Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Not the hotshot hockey player…just me.
I didn’t know how he did it or why it mattered, but it felt kind of amazing to have Hank Cunningham in my corner.
17
HANK
Volunteering for camp registration was my best and worst idea ever.
The town was electric with energy and overflowing with people. There were lines every-fucking-where. If you wanted a cup of coffee at Rise and Grind, you’d better be prepared to wait a few minutes or try your luck at the bakery next door.
It was nothing compared to the lobby at Elmwood Rink. Talk about sheer chaos. Campers and parents jockeyed for space in line while famous hockey players filed through, some pausing to give autographs and take selfies on their way to the ice. I waited ten minutes longer than usual for my latte, picked up my lanyard at the lobby from the bubbly receptionist, and settled behind a makeshift desk to do some community service.
I put in two hours checking off names, handing over backpacks, schedules, and QR codes for stores and businesses in town. Elmwood had it going on, I mused as I overworked my facial muscles, smiling like a prom king. Wood Hollow was so…blah in comparison. There was no bakery, no coffee shop, no fun places to hang out. There was a tiny market, the smallest post office known to mankind, and a gas station. The mill outsized everything. If you asked me—and no one had—they needed to do more with the town to sell those houses they were building. I had so many ideas, but…that wasn’t my job.
I’d headed to the mill after my stint at the rink, where I shamelessly made sure Emily knew I’d be dividing my time between Elmwood and Wood Hollow off and on throughout the first week of camp. It was called karma points, and I needed those.
The mill had been running relatively well since Cooper had taken over as manager. He handled shipping, delivery, hiring, and employee morale while I dealt with the contractors handling the new housing development, and…marketing. I wasn’t doing so great on advertising, but I wasn’t failing either.
Being at the rink, volunteering in the neighboring town for an internationally renowned juniors camp was real marketing in the Four Forest area. They didn’t care about how many likes we got on Instagram or Facebook. I wasn’t suggesting that social media wasn’t important, but showing up was better.
We’d hired five new employees last week, Emily didn’t drop any of my calls, and her notes were shockingly coherent, so yay. My father seemed encouraged by my weekly reports too, and he was feeling better. His blood pressure had stabilized and he was strong enough to visit the stable, which was a very big deal to him.
Of course, nothing was happening fast enough. In a perfect world, Dad would have liked every job title filled so we’d be ready to ramp up production when they broke ground on the new houses in Wood Hollow later this summer. Frankly, that wasn’t realistic.
“Things are moving in the right direction, but I think it’ll take a year for the mill to run like a well-oiled machine,” I’d told him on the phone last night.
“You said you could do it in six months,” Dad had grumbled.
“I did not say that. I said—”
“Yeah, yeah. Slow and steady wins the race and all that. Just keep doing what you’re doing.”
No problem.
Day two, I’d pasted a smile on my face at camp registration, checked off names and handed over backpacks, housing instructions, and itineraries for the morning groups, and returned in the afternoon to help clean up.
By day five, I had to admit, I was having fun.
I’d worked all week alongside MK; Shelby, a recent high school graduate; and her dad, Marshall, a talkative Elmwood native who ran the market with his brother, Stanley. Somehow they were related to the Hendersons of Henderson’s Bakery, and needless to say, he had a few stories to tell.
From a business standpoint, sitting next to Marshall was a good networking opportunity, but I would have preferred to talk to Mary-Kate. She was friendly, vivacious, and everyone seemed to know her and like her. This program was her grandfather’s legacy, and the rink was owned by her dad and her uncle. But her connection to Denny was the one that pulled at me.
I didn’t pry, though. Her relationship with Denny was none of my business. I couldn’t warn her off or stake a claim. He wasn’t mine. Not really.
And if she was curious about me or wondered why I slipped into the rink to watch him at work, she was too polite to ask.
I didn’t belong there, but I couldn’t resist watching Denny in his natural habitat, helping to guide a new generation. He was so at home on the ice, not a hint of anxiety. He smiled often and showed off a bit with fancy footwork and jaw-dropping speed. He looked like what he was…a professional athlete on the rise.