Christmas Beau (Christmas Falls: Season 2)

Chapter 7

Chapter

Seven

S cott stood in line at the concession stand at the community center and checked his watch. Teddy’s game would be starting momentarily, yet the stand hadn’t opened yet. Other parents in line behind him grumbled their displeasure. The stand sold mostly candy and soft drinks, and Scott clearly wasn’t the only one looking for his sugar fix.

The game would play on a television mounted to the wall directly across from the stand, though it currently showed only an empty ice rink. In the bottom right corner, a timer counted down to puck drop.

Less than four minutes.

“I’m going to go ask the front desk,” said Tracy Araya, the mother of Teddy’s closest friend on the team. “See when we can expect it to open.” She walked away without waiting for anyone to respond.

Scott considered the concession stand, weighed his options, then shrugged and stepped around the counter.

“Uh...” A man Scott didn’t recognize—probably the father of one of the players from the opposing team—stepped forward. “What are you doing?”

“I used to work here in high school,” Scott told him, pushing a button on the side of the register to wake it. “Believe it or not, this is the same register we used back then.” And the stand still only accepted cash, so he didn’t have to teach himself how to use a credit and debit card machine. He smiled at the man. “What’ll it be?”

It took Scott a minute to remember how to use the thing. Once he did, he worked his way through the line, selling drinks and candy and chocolate bars to parents and guardians and siblings, including Tracy Araya, who’d returned with news that the teenager who’d been scheduled to work the concessions stand tonight was a no-show for the third time this week. On the television across from him, the game started. Scott paid attention with half an ear.

“Can I have a small popcorn?” an older lady asked.

“Um...” Scott eyed the popcorn machine. It was new. “I don’t know how to work that. Sorry.”

She harrumphed, severely unimpressed with him, paid for a bag of mixed candy, and left.

His final customer was the man he’d been hoping to see and at the same time hoping not to see.

He couldn’t believe he’d told Hank he could pay him with a date. Ugh. How tacky.

Hank was smiling at him, though, so maybe Scott’s fuck-up was all in his head.

“What are you doing?” Hank asked, his voice sending Scott’s thoughts scattering.

“Working? I mean, not working working, but... Well, actually, sort of working working.”

Letting out a short laugh, Hank’s smile turned indulgent, which didn’t help Scott’s thoughts any. “I don’t understand.”

“Apparently, the teenager who was supposed to work today didn’t show up again.”

“So you took their place?”

Scott shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious, though he didn’t know why. “I worked here in high school. The register wasn’t hard to figure out, even after twenty years.”

“That register’s been there for twenty years? Jesus, this place needs an overhaul.”

“I like that it’s still here.” Scott patted the register. “Trusty. Reliable. Consistent.”

The money drawer burst open with a clang, making Scott jump.

Okay. Maybe not so reliable. Clearing his throat, he closed the drawer with a wan smile. “Are you heading home?”

“Heading in to watch the game,” Hank said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the ice rink. “You coming?”

“Uh, shouldn’t I stay here in case someone else wants something?”

“Why? It’s not your job.”

“Technically, no, but... but it could be.” The idea came out of nowhere, and he straightened with excitement. “The teenager who was supposed to work today is a no-show for the third time, which means Carmelle’s already fired them. Assuming Carmelle is still in charge of hiring, because nothing ever changes here.”

Hank eyed the register. “Clearly.”

“So instead of shuffling the schedule around, she can just hire me.”

“Do you want to work here?”

“Yeah,” Scott said, surprised to find that he did. “It’s an easy few hours a week, and I won’t ever take my job home.”

“The pay is crap, though.”

“Whatever it is will be better than what I’m currently making, which is precisely zero. Can you stay here and check out anyone who comes by while I talk to Carmelle?”

“I don’t know how to work this thing.” Hank waved at the register. “So no. And Carmelle went home two hours ago.”

“That’s okay. I can give her a call.” Scott pulled his phone out of his back pocket to do just that, only to remember that he didn’t have her number. He’d worked here in the mid-2000s, when not every teenager had a cell phone, and it wasn’t like he’d interacted with Carmelle outside of the community center. “Do you have her number?”

“Scott,” Hank said so fondly that it made Scott want to both preen and melt at his feet. “Come watch your son’s game with me.”

“Right,” Scott said, mesmerized by Hank’s smile. “Okay.”

Jesus, his head was so far in the clouds he might as well be singing “Hallelujah.”

He followed Hank into the arena, admiring how Hank’s cream-colored knit sweater hugged his shoulders and how his back tapered to a trim waist and an ass so tight that a person could serve dinner on it.

The sound of the game and the cheering crowd brought him back to where he was—surrounded by families at a youth hockey game. Shaking his head at himself, he set his dirty thoughts aside to examine when he was in the shower later.

He bounced up the stairs behind Hank, then followed him down a row near the very top of the stands. This was it. Scott’s chance to get to know Hank better and maybe even redeem himself after the whole you can pay me by being my date thing.

Except Hank took a palm-sized notebook out of his back pocket and started jotting down notes almost as soon as they sat down. Every time Scott opened his mouth to say something, Hank was in the middle of writing, and Scott didn’t want to interrupt—it was like interrupting someone while they were reading. Just mean. So he ended up spending most of the game cheering on Teddy’s team while cataloging that Hank was left- handed and he had tiny little dark hairs on his middle fingers and he frowned as he wrote before his gaze snapped back to the game.

“What are you doing?” Scott finally asked, unable to read Hank’s chicken scratch.

“Just taking notes,” Hank said, and at Scott’s pointed you don’t say raised eyebrow, he chuckled softly and continued. “It’s my job to observe the games to make sure our programs are working, but also to help the coaches identify which players might need extra training.”

“Huh. Here I thought you just organized the season.”

“There’s way more to it than that. And there’s no just about it. Organizing several hockey seasons is a bit like playing life-sized Tetris.”

“I never thought of it like that.”

Hank never took his gaze off the game as he said, “You’ve got to make sure each team has practice time, that there isn’t too much locker room overlap between teams—it gets too crowded otherwise—that home games don’t conflict. Then there’s the coordination with other hockey clubs for games, plus ensuring we have emergency equipment on hand in case someone breaks or grows out of theirs before they can get replacements.”

“Sounds like a lot. I’ll stick with concessions.”

Hank side-eyed him. “Says the lawyer.”

“Meh.” Scott braced a foot on the empty seat in front of him and tugged a bag of Sour Patch Kids out of his pocket. “Lawyering’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

That finally tore Hank’s attention off the game. He gave Scott an up-and-down glance that was infuriatingly clinical, yet nevertheless made Scott’s heart kick against his ribs.

“Are you sure you’re a lawyer?”

“Uh...” Scott paused in his search for the elusive blue Sour Patch Kid. “Yes?”

“It’s just that you’re so . . .”

Sexy? Fun to be around? Intriguing?

“Un-lawyer-like.”

Well. There were worse descriptions. “The best lawyer I know wears pinks suits, so...” Scott shrugged. “Don’t believe everything you see on TV.”

“Hm.” Hank nodded at the bag in Scott’s hands. “Gonna share those?”

“You can’t have the blue ones.”

“That’s okay. Green’s my favorite.”

Scott grimaced. “Gross. I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

“Think of it this way,” Hank said as Scott resumed his search. “If I eat all of the green ones, it’ll be easier to find the blue ones.”

Scott popped a blue candy in his mouth and chewed slowly. “You have a point.” He handed the bag over.

They ate in silence for a few minutes while the game continued. Their arms brushed every once in a while, Hank’s cream knit sweater against Scott’s olive-green hoodie, and Scott found himself slowly leaning to the right to get closer to him.

“Want to get our dogs together tomorrow for a doggie playdate?” Scott blurted without thinking too hard on it.

Hank didn’t answer for a moment, and Scott didn’t bother getting nervous about that. He was coming to learn that Hank was the think-before-I-speak type.

“Meet you at Sugar Plum Park at noon?” Hank said.

Scott smiled. Smiled wider when Teddy’s team scored. “Perfect.”