“Thanks.”

They left the condo and rode the elevator to the underground parking. Marc’s vehicle wasn’t much different from Duncan’s—a sport utility vehicle in a shiny charcoal color. He may have been being rude, but deep down he was obviously a gentleman, because he beeped the locks as they approached the SUV, then opened the door for her. He put out a hand to help her in, even. Nice.

Then she paused. “Isn’t that Duncan’s new truck?” She nodded at the vehicle next to Marc’s.

“Yeah.”

She looked at the words “For Sale” painted in red on the window with a cellphone number beneath. Duncan’s cellphone number. Her head snapped around to look at Marc. “Did you do that?”

His lips twitched. “Hey, I’m Captain Codger. I’m not into pranks.”

He totally had done that. “He’s going to lose his shit when he sees it.”

“Probably. He also probably already has about ten voicemails asking how much he wants for it.”

Lovey laughed out loud and he helped her into the vehicle.

Marc pulled out onto streets that were slushy and messy. The snowfall had basically stopped, although the sky was still overcast and it was approaching the early evening dusk.

“You’re a good driver,” she commented as he navigated the snowy streets and traffic with ease.

“See. You couldn’t do it.”

She opened her mouth to ask, Do what? then realized, and snapped it closed. She sighed. She’d forgotten that promise. Ah well. She’d already admitted he was right about her inability to keep quiet. “I gave you a compliment!”

He flashed a sideways glance her way; the corners of his mouth lifted. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Where did you grow up? Quebec, right?”

“Right. Rimouski.”

He said the word with a rolled “r” and so fast she wasn’t actually sure what the name of the town was. She wasn’t going to admit that. She’d Google it later. She needed to learn French. “It snows a lot there?”

“Damn right it does.”

“Is it a big city?”

He chuckled. “No. About forty-five thousand people. A good size but definitely not big.”

“Did you grow up speaking French?”

“Oui.”

She grinned.

“Everything is French there.” He shrugged, just a hint of French accenting his words. “But my father is Anglophone, so I grew up learning both languages at home. I went to a French school, but I ended up playing junior hockey in Halifax, Nova Scotia, staying with an English family. Everyone on the team spoke English.”

“Huh.” This was fascinating. She shifted in her seat. “How long were you in Nova Scotia?”

“Three years. I was drafted when I was eighteen but played one more year in junior, then started with the Aces when I was twenty. Just turned twenty.”

“How old are you now?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“A seasoned veteran.”

He gave a tiny smile again. “Well, I’m not a rookie anymore.”

“So you left home when you were…fifteen?”

“Sixteen.”

“Wow.”

He shrugged.

“Duncan didn’t leave home until he went to college. That was where he got drafted from.”

“Yeah.”

“Right, I guess you know that. Obviously. Duh.” She paused. “Your parents must be proud of you.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He lifted a shoulder.

“You shouldn’t talk so much,” she said. “Those one-word answers reveal so much about you.”

His mouth opened, his eyes widened, but he didn’t look at her. Then he muttered, “Unholy mother of fuck.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. It was funny. “I’m sorry. I talk too much. Ask too many questions. I’m just curious about people. You’re interesting.”

“Fuck,” he muttered again, his fingers opening, then closing around the steering wheel.

“Ignore me,” she advised him. “You have a game tonight. You need to focus on that. Um…want to talk about that? What are you going to work on tonight?”

He didn’t answer and his hands clenched again on the steering wheel. Finally he said in a low voice, “We haven’t been playing well lately. There’s a lot to work on. Been working on getting behind the net, protecting the puck. Once you get around back there, there are different angles and passes, it’s tougher to defend against. Guys are checking you hard, though, you gotta protect the puck and be aware of where they are, stay on the puck. I’m working on getting better at that. Gotta win the face-off and I can get behind the net and watch for plays.”

“Or steal the puck if they have it,” she said. “Sometimes they’re not defensive enough if they think they have possession of it.”

“Yeah,” he said slowly, sending her a long look. “Sometimes that’s when they’re most vulnerable.”

He’d said more in those few minutes than she’d ever heard him say. She liked it.

He parked in his spot at the Moens Center and they got out of his vehicle.

He started toward the ramp where the players entered, then stopped. It was dusky now, and a few stray snowflakes drifted down around his dark shape, a black wool coat over his suit. “Where are you off to?”

“Viviana.” She looked around. “Do you know…?”

“That way.” He pointed. “One block south. I’ll walk you there.”

“No!” She started off. “No, I don’t want to interfere with your game day routine. Thanks for the ride. I’ll find it! Good luck!” She legged it across the parking lot to the street without looking back. Cheese-its, he hated her enough without having to walk her to her destination, which would make him late for his arrival before the game.

Chapter 6

Lovey walked into Viviana and looked around for Jillian. She didn’t see her. It was busy already, so she gave her name to the hostess, who showed her to their table. This was a cool place. She’d almost suggested the Sin Bin, but Jillian said this was good too, new and not too expensive.

A pizza bar stretched along one side of the restaurant, with rows of dark wood tables and then some padded booths carved out from a center peninsula. Candles flickered in tall glass containers on the tables and lots of funky lighting created a sophisticated atmosphere. Lovey slid into the booth, settled, and began studying the Italian menu. It was only a few minutes before she spotted Jillian at the entrance. She waved eagerly at her and stood, and with a big smile Jillian hurried toward her.

“Lovey!” Jillian threw her arms around her friend and they hugged. Cold air clung to Jillian’s jacket and her cheek was chilled too as Lovey hugged her back.

“You look gorgeous!” Lovey drew back, smiling. “I like the new haircut.”

She’d seen photos on Facebook when Jillian got it done. They’d only seen each other in person a couple of times since college but kept in touch online.

“Thanks!”

Jillian unwrapped her scarf and pulled off her jacket, then hung it on a nearby coatrack along with Lovey’s. She took the seat across from her. “So this is awesome that you’re here in Chicago!”

“Yeah, I’m excited about it.”

“It was a snap decision, though, wasn’t it?”

“No!”

Jillian gave Lovey a knowing look. Yes, Jillian knew her and her impulsiveness well. “Well, yes.” Lovey sighed.

“You can tell me all about it over dinner,” Jillian said. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to lecture you.”

“That’s good, because my brother is,” Lovey muttered. She picked up her menu again.

They ordered a bottle of wine to share, and sipped as they decided on food. “I don’t know what to have! The pizza looks amazing.”

“It’s great,” Jillian confirmed. “But then, so are the pastas.”

Lovey agonized over her choice, and eventually they agreed that Lovey would have pasta and Jillian would have pizza, and they’d share. Jillian chose a burnt pepperoni pizza, which she assured Lovey was fantastic, and Lovey ordered orecchiette with prosciutto, watercress, and Pecorino cheese.