Page 23 of Mister Hockey
“Uh, eight.”
“What does he like?”
“I don’t know.”
“You want a book recommendation for a child you don’t know?”
“I know the child. He’s my nephew. But we’re not close. We don’t see much of each other and I don’t know much about kid books. I didn’t read much at his age.”
She was a reader, not a writer, but knew enough from that tight tone to understand there was a story there.
“Let’s simplify. Funny or adventure?”
“You choose.”
“What aboutTales of a Fourth Grade Nothing? It’s by Judy Blume. Long-suffering brother facing off against a seriously pesky little brother. It’s usually a big hit among that age demographic.”
“Tales of a... Fourth Grade... Nothing.” He repeated back slowly as if he was writing it down. “Great. Thank you.”
“No, thank you.” She winced. God, could she sound dumber? “Glad I could be of help.”
“You take care now.”
“Okay?” That was it? “Bye?” Wait, seriously? That was literally why he had called?
There was a silence.
Click.
Well, then.
She hung up and glanced to the Westy calendar pinned to her cubicle wall. “What the hell? Do you not have access to Google and working fingers?”
Before she could begin what was sure to be a long and eventful obsession session, the phone rang again. She startled at the sharp ring.
“Hello, children’s desk. This is Breezy.”
“Me again.”
She twisted the phone cord around her finger. “Let me guess. This time you want a recommendation for a little girl. Six. Just mastering sight words.”
“No. I wanted to see what you were doing tomorrow. It’s why I called.”
She rocked her head back and mouthed athank youto the ceiling. Threw in a thumbs-up for good measure. And a promise to be more attentive to recycling. “So there is no little boy.”
“No. There is. But Josh was my foot in the door.”
As if he needed a reason. He was Jed freaking West. She was Breezy “can’t even keep Rory Munge interested” Angel.
“Was that wrong?” he asked, testing the silence.
She nibbled her bottom lip. “Only if it’s wrong that I’m flattered.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” The smile was evident in his own voice. The sound heated her ear. “So about tomorrow.”
Ugh, tomorrow.
“I’ll be getting pecked to death by ducks. At least it’s going to feel that way. I have to go to this Angel Annual Fourth of July picnic. You met two of them. Sharp beaks.”
