“You’re…nice,” I said quietly.
“You sound surprised.”
“Well, I’ve heard of you, of course. Both from when you played hockey and now that you’re buying the new team in Florida. You seemed larger than life online, like the kind of guy who’d just sell the place sight unseen and keep going with your life. Instead, you came in person and you’re…genuine.” I needed to stop talking but I couldn’t seem to help myself.
“In the interest of full disclosure,” he said, a small smile playing on his full lips, “I had no intention of staying. I was going to come by to see it, since I learned to skate here, hire a realtor, and head back out. When the fire happened and I ordered the Zamboni, I realized I wanted to be here to make sure it arrives all right and is what you need, and it seems like with every passing minute, there are more and more unanswered questions. I guess I’m simply not the kind of guy to walk away until I have all the information.”
We stared at each other for a minute, a subtle spark igniting between us before I forced myself to look away. “Well, there’s plenty of information around here for you to gather. The lights in the men’s locker room don’t always work, there’s no hot water in the showers—it’s mostly lukewarm—and the website isn’t up to date.” I grinned at him, trying to lighten the mood because flirting with him would serve no purpose. Retired pro hockey players like Remy Knight didn’t date homeless concession stand managers, and even if he did, he was leaving soon and I had to stay.
“Looks like the Zamboni’s here,” Dwayne said, turning toward the ice abruptly.
Crap, I’d all but forgotten he was here.
“Excellent.” Remy said. “Let’s go see this baby.”
The three of us grabbed our coffee cups off the concession counter and moved toward the entrance to the ice where the Zamboni would be delivered.
“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” I breathed, staring at it.
It was brand spanking new, shiny, and white, and would hopefully do a great job resurfacing the ice.
The three of us watched as it was moved off the truck and settled in the area where it would be permanently parked in between ice cleaning.
“Let’s gas her up and take her for a spin,” Remy said, his eyes twinkling.
“You think?” I wrinkled my nose.
“Well, how else will we test it?” he countered. “And also, it’ll be good PR for the rink. I’ll put a few pictures up on social media and it’ll hopefully get people to come in.”
“That’s true.” I nodded.
“Let’s do it.” Dwayne and Remy moved off to where they did those types of things—I never paid any attention to putting gas in the Zamboni—and I looked around the ice as if I’d never seen it before. Something about Remy being in the building gave it new life, and while it made no sense, it also made perfect sense. Who else but a former professional hockey player could breathe new life into an old, dilapidated ice arena?
Growing up in Garland Grove, everyone knew the stories about the “magic” of the rink here, especially the outdoor one. We joked about it, but I personally knew half a dozen people who’d fallen in love here at the arena, including Connie. It had never worked for me, so I figured I wasn’t the mystical type, but there was definitely a little magic in the air with Remy here. My life was pretty damn boring and a whole lot stressful, but I could absolutely enjoy hanging out with Remy for a couple of days. When would I ever have an opportunity like this again?
“Noelle!” Remy was driving the Zamboni, a big grin on his face. “Come ride with me.”
My eyes widened. “What? No. That’s okay.”
“Yes! Come on—Dwayne will take some pictures of us and we’ll put them online.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t need to be online.”
“I say you do.” He stopped the Zamboni and held out his hand. “Come on up.”
Our eyes locked and for the second time today, everything stopped for a moment. Before I even realized what I was doing, I put my hand in his and climbed up the side.
“Isn’t this fun?” He scooted over so there was room for me and I looked around, a big grin crossing my face.
“I’ve never ridden a Zamboni,” I said.
“Me either.” He grinned back.
“You’ve never resurfaced the ice before?” I asked, grimacing. “Do you know how?”
“How hard can it be?”
Chapter Five
Remy
* * *
Okay, driving a Zamboni around the ice was harder than it looked. Maybe not hard exactly, but not easy either. I needed some practice before I could make those perfect turns smoothing out the ice. Luckily, we were all having too much fun to care and watching Noelle laugh made me happy. Maybe it was because my life was usually so high-stress I rarely had time to do something as carefree as driving a Zamboni. Or laughing with a green-eyed blond who reminded me it had been a minute or ten since I’d had sex.
Not that I would use Noelle like that, but it was sure fun to imagine her naked. Mostly, though, I imagined her laughing like she was now. Her head thrown back, golden hair flying out behind her. Except in my fantasy, she was naked. And on top of me. Ironically, though, even in the throes of imaginary passion, I still envisioned her smiling. Happy. Somehow, my gut told me she didn’t have much of that in her life. There was a sadness in her eyes that was always there, and I longed to ask her about it. The urge to write her a big check and discreetly deposit it in her account was almost overwhelming, and I had no idea why.
“I think this looks pretty good,” Dwayne called out. “Now why don’t you get down and let me do the outside rink before you hurt yourself?”
I laughed and climbed down, holding out a hand to help Noelle. “That was fun. Sorry if I took ten times longer than I should have.”
“Hey, when the boss wants to do my job for me, and all I have to do is take pictures? I’m good.” Dwayne was laughing too.
“Probably the first and last time I’ll ever do it,” I conceded.
“That was really fun,” Noelle said, “but I’ve got to do inventory. Is there anything else you need from me?”
I shook my head. “Not that I can think of. Would you mind if I tagged along, though? I really do want to see how everything works around here.”
She hesitated for a fraction of a second, but then nodded, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “Sure. Come on.”
* * *
I spent the next few hours lifting and moving boxes as Noelle counted every box of candy, canister of soda, package of napkins, and all the other items that filled in the concession stand, as well as the storeroom. I hadn’t worked this hard in years and was a little surprised that she did it all on her own.
“How often do you do inventory?” I asked her as we finished up.
“Once a month. I come in early, usually on the first of the month, and get it done. The fire delayed me by a couple of days, but I’ll place an order tonight.”
“Do you call the vendors directly?”