Off The Record

The next morning, Knox sits in the back booth at Joe’s Diner, the only place in Stonebridge where the walls are plastered with more hockey posters than there are people eavesdropping. Faded images of NHL legends , their faces cut in the photo posters, in mid-slapshot.

The diner’s fluorescent lights shun faintly, casting a slight glow over the red vinyl seats. Knox is drumming his fingers slightly on the sticky tabletop.

His leather jacket is slung over the back of the booth, and his dark hair falls messily over his forehead, still damp from the snow outside as his eyes scanned around, anticipating Skye’s arrival.

He chose this spot for a reason, it’s tucked in the corner, far from the counter where people gossip about the town’s latest drama and about his every little activity. No one’s going to overhear what he’s about to say.

Soon, Skye pushes through the glass door. Snow clings to her navy scarf, melting into dark patches as she unwinds it from her neck. Her cheeks are flushed