by Kim Findlay
After dropping off their skates, Bridget led them to the restaurant she’d chosen. It wasn’t too busy this time in the afternoon on a week day, but the server widened her eyes when she recognized Mike. She was discreet, though. Looking for a good tip, Bridget figured. Smart woman.
She asked if it was a party of two and if they wanted a booth or table. Mike agreed to two and asked for a booth. The booths ran along one side of the restaurant, and the waitress led them there.
Bridget found the booth a little more intimate than she’d have liked. She’d indulged herself in this time with Mike, but she was afraid she’d say or do something that would let him know how much she liked him. Then things would get awkward, and she’d probably never hear from him again. Part of her knew that would be a good idea, but that part wasn’t having much success today.
Mike picked a nice snooty beer, and Bridget ordered a Guinness.
A customer walked by the booth and Bridget noticed Mike turn his face away, just slightly. Was Mike trying to avoid fans? He normally was a textbook study in public relations, so she wondered what was different. Did he sometimes get tired of putting out that energy to be nice to strangers? Was it hard to keep up the public persona? Bridget thought she’d gotten to know the real Mike underneath, but maybe he’d fooled her as much as anyone else. And having thought it, the words came out.
“Is it hard to have people recognize you everywhere you go?”
Mike caught the more serious tone in her voice. “It doesn’t happen everywhere. Believe it or not, there are a lot of places where people don’t care about hockey. But, yes, it can be. When I arrived in Quebec City, it was their first playoffs since the team was back in the city, and with the story of Amber’s death and then the success we had, I got my picture taken a lot, and so people recognized me. It never really stopped. And then here, in Toronto...”
“I can imagine. No anonymity here for hockey players. You always seem to like the fan thing, though.”
“Why do I get paid so much?” he countered.
Bridget blinked at him. It was obvious. “Because you’re good.”
Mike smiled. He had a lovely smile, Bridget noted, then concentrated on what he was saying.
“Okay, wasn’t really fishing for a compliment there. Let me put it this way, where does all that money come from?”
Bridget thought for a moment, and then nodded. “From fans,” she said, feeling like a kid in school trying to impress the teacher.
“Right. The people who buy tickets and T-shirts and jerseys. The ones who follow the games and celebrate when we win and mourn when we lose. I had an excellent coach in college. He told us never to forget that—keeping those fans happy is as important to our sport’s survival as anything we do on the ice. I guess it took with me.”
“But sometimes you want a bit of privacy?”
Mike nodded. “Yeah. Guys from some of the teams in less traditional hockey markets talk about the anonymity they have there, and it sounds good. But I can’t really complain. I’ve been fortunate that most of the time fans have been positive with me.”
It was almost uncanny that a couple popped up at the end of their table at that moment.
These were actually Quebec City fans, who apparently didn’t realize Mike was no longer popular there. They told Mike they had been season ticket holders in Quebec, and had never forgotten the Cup wins when Mike was with the team. Bridget basked in the reflected glory.
After a few more minutes of gushing, they apologized. “We’re so sorry,” said the gray-haired woman. “We shouldn’t be interrupting your date.”
Bridget hit earth with a resounding thump. “Oh, it’s not a date,” she responded, as much to remind herself as them. And that was all it took. The old man went through all the highlights of Mike’s time in Quebec in chronological order. Bridget hadn’t known how many shutouts he had his first year there. She’d have been a liar if she’d tried to plead ignorance on almost any stat connected to Mike after that conversation, however. Bridget hoped this evidence that not all the fans in Quebec had forgotten him would help him. She knew there was still some unresolved anger there.
The woman finally hustled her husband away after he’d taken a picture, got his hat autographed and been dissuaded from picking up their tab. The silence they left in their wake was a contrast from the nonstop talking. Mike didn’t seem keen to break it, so Bridget bit her tongue and followed his lead. When the bill came and she offered to go Dutch, he snapped out a “no” and she sat back, not sure just what had set him off. His mood had taken a one-eighty.
When they were back in the Rover, she wasn’t going to ignore it any longer.
“Did I do something?”
“Not a thing,” he replied tersely.
Right. He’d shut down for no reason. She tried to work it out. “Should I have pretended it was a date to get that guy to leave us alone? I was just being honest, but I’ll make something up another time if that’s what you want.” If there was another time. It wasn’t really looking promising.
“Don’t strain yourself,” Mike bit off.
Bridget bristled. “What is your problem? It’s not my fault they thought we were together. I thought you’d like that set straight. The hostess was interested in you. Maybe you wanted to get her number, and I was just making it clear you were available.”
“Don’t do me any favors.”
“I won’t. Just let me know the game plan beforehand, and I’m good with it. Call it a date, if you want. It’s not going to hurt my rep.”
“Well, if you’re sure it won’t cramp your style. I mean, I’m not a swimmer.”
Bridget had no idea where that came from. “This is nuts. It’s like you thought we really were on a date.”
There was a silence in the car.
Bridget’s face flushed, and her mouth dropped open. She closed it, swallowed and said in a small voice, “Was it a date?”
“I don’t think it can qualify as a date unless both people think it is,” Mike muttered.
“I don’t get it. Why would you want to go out with me?” Bridget was honestly puzzled.
Mike looked at her. “Why do you think?”
“But—you ghost me for weeks, and then suddenly, you’re back and we’re going on a date? What am I missing?”
Mike leaned back against the seat and sighed. “You’re right. I apologize. I was giving mixed signals. I thought I had some good reasons to keep my distance.”
Bridget’s felt her temper flare. “I’m sure they were very good.”
Mike shook his head. “No, they really weren’t. One was especially bad. But—I told you about Amber.”
Bridget nodded.
“Hockey is my first priority, and relationships don’t work well when I’m so focused on my sport. Since her death, I’ve dated only very casually. That’s all I’ve been willing to commit to. And I didn’t think you would do casual. You seem to go all in on everything you do.” He smiled at her.
Bridget was still trying to work her mind around the idea that Mike wanted to go out with her. She really hadn’t got that vibe. And now he was saying that he did only casual? Where was he going with this?
“I think you have the same focus and drive that I do, and you understand what I’m going through. So maybe being together could work. But, also, I want to spend time with you, so I could just be fooling myself.”
“Mike, could you just spell it out for me, really clearly?”
“Bridget O’Reilly, would you go out with me, on a real, mutually agreed-upon date?”
Bridget felt a little glow inside. Mike Reimer was asking her on a date.
Bridget reached over and gave his hand a poke. He was solid, not a figment of her imagination. “Mike, I would love to go out on a real date with you.”
Mike smiled. Was that relief she saw in his eyes?
&nb
sp; She felt her mood take a serious turn. “Are you sure, Mike?”
“About you? Absolutely. Why don’t I take you home now, and then we’ll work out when we can set up this real date. Start fresh.”
Bridget held in a grin. “Okay.”
“And about our bet...” he started.
“Yes. Right. I forgot. So, if you want to come in now...” She trailed off. She tried desperately to remember whether anything deathly embarrassing was lying around. Bras? Tampons? Moldy bread?
“I won’t insist on my winnings today, but when I pick you up for this real date, then I’ll see this ‘basement apartment.’”
CHAPTER EIGHT
BRIDGET WAS STILL floating the next morning. She led her team through practice with a smile.
Annabelle said, as she was heading out of the pool area, “We’re doing good, eh?”
Bridget nodded. “You guys are doing excellently.”
“I knew we must be when you were smiling all the time,” Annabelle declared.
Bridget gave her a quick hug. “You’d make any coach smile. Now go get ready for school.”
She found a text on her phone after practice.
Ready to set a date?
She was thrilled and terrified. Which was silly. She’d spent time with Mike before. But it was different now. Before she’d been a bystander. Now she was in the game, and it was win or lose. And she knew that for her the stakes were high.
Got my calendar open.
Her phone rang. Mike.
“Hey,” she said, breathlessly.
“Practice over?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Team’s doing well?”
“Excellent. You?”
“The same as always. So, when do you have a free evening?” Mike asked, returning to the point.
“Hmm.” Bridget checked her calendar. “City Championships this weekend. We’ll be tied up till who knows when on Sunday.”
“My next week looks bad. Games, a couple of club events.”
“Next weekend?”
“Road trip. Hey, how’s Wednesday? Two weeks from now?”
Bridget scrolled down. “It’s a school PA day. I can do an earlier practice, and be free in the evening.”
“Then it’s a date, a real date. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Great!” Bridget cringed. Did she sound too eager? And was she not going to see him for two weeks?
“Okay. I gotta run. Keep me posted on the meet.”
Then he clicked off.
Bridget stared at the phone, feeling a goofy look on her face. Just as well she was alone in her office. She had a date with Mike, in two weeks.
Two weeks. He was picking her up. He’d be collecting on that bet to see her place. Could she make it look presentable in that time? And should she dress up? Wear jeans? She sent a text to Jee.
* * *
BRIDGET WALKED INTO her place. “Hey, Jee—” Bridget started to say. “Do you know why—”
She stopped, question answered. She had parked on the street, finding it more difficult than she’d expected, since all the family cars seemed to be parked there. Jee had promised to pick up food and meet her in her apartment. She’d wondered what was up with everyone else. Now she knew. All the sisters were sitting at her table. Pizza was spread out, and they’d obviously been talking.
Bridget took a look at the circle of faces.
“What’s up?” she asked, looking wary.
“Sit down. We’re not going to bite you.”
Bridget did so, reluctantly. “Why is everyone here?”
“It’s an intervention, Bridget,” Jill answered.
Bridget choked. “For who, me? I didn’t bring the pizza. I normally eat better than you guys.”
Jee sighed. “Bridget, it’s not about pizza. You asked me to help you pick out something to wear for your date, right?”
Bridget nodded. She took a bite of pepperoni. She was hungry.
“That’s what for. You don’t have anything to wear. You’ve got to buy some clothes.”
Bridget shook her head. “What are you talking about? I have clothes.”
Karen snorted. “Technically, yes, you aren’t naked. Were you going to wear yoga pants or get all dressed up in jeans?” she asked.
Bridget flushed. “Okay, I can wear my dress.”
Nancy rolled her eyes. “Bridget, how long have you had that dress?”
“Not that long. I don’t know. I don’t wear it that often.”
“You got it for Great-Aunt Maeve’s funeral! You were still in competition then,” Jill said.
“It’s a classic!” Bridget defended.
“Chanel is classic. That dress is not,” said Nancy.
Karen added, “Bridget. It’s ancient and makes you look like a shapeless blob. Plus, since it’s black, it washes you out. So you look like a washed-out shapeless blob.”
“Well, thanks, guys. Way to help.”
“Bridget, do you think Mike is going to be wearing sweats, or do you think he’ll be dressed up? Is he taking you out to a pub? A sports bar?” Karen asked.
Bridget hadn’t thought that much about it.
“Don’t you want to look good for your date?” asked Jee.
That did it. Bridget did want to look good. She just wasn’t sure what they could do with her. It was easier not to try. She exhaled. “Okay, yes, I want to look good. What do I need to do?”
“The first step is admitting you have a problem. Now, let’s get the details.”
“It’s a week from Wednesday.”
“That far away?”
Bridget shrugged. “I’ve got City Championships this weekend. Depending on how the kids do, that could go well into Sunday. My A-team are really looking good, and I think they might end up going as far as Nationals. That’s me. Mike’s got games and some kind of hockey things on next week.”
“Next weekend?”
“He’s on the road. Florida, I think.”
Jee sighed. “When you were trying to avoid him, it seemed like a good thing that your schedules were so busy. But it’s not so good for dating.”
Karen suddenly broke in. “Did you suggest Wednesday, or did he?”
“Does it matter?” Bridget asked.
“Just tell me.”
“Okay.” She reviewed the conversation in her head. “Mike. Once we were past the second weekend he said Wednesday.”
Karen looked around. “Do you know what date a week from Wednesday is?”
Everyone reached for their phones.
They looked up. “The 14th. Mike is taking her out on Valentine’s Day.”
Bridget choked again.
Karen patted Bridget on the back as she walked by. “Hey, this’ll be fun. I’ve wanted to get you to do something with your hair for years.”
The sisters-in-law worked out a plan. Karen was the ringleader, pulling apart the minimal conversation she and Mike had had. Dinner. Place unknown, but it was Valentine’s Day. She decided a dress was the best bet and made Bridget go shopping with her on the Saturday before the date.
It took two department stores and five boutiques before she found the right thing. A deep bronze dress that brought out Bridget’s red hair and green eyes, flattering her complexion. Bridget complained that it emphasized her freckles, but she had to admit the fit made the most of her figure. She turned and twisted in front of the mirror.
“Hey, this does look nice. Nice, and yet a little bit sexy, too.”
Bridget was relieved, since she thought they were done. But there was a lot more to come. Undergarments (Karen steered her away from her usual sporty options) and shoes. Jill had a coat to lend her, and Karen made Bridget promise to practice walking in the heels they bought.
Bridget had been draggi
ng as the day wore on, but she gave her sister-in-law a big hug when she dropped her off. She went in and tried on everything together, trying to get the overall affect in her small bathroom mirror. It just might work. If she could manage not to fall off the shoes.
By Tuesday, the day before the date, she was nervous again. Bridget had had to reveal to the sisters the details of the bet she’d lost to explain why she suddenly had an urge to clean. They promised to help out. When Nancy arrived, Bridget had already started a frenzied cleaning. Nancy gave her a bemused look. The oven was open and partly wiped out, and Bridget had the ceiling light down, washing it in the sink. There was a pile of clothes on the couch, and the dishes weren’t done. The place looked like a whirlwind had gone through it—which was the status quo for Bridget.
“What are you doing?” Nancy asked.
“Cleaning.”
“The light fixtures and the oven?”
Bridget glanced around at the chaos. “Um, they were dirty?”
“Okay, I don’t know about your bet, but is Mike really planning to look inside the oven and do the white glove test on the lights?”
“I don’t know. I just thought I’d start with the tough stuff.”
“You’re hopeless, girl. Why don’t you finish that up while I work on the rest of this place? What is this pile of clothes on the couch?”
“Laundry. It’s clean, I just haven’t put it away.”
“I’m just going to guess where it goes and you can straighten it out later. Are you ready for tomorrow?”
“Never.”
“What time are you getting your hair done?”
“Two. What do you think the hairdresser will do to it?”
Nancy gave her a look. “Afraid it’ll be too drastic?”
Bridget sagged. “Guess not. It’s already short, so it’s not like he can do much.”
Nancy came over to Bridget. She gave her a quick hug. “Bridget, I’ve never seen you this wound up. You must really like this guy.”
Bridget nodded. “I do.” Too much, she thought, but didn’t say.
“Remember, he’s lucky you’re going out with him.”