Page 2 of Tricky Puck

She whispers for my ears only. “You need this, my bambino. It breaks my heart to see you lonely, with no woman who understands you and treasures you except your withered old grandma. I don’t want you to end up like your Uncle⁠—”

“I’m not.” I look into her sad old eyes, and it slams into me that she’s not going to be convinced that I’m perfectly happy the way things are, that I don’t need any more women in my life than the ones in this room, understanding or not. Besides, she’s wrong. My sister Rose gets me.

Fuck. That’s pathetic.

I feel a twinge like someone’s tightening a vice clamped on my chest. My right eye twitches.

“Engaged by Christmas.” Granny’s not smiling, and her voice sounds firm, the same way it did when I was in grade school when she told me I could absolutely not jump off the roof into the pile of snow no matter how much money I had riding on the bet.

Without wavering in her seriousness, she goes on. “I hired a matchmaker because I want to ensure we find the best possible young lady for you. You’re a catch, Lincoln. A strapping boy like you and a star hockey player in the NHL. No trouble is too much when it comes to finding your life partner.”

Shit. “Thank you, Grandma. That’s sweet of you.” What else can I say?

“Of course. Nothing’s too good for you.” Now she smiles, but it’s the kind of smile I recognize—the devilish kind. I hold my breath because she has something more to say. “You’ll be meeting her tonight.”

“Tonight—”

“The matchmaker’s arranged for you to take her to dinner at Bill’s Food and Drink in midtown Manhattan. I’m told it’s a nice place with good food.”

In minor miracle news, I don’t swear out loud. But that only means my head feels like it’s about to explode.

Two

DELANEY

ON THE OTHER SIDE OF BROOKLYN

“You did what?” I immediately get a grip, literally holding the edge of the table, because I can’t shout at Granny. She’s the saint in our family if there ever was one.

“I had a matchmaker fix you up,” she repeats louder as if my problem is that I’m deaf.

“A matchmaker? You don’t think I can get my own dates?” I try to make light of her suggestion, though I can see Granny is as serious as a fever.

“This isn’t about getting a date. This is about getting married.”

I want to roll my eyes, but it wouldn’t do any good when she gets that look in her eye. I take a sip of my lemonade and enjoy the fact that I have time to sit with her, just the two of us, now that I’ve been relieved of my job.

“Granny, you know I have no intentions of getting married any time soon.” Or ever, but I’m smart enough to keep that tidbit to myself. I have a good sense of self-preservation.

“Plans change. You know I’m getting old, and my fondest wish in life is to see my great-grandchildren⁠—”

“Hold on a second—are you okay? Is something wrong? I thought the doc said you were as healthy as a—I mean, in very good health at your last check-up.”

Granny sighs and shakes her head as if I’m a naïve child, like the one I used to be long ago. Not that I’ve lived all that long, but I’ve done a lot of growing up fast in the past few years.

“Ever since that incident at work, you’ve been angry, and that’s no way to attract a man. I’m worried about you.”

“I don’t need a man⁠—”

“Nonsense. You love men.”

She has a point. But I’m not going to admit that because I absolutely don’t want to go on a fix-up date with some guy from New York who thinks he’s a badass.

Okay, maybe I do have an attitude. Maybe I have more of a love-hate relationship with men.

“Men have their uses,” I say, hoping to shock her into dropping the whole thing. She’s a staunch Irish Catholic who I’d swear believes in the immaculate conception, except that she had five kids and knows better.

She looks at me as we sit in her doily-infested dining room like she’s overlooking my naughty reference. Shit. This must be serious. She always called me boy crazy when I was a little girl, and now… I’m still boy-crazy, but I’m wiser and smarter and know how to take advantage of my advantages. No way will I ever let a boy—or man—get the edge on me.