Leo

"Are you sure you want to come to the party tomorrow?" Aria asks me at work the next day. "I feel like my dad was pressuring you a little."

I begin to gnaw on my lip. As much as I want to, there's still that introverted piece of me that is screaming at me to not go to this party, to not waste my time with some party and instead focus my attention on finishing this bucket list. It's all I've been thinking about since Aria was over at my place. I hate having this subtle form of anxiety that causes me to bounce back and forth between my decisions. That being said, I don't want to disappoint Aria and her family. They invited me. The least I can do is go to the party. But what really drives me to nod my head is the fact that Aria is going to be there, along with her uncle and her dad, two people I've come to know fairly well within the past couple of weeks. There's the concept of familiarity on my side in this situation, which helps immensely.

"Are you sure?" Aria presses as she rings up a customer, typing in the information needed for the rentals. "That'll be two-hundred-and-fifty-five dollars with tax, please." The customer holds up his credit card and Aria passes him the terminal.

I don't know how I feel about Aria being so vocal about a party in front of everyone, in front of all the people who know who she is, but I tell myself to calm down. She's said nothing about us being a couple. She's said nothing about where she lives. I take a deep breath. "Yeah," I reply, getting the equipment ready for our customers. It's a dad, taking his twin daughters for a weekend-long trip up to the cabins. "It'll be fun, right? You said you guys play a lot of bocce ball and stuff?"

Before Aria can respond, an argument breaks out between the two little girls. "I want the green helmet!"

"No! I get it because I saw it first."

"Girls," the dad says. "Please. Not right now."

I smile. This situation reminds me of when Clara and I were younger, maybe about five or six. It was one of those times Kit and Aunty Tenille had travelled to New Brunswick for my birthday in April. Only, rather than our fight being over the colour of a helmet, it was about who got the corner piece of my birthday cake. Both of us prefer the icing over the cake, and the corner piece always has more icing. The fight ended up with the piece of cake landing on the floor.

Quickly, I glance down to see if we have another kid's helmet in that colour. We don't. But I do see two red ones, which works in my favour because up until this point, the two girls have been admiring Aria from afar, whispering about their favourite hockey player. Grabbing both bike helmets, I step around the counter. "Hey," I say, walking over to them.

Both girls immediately go quiet, nervous in my presence. I have to suppress a laugh. I find it ironic that they're nervous around me when I'm feeling the exact same way around them. It's ridiculous, but that's what happens when you're as antisocial as I am.

Kneeling down, I hold out the two red helmets and lower my voice. "You know who's standing behind the counter, right?" I ask. I can feel Aria's gaze drilling into the back of my skull, but I'm, surprisingly, okay with that.

The girl in the blue T-shirt that's decorated with a bunch of small daisies slowly nods her head as she chews at her thumbnail. "Aria Madden," she replies.

"Yeah," the other one inputs. "She plays for Team Canada."

"That's right," I smile. "And do you know what colour Team Canada is?"

"Red, white, and black," the girl in the black t-shirt replies, tugging nervously at her hair.

"Correct," I say. "So, I've got an idea about your helmet situation. What if, instead of arguing over the green helmet, you both wear the red ones? That way, you'll match Aria's jersey."

If watching their faces light up isn't the cutest thing I've ever seen, then I'm not sure what is. Instantly, they drop the green helmet and each of them takes one of the red ones, putting them on immediately. Just like any other kid, their attention spirals elsewhere as they turn away from me, talking rapidly about Aria.

When I stand up, green helmet in hand, the dad thanks me and rushes after his girls. As I'm watching them exit the building to wait for the bikes Aria and I are supposed to inspect before handing them out, I feel Aria plant herself beside me. "What was that conversation about?"

I side-glance my girlfriend. "They have a crush on someone in this very room who plays hockey. And judging by my inability to skate, it's definitely not me."

Aria blushes a little, clearly liking the idea that two young girls look up to her. "They're adorable, the two of them." She pauses, a small furrow forming between her brows. "You don't know how to skate?"

"They are," I sigh, ignoring her question. It's embarrassing to be Canadian and not know how to skate. "Now let's get a move on. We have three bikes that need to be thoroughly inspected, as well as three customers that are waiting."

Out of nowhere, Aria plants a kiss on my cheek. "You go ahead. I'll be right there." As quick as she kissed me, she turns around and heads for the office, shutting the door behind her.

I blink, rubbing my cheek as I turn away and head for the back room. I don't know if I'll ever be able to get used to just how spontaneous she can be. Or talkative. It's strange that Aria and work as well as we do together when we're so different, but I maybe that's why we work so well. We always manage to keep each other's interest. I'm satisfied with that conclusion, but I can still feel a little bit of self-doubt in my gut. I'm still new to this relationship thing, to loving someone other than a family member.

I hope I'm not screwing this up somehow.

By the time Aria joins me in the backroom, two of the bikes have been approved and I'm just starting to tighten one of the bolts on one of the smaller bikes. I don't look up when she walks in because I'm concentrating too hard on my current task, but eventually, the rustling of paper gets to me and I lower the wrench. I frown in confusion as Aria tapes a piece of glossy paper to the smaller bike.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Being a good role model," she replies, holding up the last piece of paper in her hand.

My frown quickly fades away, being replaced with a smile. "Do you keep signed pictures of yourself in your purse?" I tease.

"Sometimes I can't help but marvel at myself," she winks. "I look sexy in my hockey gear."

I glance at the picture. Behind the caged helmet, I can't see much of her face – just her beautiful eyes. But that doesn't take away from how stunning she looks in her hockey gear, her long, dark-brown braid hanging over her shoulder. To be entirely honest, her looks don't matter in this picture at all. What matters is her definite sense of purpose, the flex of her hockey stick, and the way she presents herself with confidence.

Caught up in the picture and her unique signature, fail to notice that Aria is now standing beside me. Until she throws her arm around my waist. "Wipe that drool from the corner of your mouth," she laughs. "And let's get these bikes outside."

Embarrassment flares inside me, heating up my face. Aside from the embarrassment, I also a potent level of attraction towards her, wondering how long it would take me to get all that hockey gear off of her. I shake the thought away. I'm working. I can't focus on stuff like that at the moment.

Because of the signed pictures, Aria suggests we take the smaller bikes out first just to play on the fair side. "I can't imagine what kind of fight they'd get into over one picture," she jokes as we roll them out the back and around the building.

The family is waiting outside, and when the girls see their rental bikes as well as the photos that are taped to them, they squeal with excitement. One of them actually asks if they can have a photo with Aria, which she obliges to.

As the dad snaps a photo, I jog around to the back and grab the final bike. When I get back, pushing the bike, Aria is giving them advice on taking a slap-shot.

I stand back, watching from afar, as she communicates with the family. I figured she would excel at communicating with others, but I didn't think she would be this good. Somehow, she manages to uphold her carefree vibe but also sound professional and humble.

"Anyways," I hear her say. "As much as I'd love to chat with you ladies about hockey, I have to get back to work."

As Aria hugs them goodbye, I hand the bike over to the dad, wishing him a happy trip. I then wait for Aria to join me. When she does, we begin to walk back to the building, the gravel crunching beneath our feet. The whole conversation back consists of her talking about how cute the girls were.

"You were really good when them," I agree, holding the glass door open. "How do you do that? Be yourself but act professional?"

Aria shrugs as she steps through the door, me following close in her wake. She continues to talk as we walk back to the front desk. "I never really had to learn," she replies. "It came to me naturally. My parents have always been good at portraying themselves like that. Especially Mom. I can't count the number of crazy stories about work she's told me. One thing I did have to learn, though, was how to deal with the media. Dad did help me out with it a bit, but we all react differently to situations. Dad didn't mind the attention – he was a top prospect from the moment he set foot on the ice – which is where the difference lies between us. I was pretty amazing at hockey, but there were certain things I needed to improve in order to create my reputation as I did. I also had the boundary of being a girl in a world that's mainly composed of men and men-oriented opinions. It's difficult to adapt to that when there are men saying women shouldn't be allowed to play hockey or that there's a fine reason behind why we don't get paid as much as men do." 

She pauses, glancing over her shoulder as she sits down on the metal stool. I follow her gaze, which leads my own train of vision out the window to where the dad is kneeling on his knees and buckling up one of the helmets the girls received.

"It's an extremely cutthroat culture for women in the hockey world," Aria continues softly. "One day, I want women to have their own league. I want them to be on national television and adored across the globe. That's why I interact with as many young girls as I can. If I can somehow fuel their passion for hockey, then I want to contribute as best I can. I want more girls to realize that no matter what anyone says, we can play hockey just as good as men can." She glances at me, passion igniting her beautiful eyes. "The more women and girls we have, the more powerful our voice is."

I'm not surprised by Aria's reasoning and her goals. I have yet to see her play hockey, but I did watch her speech at the fundraiser event she went to with Benn. She's persistent and persuasive, always backing her words up with legitimate and consistent facts. If she keeps going at this pace, soon there will be too strong of a voice to ignore the fact that we don't have a women's national hockey league. 

Out of curiosity, I ask, "Who was your favourite hockey player while you were growing up?"

Aria smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Natalie Spooner," she replies. "I think I had a girl crush on her while I was growing up." A light dusting of blush spreads across her cheeks as she pauses for a deep breath. "And my dad," she continues. "I know he's a man, but he was always the one who told me girls were just as capable as men. He was actually one of the voices that made women able to join in on some of the activities during all-star events in the NHL."

The corner of my mouth quirks up. "And you want to do that someday," I infer.

"I do," she replies quietly. "I can't imagine how good it feels to outskate a male NHL player or beat him in the accuracy competition. It's things like these that are going to help us women build a case. I don't care if the time doesn't come while I'm playing, but I hope future generations will have the opportunity to play hockey on nation-wide television."

Reaching out, I take her hand and thread my fingers through hers, squeezing her hand. "Well, I'm with you, Aria. You've definitely got my vote."

With her gaze cast down at the floor, she smiles, snorting softly. "Thanks, Leo. I wish more men in this world were like you."

Pride rushes through me, and I subtly glance at the ceiling, wondering if my dad heard that. Whatever happens after death, wherever you go, I hope he heard that. "Thanks," I reply, smiling down at her. 

Getting to her feet, Aria rests her hands on my shoulders, leaning her face closer to mine. I angle my head, preparing myself for another kiss, but it never comes. Because just as our lips are about to connect, the bell on the front door jingles and voices echo through the spacious building, causing us to jerk apart. As much as we enjoy this relationship and no matter how strong our feelings are toward each other, we agreed to keep it private from the public for as long as we can. 

Aria, who gathers her composure a lot faster than me, turns her attention to the customers with a beaming smile on her face. "Welcome to Brantford and Co., what can we do for you today?"