“What do you think you’ll do?”
“I’d like to stay in the sport in some way. But I’d also like to open a small business. My brother Austin was a really talented woodworker, like my dad, who was a carpenter. Do you remember Lincoln Logs?”
“I think so. They came in a bucket and you could build little log cabins, right?”
“Yeah, that’s them. My brother loved them as a kid. He was obsessed with building. When he was maybe ten, he and my dad made big Lincoln Logs together. Life-sized ones my brothers and I used to build forts and stuff in the yard. Austin wanted to make a business out of it. The two years before he went to college, he perfected a set of large-scale pieces and illustrated a book of fifty different structures you could build with just one set of interconnecting wood logs—everything from a swing set to a fort to a tiny two-story house. Most kids love to build, so these were a way to teach them how to build their own stuff. When they’re done, they also have something to play with. And once they grow bored with whatever they build, they can reconfigure it into something else.”
“That’s a really cool idea.”
Max nodded. “Austin was smart. He was a dual major in architecture and architectural engineering. I have his prototypes and illustrations. He never got to see his ideas become more, so I’m hoping maybe I can finish things for him.”
“Wow. I think it’s pretty amazing that you want to honor his memory by bringing his ideas to life.”
The waiter came with our meals. We’d ordered the pan-seared sea bass and the risotto Milanese with asparagus and shrimp. I salivated as the plates were arranged on the table. Max split up the dishes and passed one over to me.
“This looks delicious,” I said. “Though it also reminds me of another thing on my list. I need to find some sort of hobby that incorporates exercise I enjoy, because I hate going to the gym. I run so I can keep in shape and eat what I want, but I’d love to find something I actually like to do. Maggie’s gotten into rock climbing, mostly indoors, but she loves it. I’m not sure that’s for me, but there has to be something I can find that will burn calories and be more fun than running.”
“I can think of a few enjoyable ways to burn calories.” Max wiggled his brows.
I laughed. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“You did. But in all seriousness, that’s right up my alley. I’m always game to try new workouts. I’ll tell you something, but you can’t laugh.”
“What?”
“There’s one of those aerial yoga places on my block—the kind where people hang from what looks like sheets suspended from the ceiling. I secretly think about trying it whenever I see them doing it in the window.”
“So why don’t you?”
Max shrugged. “Because I’ll probably make a fool of myself. I’m strong, but I’m not the most limber guy. Plus, all I’d need is for the guys on my team to get wind of it. I’d never live it down. One of the players has a daughter who takes mommy-and-me ballet classes. His wife got the flu right before a dress rehearsal for their recital. Yuri filled in for his wife so his daughter could practice being on stage. Some pictures got leaked, and the entire team came in dressed in tutus the following Monday, including me. We’re a bunch of ball-busting assholes. To this day, Yuri Volkov is nicknamed Twinkle Toes.”
I laughed. “I guess Pretty Boy is better than Twinkle Toes.”
Over the next few hours, we polished off the bottle of wine and shared a dessert. Max was signing the credit card slip when my phone vibrated in my purse. I’d missed a call from Maggie, but I also noticed a few texts from her, so I swiped to make sure everything was okay.
The first one must have been sent a few minutes before I arrived at seven.
Maggie: Just making sure you didn’t back out.
An hour later, another one came in.
Maggie: You better be enjoying yourself on your date and not just ignoring me while watching some dumb, old black-and-white movie and eating a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey.
Maggie: Mmmm…now I really want Chunky Monkey. Thanks a lot.
The next text read:
Maggie: Okay, now I’m starting to get worried. It’s been almost three hours and no response. The only time you don’t check your phone for that long is when you’re sleeping. You better not be sleeping. I had such high hopes for tonight! Should I be worried? What if Mr. Hot Skates turned out to be an axe murderer and you’re lying with your head chopped off somewhere? That would suck. For me. I don’t want to make a new friend. So text me and let me know you still have a pulse when you read this.