Page 18 of Breakaway Heart
“Depressingly, I actually don’t know. What do you do outside of hockey?”
“Watch sports, hang out with the boys, go to parties. Cook. French and Southern stuff mostly. I also sort of collect rocks.”
“You dowhatnow?”
“It’s just a thing I started. I see a nice rock, I take it with me. Keep them all in a big old glass bowl. I don’t know why, but sometimes I like to just look at them, feel the rough and smooth edges, see the grain running through them. I guess it’s nice to just focus on something simple.”
“Randall Jackson, rock lover.”
He looked a little bashful, and I realized it wasn’t something he usually told people.
“Hey, I’d swap one of my finest rocks for one of those Christmas ornaments you make.”
“Oh, I’m not sure you’d be saying that if you saw them.”
For a moment, we smiled. Two people revealing a ridiculous hidden side of themselves.
“How come you can cook, anyway?”
“Oh, it’s my passion! I love it.”
Now, for the first time, I was actually seeing Randall being completely genuine. There was no pretending. His eyes danced with excitement.
“So, what? You went to culinary school?”
“Nah. My uncle Harry taught me. My dad wasn’t always around to pick me up from school. Pretty often, actually. So I’d walk down to Harry’s restaurant and wait there. His place, Lucy! Man, it was really something. And he’d show me how to make everything. This one dish, Harry’s Diving Duck, he was known all over town for it! Once, a senator came in just to try it.”
“That’s kinda cute, Randy. What was the diving duck?”
“Hang about and you’ll find out.” He winked back at me.
“So, he’s still running the restaurant?”
“No.” Randall shook his head sadly, “Harry had a heart attack. Years ago now. After that, his hands got too shaky, had to give up the lease. But it probably would’ve happened anyway.”
I cocked my head in intrigue.
“Harry liked to gamble. He just wasn’t very good at it.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Hey, you think you’ll open your own restaurant when you’re done with hockey?”
“Lucy. I think about it all the time.”
“Well, I used to work as a waitress in college if you’re interviewing.”
“Oh, yeah. I plate ‘em, you serve ‘em.”
Randy reached for the wine, but I stopped him.
“No, please allow me, sir.”
I pushed back my seat, stood up, and came round to his side of the table, filling his glass. “Is everything to your satisfaction this evening?”
“Oh, yes, excellent starter. Please pass my compliments to the chef.”
“Well, be sure to thank him with a tip.”
I watched Randall struggle to stop himself from making a quip aboutthe tip. It looked almost painful for him not to, but he managed to hold it in.
