Icing the Puck (New York Empires Book 2) (20 page)

She nodded, not trusting her traitorous tongue, and sat down across from him. “Why here?”

He laughed again as he brushed his fingers across the menu. “Good food, not…” He paused. “Not owned by people I know.”

“An epidemic of that in this city,” she answered before realizing he might not get it. “There’s a lot of it.”

He nodded. “Thank you,” he said graciously before he seemed to realize he still hadn’t answered her. “Yes…there is, for a city I don’t…didn’t really live in, you know? And not because I…”

She smiled. “Yeah. Do something special.”

Max

He sat back and relaxed for the first time since she’d arrived. He’d been sitting there, concerned she wouldn’t show, despite the fact she’d told him she would. They’d ordered food, a glass of wine for her, a Fin du Monde for him. It was nice, calming, relaxing.

“To problems,” she said as her glass chimed against his.

“To problems,” he repeated, the words swimming around his tongue. “May we both find the solutions easy.”

She grinned and took a sip of her wine. “I’ll drink to that.”

He watched as she carefully sipped from her glass, focused on her expression as she swirled the wine around in her mouth.

“Just like I remember it. You?”

He reached out and took a sip of his beer, clasping his fingers around the cool glass, bringing the bottle to his lips. The taste reminded him of home, of winter nights with his father in front of the fireplace. “
Ouais
,” he replied, because it would be difficult to explain exactly what the taste of the beer on his tongue made him feel in English.

She nodded, taking another sip of wine. “Problems, hm?”

He nodded. Sitting with her didn’t feel like a problem; rather it made him feel like everything else was a problem, and she was…right.

“So what’s your problem, exactly?”

“English,” he replied, making an effort to actually speak in the language, no matter how much he wished to lapse into French.

She folded her arms and reached for the plate of nachos. “Clearly. I’ve never met a guy who was less willing to speak a language he was famous for attempting on a regular basis.”

He wanted to laugh, and so he did. She had him pegged, of course. “I can…understand…faster than I can…reply. If I go too fast, I make…mistakes.” His cheeks burned but he forged ahead anyway, ignoring her piercing emotions. “I cannot…
continu
like this. It bothers me.”

“More than bothers,” she said, “judging by the expression on your face. Pisses you off, more like.”

He tested the expression on his tongue. It felt right. “Yes. It pisses me off.”

“I see,” she said.

And it did not take much for him to tell she actually did.

Kayleigh

“So,” Kayleigh finally said. “My problem.”

“Yes?”

They’d gotten that far. Of course it had taken dinner and two glasses of wine to keep her from losing her shit. She took a breath and a fortifying sip from glass number three. “I have to go to this…party. For the ensemble. Everybody has to be there.”

He nodded, and he was focused. Though whether he was focused on her, her words, or something else entirely was another matter. It didn’t make her any less nervous.

“And,” she managed, forcing the rest of the words out of her mouth, “I need to bring someone.”

He blinked, the bright blue of his eyes disappearing for an instant before returning. “You want…me to come with you?”

She nodded. And held her breath. His confusion was adorable but not helpful. She curled her fingers around the wineglass, allowing the chill to seep into her skin.

He shrugged, of course. “I figure you can help me with my English, I will go with you to the gala. We…” he paused and she could see him searching for the words, “we get along. And I think…it would help for me to speak English with someone who…does not mind I make mistakes.”

She took a deep breath, and relaxed as his hand settled atop hers, the one that wasn’t curled around the wineglass in a death grip.

“It’s OK,” he said, the sound of his voice more comforting than the wine. And then he grinned and said words that meant more to her than anything else possibly could have. “Let’s order dessert.”

And with that, she decided, they’d begun what was going to be a beautiful friendship.

Event: Brooklyn Winterfaire

Kayleigh

Soon after she made her bargain with Max, Kayleigh rediscovered that the only person busier than a hockey player was…well, someone with her schedule. But they’d managed to send emails back and forth and have a quick drink and a conversation at the poutine shop. Conversation was fun, and he seemed to genuinely want to try and learn the language.

Except life had just gotten crazier. She’d just found out her family was coming early to celebrate not only Christmas, but American Thanksgiving and Chanukah. Because, her father, the professor, informed her matter-of-factly, if they were going to have a Jewish daughter-in-law, they needed to learn about Chanukah firsthand.

As if that wasn’t enough, the folder had gotten bigger and Arun had finally admitted that one of the Vivaldi arrangements would be the music that would herald the entrance of the two teams into the stadium. Which would be fine, except her brother was already asking for previews so he’d “know the time signature with which to swagger.” Thankfully, Max hadn’t asked her stupid questions like that.

Strangely enough, Max hadn’t asked her very much at all. Which surprised her, but she shrugged her shoulders and moved along. The team had just gotten back from a road trip (she was a horrible sister not to have paid attention to how the team was doing) only to plunge into the day’s events.

Luckily, the first item on the agenda was an outdoor market. She was able to spend some time with Chris, Melanie, Bryce, Mel’s sister, and her boyfriend, Mark Smythe, the Empires latest acquisition. Each of the players, except Smythe, had to spend time at the signing table, and she had to put some face time in at the orchestra table. Otherwise? It was going pretty well. Very laid back and…nice.

The concert afterward went well; the Bizet suite seemed to get the crowd clapping, which was always a plus. But the previews, one of the Vivaldi and a piece composed by one of the members of the band reuniting for the Winter Classic got a bigger round of applause than expected. She, however, was not surprised that the Corrs were pretty well known in Brooklyn.

But after the concert, she said goodbye to the relatives and headed toward the exit.

“
Attends
…wait…”

She looked up, waved, and waited for Max. She watched as he walked toward her, stunned as usual by the lazy-hipped movement beneath the coat. His hair was wet, his eyes were bright and damn it, he looked…perfect. Like those Montreal guys she remembered from orchestral summer programs, the ones who looked as if winter wouldn’t dare make them cold. “Hey,” she said. Except it was awkward. What else should she do? Hug him? Take his hand? Smile?

Argh. Damn it.

She did none of those things, opting to deal with the fact she’d forgotten her winter-warm gloves by shoving her hands in her pockets.

He broke through her thoughts with a smile that nearly knocked her over “
Allô
…hello,” he replied, making an adorable effort to pronounce the h.

She grinned, ‘cause how could she not, then shrugged. “How are you doing? You must be exhausted.”

“I should be asking about you,” he replied, concern in his eyes. He reached out to take one of the bags she was carrying.

“Nah,” she said, putting her hand on top of his. “It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?”

Seriously?

Apparently he was, but the two bags she carried were light. “It’s fine,” she said. “Besides.” She pointed toward the bag that contained her violin. “Precious.”

He nodded, and there was the smile again. “I see.”

“So where are you headed?”

“I have a few errands before tonight,” he answered.

Tonight. The party her brother was throwing for the team, his friends, and invited guests. At his townhouse in Brooklyn. She and Max were clearly both going. She nodded, then pointed toward the subway. “Which way you headed?”

“Uptown,” he replied.

There was a slightly confused tone in his voice, like he knew generally he was going, but not more than that. She had to ask. It was her duty as someone who’d lived in New York longer to make sure he was going to be able to get where he needed to go. It wasn’t like it mattered or anything. He could always tell her no. “Where uptown?”

“It’s this…pâtisserie. It’s not a bakery…not the same thing. It’s…French and famous. I think it’s on…Sixty-Eighth?”

There was only one famous French bakery on Sixty-Eighth Street. It was one of two New York outposts of a Parisian staple. It was all she could do not to grin back at him. “My place isn’t far from there, actually.”

“Have you been there? Do you know what I’m talking about?”

“You mean that place that’s famous for its macarons? “

He blinked, confusion in his eyes. “Eh…that and a few other things, but yes.”

“I’ve heard about it,” she answered, “but I haven’t been there yet.”

It wasn’t like she was angling for an invitation; he’d asked her a question and she’d answered.

“Would you like to?” he asked, uncertainty in his voice. “That is to say…would you like to come with me?”

Yes. Of course. Absolutely.

And yet she wondered if he’d asked out of obligation or because he wanted her there. “Sure,” she finally said, still chewing over the matter in her head.

But all of a sudden, he looked confused, almost hurt, and she couldn’t help but wonder why.

“I mean it,” he said. “I would like you to come with me.”

And if that wasn’t the perfect invitation…

“OK,” she said. “Just remember you need to speak English.”

She loved the sound of his laugh.

“You drive a hard bargain,” he informed her. “But OK.”

Then he took her hand, and led her toward the subway.

Max

Subway rides usually took Max’s focus. He couldn’t just stand or sit like every other person on the train. He had to shield himself from their emotions, focus, but not too hard so he wouldn’t miss his stop. He’d done
that
a few times already.

But today was different. Riding with Kayleigh helped him relax. She was comfort, ease, and a very welcome surprise. And to have run into her without actually planning? Even more special.

Luckily, there were seats on the subway. He stood in front of her, doing his best to guard the violin she had on her lap.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling. “It’s not necessary though.”

He shook his head. “You were…worried about the,” he gestured toward the case. “It’s
nécessaire
…you know?”

Thankfully she did understand. And grinned up at him until the subway came to a stop.

“We’re here,” she said.

He nodded, glad at least one of them was paying attention. “
Bon
.” He tried to use his body to make a path for her, but the subway riders made their own way.

“It’s fine,” she said, grinning, taking his hand in her own and practically dragging him off the subway and toward the stairs. “I think it’s this one.”

She sounded sure, but his
percée
said she wasn’t. “Hmm.”

“It’s not far from my place,” she answered, “but it’s not the same exit.”

He nodded, then relaxed as he followed her up the stairs and out into the sunlight.

“So why this place, out of all the French…pâtisseries in New York?”

He had to focus in order to force himself to speak English. It was as if she’d deliberately opened the door to the possibility of switching languages, but he needed to slam it shut, then lock it, otherwise he’d never learn. He’d promised her he’d speak English and, damn it, that was what he was going to do. Even if he couldn’t remember the words he wanted to use.

“
Ma mère
…my mother, she’s…Parisian. And she asked me one thing, you know, when I came up to the Empires? She knew I would focus on my hockey, and she knew Alain would make sure I didn’t get into trouble in the Village, but she wanted me to…explore the city and find this place for her. So, my…taste for this place is her fault.”

She nodded, and he could feel the concern as the silence stretched out. “So what do you think of this place? I mean…people talk about it all the time, and I want to know your opinion.”

“It’s…they…they’re
agréable
?”

“They’re nice, hm?”

He nodded, tested the word on his tongue. “Nice. Right.”

She smiled at him, and he’d been around her enough that he could tell an explanation was coming.

“So the relationship between
agréable
and agreeable? They’re called…a…false friend,” she began not letting him down. “At least…” She paused, looking up at the sky for a few minutes as presumably she thought about something.

He watched her but tried not to focus too closely on her, because otherwise he’d miss her words.

“At least that’s what I learned it as when I was younger. There might be a more sophisticated term for it. It means words that sound the same but mean different things in different languages”

Ah.

“OK,” he confirmed, smiling. “So…let’s go in and have some good French pastry?”

Her smile was the best he’d ever seen. “I’d like that.”

Kayleigh

Max opened the door, and suddenly Kayleigh found herself in the middle of a huge crowd. A metric crapton of people were stuck close together, barely able to move.

“My god, apparently half the City of New York is here,” she muttered.

He laughed. “More than nice, hm?”

She nodded, but Max was clearly focused on something or someone else. She watched as he looked behind the counter and inspected the people waiting in front of it, as if he were looking for someone. “Wow…”

He nodded. “Once I’d found it, I discovered people…who are not related but…” He paused, and she could see him search for words, this time as if he were looking into a little mental dictionary. “People who know the family know, well…” He blushed, and, god, it was cute.