Page 2 of 50 First Skates

I am determined to get my mojo back. Glancing over my shoulder, I give her the signature Rafferty nod with a couple of raised eyebrows and a cocky half grin. “Do I?”

“Little bit. Can I help you find anything?”

“You work here?”

“No, but I like browsing this store, and well, Sheryl appears to be on an important call in the back. So what are you looking for?”

You. You are exactly what I need to get me through the week, and you’re right here.“I need an…oven-tray thing?” Six words that have never gotten a guy laid in the history of words.

She grins at me like she finds me adorable. At least I stand a better chance than Mrs. Kozlowski’s son. Probably. I need to reset and stay present.Lock in, Rafferty. Lock in.

“You mean one of these?” She leads me to the aisle behind the display table—and speaking of behinds—wow. Just wow. She must be from Peachland. This beautiful young woman picks up the exact metal thing I need for baking frozen pizzas and tuna melts.

“Yes. One of these. Thank you. What are these called? Baking pans?”

“Around here we call it a hard bottom, but technically it’s a thermal slab,” she informs me with a straight face that is perhaps too straight.

“A hard bottom, huh?”

“Yes, it’s colloquial.” She reaches for one of the hand-flipper things I need from a shelf nearby, and when she reaches for it, her tight sweater and little pink jacket rise up, exposing a hint of smooth flesh around her waist. I like it. I’m gettingideas, right here in a kitchen-supply store, about a sweet, beautiful stranger. “In Kenton,” she continues, “we call thisa slapper, but everywhere else in North America it’s referred to as a slide paddle.”

Well, now. Perhaps this sweet, beautiful stranger has another side she’d like to explore. “Fascinating. I know exactly how I want to use this slapper—thanks.” Holding her gaze, I wrap my hand around the handle, brushing one of my fingers against one of hers. She blinks and stares at my hand.

Yeah, you get a good, long look at my hand, little miss sassypants.

I don’t take the thing from her until she lets go of it. She clears her throat and pushes her hair behind her ear. “How come your girlfriend or wife isn’t shopping for kitchen supplies with you?”

Awww. She wants me. “I’m single and new in town. Why isn’t your patrol officer keeping a closer eye on you?”

She blows out a laugh and completely disregards my question. “What brings you to Kenton…sir?”

“Sir Dean.” I hold out my very appealing hand for her to shake. “Dean Rafferty. And you are?”

She shakes my hand and says, “Soleil.”

“Soleil. Like the sun.”

“Mais oui.”

“I like that.” Finally letting go of her hand, I tell her, “I’m the new assistant coach of the Comets. I just moved here from Calgary a little over a week ago.”Please, let this be the one person in Kenton who doesn’t give a shit about hockey. I need a win.

She blinks again and suddenly looks as confused as I probably did a minute ago. “Uhhhh…” She shakes her head and then says, “Oh, the Comets? That’s the, um, the junior hockey team, right? The local team? Ice hockey?”

Thank God. She hasn’t heard the news. “Yeah, yeah. The Comets are one of the top WHL teams. Some of the best players––sixteen to twenty-year-olds––from all over North America come here to develop their skills and catch the eye of NHL scouts. We don’t have to talk about it,” I say quickly. “How about you? What do you do when you aren’t busy watching Mrs. Kozlowski’s son lick utensils?”

“I’m an artist.”

“Oh, nice. So you do live here? In Kenton? With your boyfriend? Husband?”

“Nope. Nope. I mean, yes, I live in Kenton. Not with a boyfriend or husband.”

Here we go, Rafferty. Don’t think about scoring. Just get it to the neutral zone.

“Nice.”

“It is.” She nods. “It’s nice. So what else do you need? I can help you find it.”

“Tons of stuff.” My mind has gone blank, aside from all the things I need from her. “So much stuff.” I grab the first box within reach. “One of these, for sure.” It saysFluiceron the box. Is that French? That can’t be right. “Fluicer?” I say, holding up the box. “I hardly know ’er!” Shit. Should have quit while I was ahead.