though it was going to be my turn, I don’t have an answer prepared. “I’m not sure I have one as juicy as having to sit in the front of the bus.” I laugh at my expense, stalling for more time.
“Truthfully, I just wanted to hear your voice, Tate.”
Aww. This guy.
“Now I’m the one who feels special.”
“You are,” Walsh compliments.
He can’t see the way my cheeks flush pink nor the way my stomach tumbles again, making me want more than just his voice in my ear.
“I’m not devastated Aubrey’s father died,” I divulge.
A gasp echoes on the other end of the phone. He follows it with, “Shit, Tate. We need to discuss this more, but our bus pulled into the parking lot.”
“And you didn’t puke.”
“Nope.” He lowers his voice. “Thanks for being the distraction I needed.”
“You’re welcome. Any time. It was good to hear your voice.” Jeez, one would think I hadn’t seen him in weeks or months. “Good luck with your game. See what you can do about gettingthe puck into the net.” My light-hearted attempt at a hockey joke falls a little flat.
“That’s always my goal. See what I did there?” His hearty chuckle causes tremors of emotion.
“Yeah, got it. Clever.” As much as he has to go, I don’t want to hang up. “What are the odds you’ll be stopping by for cookies tonight?”
“Probably in your favor. Lennon’s with her mom for the night. I could come over after Aubrey goes to bed.” Expectation clings to his comment.
I don’t want to turn him down, but I don’t trust myself. However, I’m the one who initiated this, so I can’t rescind my invitation.
“Okay.” My heart soars as I speak. I’ll have to be on my best behavior, not maul him the minute he walks in, even though that will be the only thing I want to do.
“The thought of seeing you tonight will help me power through the bus ride home.”
The seams of my heart explode at both his words and getting to see him tonight. Friday and Saturday didn’t fulfill my Walsh quota.
“Awesome. Have a great game. Text me when you have an estimated time.”
“Thanks, Tate. I will. See you later. Bye.”
Like the gentleman he is, he waits for my goodbye before ending the call.
“Bye, Walsh. Skate well.” I end the call, not waiting for any response to my well wishes. Because if I hear his voice again, I won’t have the willpower to let him go. Even though he can’t stay on the phone.
Slipping my phone in my pocket, I join Aubrey on the couch.
She squints up at me. “We make cookies soon?” The girl won’t even touch the end product—or any taste tests during the process—but she’s all about measuring and adding ingredients.
“Just waiting on you.”
Her eyes flick back to the TV for a brief minute before she voices, “I’ll watch later.” She scrambles to get the remote and powers down the TV. “Let’s go.”
As much as I enjoy cooking and baking, when she’s with me underfoot, it’s a bonus, an extra pleasure from the sometimes mundane chore. And though she’s only five, she has a good sense of how things work in the kitchen, which ingredients are what, and where we keep them, so she’s quite the help.
Aubrey and I spend several hours measuring, mixing, and baking cookies, making enough to serve at our meal, a batch and a half for Walsh, with a few extras for tonight, and about three batches to freeze for Christmas gifts for teachers at the school. When I find a recipe I like, I go overboard. But it’s one less thing I’ll have to worry about next month.
The kitchen looks like a tornado swept in and destroyed it, but instead of sand and dirt, it brought a flurry of flour and sugar. I’ve left most of the mess for later when Walsh comes to help. I suspect if we do it together, it won’t feel so much like a chore.
