Chapter 6

Six

LOU

D ecember rolls around, and I still haven't gotten my hands on a lemon bar or made it to book club. Book club fell on nights with away games so there was no way I could make it. I've been into the bookstore though to pick up the latest books. The bakery on the other hand is not so easy. Every person on the team I've asked to get me one has come up empty-handed. Excuses ranged from "we ran out" to "we don't make them anymore." Carrie said that the order form didn't have lemon bars and when she called they said that it was no longer offered. Shane even brought back photos to show that the display no longer mentions Left Wing Lemon Bars. My spot has been replaced with cupcakes for the Zamboni naming competition.

Ever since that game where I scored on my own team, the fans of Glacier Bay have turned on me. They must've lost their appetite for the lemon bars too, because Maria doesn't have a tray of them when the doors open anymore. And every time I manage to slip into the bakery without fans noticing, the girl at the counter just shrugs and says, "We ran out of lemons."

A likely story. I know for a fact Maria has plenty of lemons—I make sure of it. I've been leaving bags of them on her doorstep every morning. Still, not even her best friend Lia has been able to get a lemon bar out of her.

My game's in a tailspin, and Coach has me warming the bench more and more each game. It doesn't matter how many lemons I eat; nothing helps if I can't get my hands on those bars.

Dad is in full panic mode, calling me every day for a report on my progress, going over practices play-by-play. Analyzing every mistake I made like it's a criminal investigation. As if he can help me from back in Minnesota. He's obsessed with the idea of getting called up to the big leagues.

And it's not just the advice—there's the constant reminder of everything else too. The guilt trip about how much he and Mom gave up for me to play hockey. The endless long days, the sacrificed vacations, the missed days at work. How my sisters didn't get to do things because I had hockey. Our big ticket, to what, I wasn't sure anymore. Each call feels like a weight added to my shoulders, pressing down on me harder and harder.

I didn't go home for Thanksgiving because of the pressure, and Dad praised me for taking the time to focus on my game. Now with Christmas a few weeks away, I've texted Mom I don't think I can leave Cinnamon behind.

Today was the last straw. This morning, I pulled out a lemon for Coach before practice, hoping to join the lemon line. A desperate hope that this lemon would be the lucky one I needed. Coach just shook his head and had me running extra drills instead. "You can eat all the lemons you want, Lou," he said, "but they're not your problem."

So now, with my hat pulled low and dark sunglasses hiding my face, I duck into the bakery just before closing, determined to get some answers from Maria.

"What can I get you?" Maria asks from behind the register, her customer service smile firmly in place.

There's a spot of sugar dusted high on her cheek, and I have to fight the urge to brush it away. Her hair is tucked under a pink hat, and she's wearing a mint green apron over a shirt with something written on it. The letters are swirly, but the apron hides most of the words.

I glance around, making sure the coast is clear. The front is empty, but my gaze pauses on the display where my lemon bars should be. Instead, there are stupid bear cupcakes in my spot.

"I'll take a lemon bar," I say, pulling off my sunglasses.

Her smile vanishes like smoke in the wind, and I can't help but wonder why she hates me so much. The first time I met her was in this bakery, and even then, she pulled the plate of baked goods away from me like I didn't deserve them. Like I'd single-handedly ruined her life somehow.

"I don't make those anymore," she says coolly.

"Maria."

She crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing. "I'm not giving you so much as a crumb."

"It's just one bar."

She huffs, and the sound of it feels like a slap. "I remember asking you for something similar, and you shot me down."

I blink, genuinely confused. "What did you ask me for?"

"Maybe you've taken too many hits to the head." Her voice is harsh, but there's a flash of something raw in her eyes— pain, maybe? "But I'd prefer it if you stopped playing dumb. It's getting really tiresome."

"Tiresome?" I echo, frustration bubbling up. "You're tired? I'm exhausted. I haven't been able to score in months, and I'm cursed."

"I fail to see what that has to do with me," she replies, lifting her chin defiantly.

"Why do you think I give you those lemons every day?" I ask, my voice a little rougher than I intend.

She rolls her eyes. "Because you want to annoy me? I know how hockey guys are with their pranks."

"Pranks? You think the lemons are a prank?"

She nods, looking at me like I'm the idiot. "Of course they are. What logical person would give someone else twenty pounds of lemons every day? Unless you're taunting me."

"Taunting?" I repeat, completely thrown off. "Why would I?—"

"Maria!" Lia shouts from the back just before she appears, her red hair tumbling over her shoulders, a cream-colored jacket draped over her arm. "Oh, Lou."

Lia's eyes widen, and I notice Nate standing behind her in jeans and a black sweater, watching me with suspicion. Penelope pops her head in too, her gaze flicking between Maria and me.

"Where's the cake?" Penelope asks.

Maria glances at her watch, then back at me with a tight smile. "Oh, look at that. Closing time, and I have a private cake tasting. Goodbye, Lou."

The dismissal stings more than I care to admit, but I know better than to argue. I leave without a fuss, but as I walk out, I can't help but feel like I've missed something important. Something that goes way beyond a missing lemon bar. I'm going to need to up my efforts.