Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Exactly how long the lull lasts between us is unknown.
How long does it feel, on the other skate?
Like I’ve just entered double OT in game seven of The Cup playoffs.
“I won’t miss the game, Tanner,” promises Arden, pulling my gaze up to hers. “And I would help you pick shit up, but the ear infection I’m currently facing off against is already up on points.”
“Go back to bed,” I warmly insist. “Just leave the door open for me, aye?”
She simply nods.
Which is still a yes.
An invitation.
A welcome.
Holy Hull.
She’s actually gonna let me into her home.
Arden along with Bear return to wherever they were, leaving me to finish collecting the remaining scattered items on my own. Afterward, I verify that the crockpot is still usable, grab it, and follow the same path they took to the last place I ever expected to actually get to see.
I mean I hoped I would.
I planned like I would.
However, just because you plan a shot, wind up for a shot, and then take the shot, doesn’t mean it’s going to go in.
Especially not with a metaphorical tendy like Arden Hoss.
Much like the exterior, the interior is almost a total shock.
It’s quite open yet oddly empty.
Sure, there’s furniture, but it all looks more decorative than practical.
Staged.
Almost as though we’re in a designer home used to give homeowners an example of the floor plans offered.
Walls are all neutral shades, and if it weren’t for the random hockey décor scattered through the space I cover, I’d question if she even really lived here.
The large open kitchen connects to a wide-open living room that’s backed by beautiful floor to ceiling windows which reveal a literal breathtaking backyard. “Wow.” Placing the bags on the empty island bar precedes me actively pulling my attention away from the lush outdoors to where she’s curled in a ball, resting her head on Bear like he’s a pillow. “Your home is gorgeous.”
“You’re just saying that because you live in an apartment.”
Chortles are attached to my search for the nearest outlet. “Perhaps.”
“Probably.”
“Likely.”
“Most definitely.”
The smallest pause is taken to veer topics. “Did you just move in?”
“Nope.”
“So, the minimalistic look is…?”
“What happens when your mom says ‘Happy Birthday. New Year, New Home’.”
“Is your birthday on…New Years Day?”
“Unfortunately.”
Wow.
Cannot imagine how wild it must’ve been to have twins on New Years Day of all of days.
Finding exactly where to plug in the crockpot unveils another unexpected surprise on the plate covering. “Are these rubber duckies?”
Arden tosses me a deep scowl over her shoulder. “Do not judge my ducks.”
I let my stare sweep the kitchen area spotting a pair of chef ducks beside the stove, a rubber duck themed hand towel, and a “Release The Quackin” coffee mug in the sink. “You like rubber duckies?”
“What did I just say?”
“You…” I snicker a little louder, “Miss Brewskies and Pucks Deep Or Die…” plugging in the appliance is completed, “like rubber duckies?”
“You may exit the way you entered.”
“Not happening.” My palms plant themselves firmly on the counter. “This is basically a Trojan horse operation. The chicken tortilla soup got me in. And only death will get me out.”
“Chicken tortilla soup?” Her face remains angled for our gazes to stay connected. “In a crockpot?”
“Do not give me lip, Ducky.”
“Do not call me Ducky.”
“Do not tell me how to cook.”
“I’m not telling you how to cook. I’m telling you how not to cook,” she sassily sneers. “You’re gonna have my ancestors shitting in their graves over that play.”
Against my own volition, I chortle once more, “Is it that hard to have a little faith in me?”
“Yes.”
“Wow,” leaves me in an airy laugh. “If that answer were any faster, it’d break Chara’s NHL All-Star record for fastest slapshot.”
“Still slower and less impressive than Bobby’s.”
Smirking yet again can’t be stopped.
To the Lords of Blades who blessed this broadskie with the ability to talk hockey to me…I’ve got two words.
Thank.
You.
“How about you…” I casually begin at the same time I move towards her off white couch, “resume watching Gladiator while I,” my frame pauses behind the piece of furniture, “focus on my second favorite sport?” Reaching for the black and white Mighty Ducks blanket to cover her with is effortlessly done. “Proving you wrong.”
She groans in displeasure; however, it’s unclear if it’s over my comment or her ear, given the way she’s fiddling with her hearing aid.
“You alright?”
“I need to…” Arden wiggles the device around, “take it out in case this stupid head cold really does lead to an ear infection but…”
“But what?”
“But then I…” concern as well as what appears to be embarrassment cakes her vision, “can’t really…hear…you out of that ear.”
“Are you completely deaf without it?”
“Not completely,” she confesses, pausing my movements. “But like enough.”
Swallowing my own apprehension is difficult yet done. “What is…um…your condition exactly?”
“I’ve got otosclerosis.” Additional shame shades her beautiful brown stare. “Abnormal bone growth in one ear which can – or in my case has – led to significant hearing loss.”