Page 12 of Something to Prove (Smithton Bears #2)

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“Have you ever forgotten your wallet at a restaurant while on a date?”

I snickered, winking at the camera before shifting my gaze to Walker. “Yeah, but I’m not telling that story.”

Walker shimmied in his chair. “Oh, please do. Your fans want to know.”

The fans were his, not mine, but I wasn’t about to point that out ’cause damn, this was kinda fun.

As promised, Walker had started the interview by asking all the usual questions. When did you know you wanted to play hockey? What did it feel like to get drafted to the pros? How do you think it will be different from playing in college?

I gave the standard-issue answers. I’d practically grown up at the local rink, and hockey had always been part of my life.

Sure, I’d dreamed of going pro like any other kid.

I’d wanted to follow my idol’s footstep (and yes, I’d tactfully left out his dad’s name).

And no, I still couldn’t believe I was going to get a shot.

Walker’s What’s New, Smithton? interview style mimicked any basic talk show format.

We sat across from each other, engaged in a friendly get-to-know-you conversation while his cameraman filmed the action from the opposite end of the soundproof room.

It was a professional setup, but it was designed to feel homey with comfy leather chairs and walls decorated with black-and-white photographs of Smithton and Bears pennants.

He’d instructed me to dress casually, but not sloppy.

“No need for a suit, but don’t wear a T-shirt with holes.

” My black tee and jeans combo contrasted with Walker’s oxford shirt and khakis, but he’d seemed to approve.

Don’t think I hadn’t noticed that his gaze had stalled on my tattooed arms throughout our live interview.

I knew that didn’t mean anything, but I still liked it. And yes, this shift in my opinion of Walker weirded me out. Active animosity had been replaced by grudging respect, curiosity, and a mild form of infatuation—so mild, it barely registered. Remember that, please.

Look, I doubted he’d spring any surprise mention of bumping into me and a dude in the alley on camera now, and I certainly wasn’t going to spill his secret either, so my goal was to get through today and put some space between us.

But I hadn’t counted on enjoying myself.

“You really want to hear this story?”

Walker’s eyes sparked. “Yes, please!”

I slumped in my chair in faux mortification before sitting up straight.

“Okay, it was high school, and I’d asked a girl I liked out for a movie and dinner thing.

I paid for the movie with cash I’d found in my pocket and even sprang for popcorn.

The movie was scary…like nightmare-inducing ghoulishly creepy.

We had a deep conversation about it on the way to the restaurant, which was cool ’cause I forgot to be nervous.

And I was hungry and I think I’d wanted to show off a bit and act like money was no object.

I ordered a ton of appetizers—calamari, shrimp cocktails, artichoke dip, chicken wings—and filet mignon, double-baked potatoes slathered in cheese, and a chocolate lava cake to top things off.

Then the bill came. I think that was the first time I realized that it was possible for two people to spend almost two hundred dollars on food.

Holy smokes, Batman, I was sweating. Dinner would wipe out a third of my checking account.

Not great, but the deed was done. I dug into my pocket for my wallet and…

” I held my hands up and pulled a face. “Nothing there.”

Walker gasped. “No!”

“Yes. I had to come clean, which totally killed the mood. She gave the waiter her card, but it was declined.”

Another gasp. “What did you do?”

I shrugged. “Called my mom and dad. They were at a birthday party and didn’t answer their cells right away.

She called her folks as backup and they all arrived at roughly the same time.

My parents took over. ‘Kids these days. No worries, we’ve got this.

’ But my dad took one look at the bill and his eyes bugged out of his skull. It was…so embarrassing.”

My host giggled gleefully. “That’s a teenage nightmare.”

“It got worse,” I deadpanned.

“How?”

“Food poisoning.”

Walker covered his face, shoulders shaking with mirth. “No!”

“Bad shrimp, I guess.”

“I’m positively traumatized on your behalf,” he groaned.

“So was my date. She avoided me for the rest of high school.”

Walker pulled a face, perking up as he reached for the tablet on the side table.

“I think we have a couple of questions for you from our viewers. Mind if we check in? ElinKansas wants to know if you have your sights set on the NHL, Michele from Sydney, Australia thinks you’re the bee’s knees.

Question: Have you played injured? Jake from Montreal wants to know… ”

We spent another ten minutes on audience questions, and by that time, I was so relaxed that I could almost have been convinced I’d spent an hour shooting the shit with an old friend.

I thanked Walker for having me on the show and smiled for the camera until he signed off with a perky, “And that’s what’s new in Smithton!”

I unfastened the mic attached to my shirt, handing it to Walker as I stood. “That wasn’t so bad.”

Walker beamed. “Are you joking? It was fantastic! We’re going viral…I can feel it.”

Robin pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose and retrieved the tablet. “I agree. It appears that the audience was quite taken by your repartee. Comments are pouring in.”

Walker read over his friend’s shoulder. “Oh, geez. They really like you.”

I winked. “C’mon. Are you surprised?”

Walker rolled his eyes, but Robin spoke up first.

“Not at all. You’re a good-looking athlete with a certain savoir faire .

You’ve managed to charm the pants off the public.

Literally.” Robin blanched as he read an incoming message.

“ ‘I’ll buy you dinner and suck your—’ Oh, dear.

I’d better edit some of these from the feed.

I’ll turn off commenting in a couple of hours too.

I have to prepare for class, so I’ll have to do that from home. ”

“That’s okay. Shay will be in soon,” Walker replied.

“Excellent. Thank you for joining our humble program, Mr. Czerniak. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Robin bowed at the waist as he backed out of the room.

I chuckled. “So…now what?”

“That’s it,” Walker replied, brushing his hands.

“We’ll be at your game this weekend. Robin will grab some new footage, I’ll do a quick locker room interview, and voila !

Signed, sealed, delivered, and done. Today was the hard part, and it went swimmingly.

I can’t thank you enough for your participation.

I’ll be sure to tag you on social media and cross-promote wherever possible.

With any luck, this will elevate your public profile.

I know you doubt me, but I bet you’ll have a few thousand more followers by tomorrow morning. Maybe even a hundred thousand!”

I didn’t want to burst his bubble and admit that it didn’t mean much to me.

“Cool. I noticed you didn’t ask a single bi question.”

“I didn’t want to rock the boat, and I told you I wouldn’t get weirdly personal.”

I inclined my head in thanks. “So what’s your next assignment?”

Walker sighed theatrically. “I’m going to learn how to make a milkshake at Bear Depot.”

“Dude. I want in on that.”

“Don’t be so sure. I did a burger segment last year, and it involved a lot of slaving over a hot grill in a cramped kitchen. Not all that fun.”

I leaned on the doorjamb and crossed my arms. “What’s the deal? You specialize in food, people, music, and…burgers?”

His mouth curled playfully. “And making beeswax candles, operating the clothesline at the dry cleaner, doling out frozen yogurt, watering gardens. The list is endless.”

“I bet. This is a pretty small town, though. You must have blown through every business on Main Street already.”

“Not even close, but creative thinking is important.” Walker perched on the edge of his desk, seemingly too caught up in a successful day at the office to send me on my way.

“ What’s New, Smithton? started as a school project.

In the beginning, I interviewed teachers and teamed up with some friends from the drama department who did skits to act out our version of the news.

I’ve done frontline stories, reporting the price increases at the gas station and the market, interviewing cranky patrons who obligingly grumbled for the camera.

On-the-scene interviews were popular, but I couldn’t do them all myself.

I hired fellow students to chip in, and that was how the kiss-cam Valentine fiasco happened. ”

“Right.”

He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and winced.

“I switched focus last year from field reporting to human-interest stories. For some reason, people love hearing about our town’s history.

Did you know that Bear Depot was originally called Ernie’s Cantina?

Or that the basement at the donut shop was a speakeasy in the 1920s? ”

“Uh…no.”

“All true. The college has been here for nearly two hundred years, and St. Mary’s church is almost as old.

However, there wasn’t much commerce in Smithton in the early part of the twentieth century until the college received an endowment from a wealthy former student who’d made a pile of money in plastics and used it to invest in the town in the hopes that gentrification would influence prospective students.

It worked. Population has been on the rise since the 1940s, but it’s occurred slowly and with purpose.

We have one pizza parlor, and it’s amazing.

We have one ice cream parlor, and folks have been known to make the trek from Syracuse for a cone.

Our boutiques, cafés, and parks are truly unique.

Add a college with a noteworthy athletic program, and What’s New, Smithton? writes itself. I’m just a reporter.”