Читать книгу The Man Upstairs - Pamela Bauer, Pamela Bauer - Страница 8

“ARE THOSE GORILLAS on your socks, Bailey?”

Dena had been sitting with her feet propped up on her desk, but she dropped them to the floor when she saw the art director in the doorway of her cubicle. With his slicked-back hair and his dark framed glasses, Greg Watkins reminded her of a smaller version of Clark Kent. She half expected that if he ripped open his shirt she’d see an S on his chest. Although he couldn’t leap from tall buildings or bend steel with his bare hands, he did flaunt his power over her on occasion. She hoped this wasn’t one of those times.

“The world’s a jungle out there,” she answered.

“Don’t I know it,” he said with a knowing lift of his brows.

“So what can I do for you?”

“You can tell me whether or not you’re going to make a donation to the Aaron Jorgenson auction. He’s the high school kid who was injured in the skiing accident. Kramer’s taken a special interest in this event because the kid goes to his church.” Greg had a habit of referring to people by their last names, even the creative director who was the head of the advertising agency.

“They’re having a benefit dinner to raise money to help pay the medical bills, right?”

“You got it. I don’t see your name on the list.” He waved a clipboard in midair.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to attend,” she said apologetically, then reached for her purse. “But I’d be happy to make a cash donation.”

“It would be better if you donated an item for the auction…preferably something that will bring in big bucks.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged. “Anything. I’m donating a tour of the Channel 8 studio and lunch with a news anchor. You probably heard that my sister’s their newscaster?”

Dena nodded. “I suppose I could ask my brother to help me out, but I don’t think lunch with a mechanic would have quite the same appeal, do you?” She gave him a wry smile.

“Probably not,” he answered with his own understanding grin. “But there are any number of items you could donate. Seriously, Bailey, this could be an opportunity for you to catch Kramer’s eye.”

“You mean if I bring in something unique he’ll remember my name?”

“You keep doing work like that and he’ll notice you,” he said, looking over her shoulder to the mockups lining her shelves.

“I’m good at packages,” she admitted in a tone that was not the least bit pretentious, just honest.

“So I’ve noticed…as have a lot of other people. So what do you say? Are you going to donate an item?”

She hesitated a second, then said, “All right, put me down. For what, I don’t know, but I’ll come up with something.”

He pulled a pen from behind his ear and wrote her name on the clipboard. “I’m sure you will. You’re clever. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

She knew it was true. To land a job at an advertising agency like Delaney Design, one needed to be better than good. Getting hired had been a boost to her ego and an affirmation that she’d made the right decision in leaving her job in marketing to pursue a career in graphic design. Unfortunately, with the new job came the pressure to perform. Everyone at Delaney was talented. It wasn’t enough to simply be good.

Greg Watkins straightened. “You’ll need to let me know by next Friday what you’re donating to the auction. The benefit is February 10. I have to tell you, Bailey, Kramer’s going to be pleased to see your name on the list.” He gave her a mock salute and slipped out of her cubicle.

Dena didn’t want to simply please the creative director. She wanted to impress him, to prove to him that she belonged at the prestigious agency.

It wasn’t anything new—proving herself. She’d been doing it most of her life and she’d do it now. She reached for the phone to call the one person who might be able to help her—her brother.

AS CHILDREN, Dena and Ryan had been as close as any brother and sister, but when they were teenagers, their parents had divorced and the fragile bonds that had held their family together were broken. After graduation, Ryan Bailey saw no reason to stay in the small town in Iowa where they’d been raised. He moved away with his high school sweetheart, eager to make a new start in life.

Left alone with her father, Dena envied her brother his freedom. No matter how hard she tried to get her father’s attention, there was only one thing in life that mattered to him now that his wife was gone—his work. His idea of being a good parent was to send Dena to boarding school, where she felt just as isolated as she had living with her father. After graduation, she didn’t return home. Like her brother, she left Iowa, but she made her exodus alone.

It was how she’d lived most of her life—alone. She may have had a mother for thirteen years, but she’d learned at an early age not to expect much from her. As a small child she’d never understood why her mother wasn’t like other kids’ mothers. She never played with her children and rarely laughed with them. It wasn’t until Dena was thirteen that she understood the reason why. She hadn’t wanted to be a mother in the first place.

It was a fact of life Dena couldn’t change no matter how hard she tried. So she learned to take care of herself, to rely on her own tenacity and resourcefulness rather than depend on anyone else. She was self-sufficient and proud of it, only now that she’d moved to Minnesota, she was beginning to realize how lonely her life had been and how much she’d missed Ryan.

That’s why she didn’t hesitate to turn to him for advice about the auction donation. As usual, she’d worked late that evening and stopped at his house on her way home.

“Dena, it’s good to see you,” her sister-in-law, Lisa, said as she opened the door to her. “Come in. Ryan took Luke sledding at the park, but they should be home shortly. I was just about to make some hot chocolate…or would you rather have a cup of tea?”

“Hot chocolate sounds good.” Dena removed her jacket and slung it over the back of one of the wooden kitchen chairs before taking a seat. “Where’s Bethany and Jeremy?”

“Jeremy’s at hockey practice and Bethany’s at a birthday party for one of her friends from school. It’s her first pajama party so I’m a little anxious about it,” Lisa admitted as she poured milk into a pan on the stove. “I didn’t want her to go. I think eight’s a little young for slumber parties, don’t you?”

Dena shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. When it comes to raising kids, I don’t have a clue.” It was the truth. With no younger siblings and having spent a good portion of her teenage years at boarding school, she’d missed out on the typical baby-sitting experience. The only time she’d been around kids had been during the holidays that she’d spent with her brother and his family.

“Ryan and I have days when we feel the same way,” Lisa said with a grin.

“You must be doing something right. You have good kids,” she said sincerely.

Lisa sat down across from Dena. “You’ve only seen them on their best behavior. Just wait until you’ve been here awhile,” she said with a crooked smile.

Dena glanced around the room—at the drawings on the refrigerator door, the toy trucks lined up next to the wall, the bulletin board covered with heart-shaped reminders of appointments and school activities. The picture on the shelf over the sink caught her eye. It was a photograph of her brother with his three children. Three-year-old Luke was on his shoulders, his pudgy arms wrapped around his father’s neck. Bethany clung to one arm, twelve-year-old Jeremy was on the other.

“Ryan is so different from my father. He never played with us kids.”

“He probably didn’t have the time—he worked so many hours,” Lisa said.

Dena nodded and didn’t follow up on the comments, not wanting to discuss her father’s shortcomings. Not that she would be telling her sister-in-law anything she wasn’t aware of. Having known Ryan since they’d been in the seventh grade, Lisa was privy to all the family secrets. She’d been his steady girlfriend when Dena’s mother had abandoned her family, leaving two teenaged kids in the care of a father whose response to losing his wife had been to bury himself even deeper in his work.

Even though she was the one to inadvertently mention her father, she was grateful when Lisa changed the subject. “So tell me how everything is with you. Are you happy with your new job?”

“So far, so good,” she said with caution. “It’s going to be a lot of pressure, but that’s to be expected. It’s the nature of the work. I’m going to have to put in some long hours, but it’ll all be worth it.”

“Ryan said you were stopping over because you need a donation for a charity auction?” Lisa remarked with a lift of one eyebrow.

“Yes.” She started to explain, but before she could finish, the back door opened and in trudged her brother and nephew, both of them dusted with snow. As they exchanged greetings, Dena thought Ryan looked like a lumberjack, with his red plaid jacket, knit stocking hat and full beard. He pulled the hat from his head to reveal wavy blond hair the same shade as Dena’s.

“Perfect timing,” Lisa said, getting up from the table. “Dena just got here.”

Ryan kicked off his boots, then took a seat at the table next to his sister. “So what kind of auction item are you looking for, again?”

“That’s what I was hoping you could tell me,” she answered. “You’ve lived in this area for quite some time. What type of item do people purchase at a charity auction?”

“It depends on the kind of crowd it is,” her sister-in-law told her as she helped Luke out of his snow-suit. “When they had a silent auction at Bethany’s school to raise money for the new gymnasium, the hot item was a basketball signed by one of the Timberwolves. I would think that memorabilia signed by professional athletes would always be popular.”

“I suppose I could go to one of the sports stores and get an autographed baseball,” Dena pondered aloud.

“If you do that it’ll cost you a few bucks,” her brother pointed out.

“Why don’t you just ask that guy upstairs from you to donate something?” Lisa suggested. “Didn’t you say he’s a professional hockey player?”

“That’s what I’ve been told, but I haven’t even seen the man, let alone talked to him. If it wasn’t for the fact that I heard some noise up there one night last week, I wouldn’t even know anyone lives upstairs.”

“You’d think you would have run into him by now.”

“I’m relieved I haven’t. I don’t have time to get chummy with any of my neighbors.”

“You don’t have to get chummy with him,” Lisa said. “Just ask him to autograph something and donate it to the auction. I bet people would pay good money for one of his hockey sticks.”

“If he has a name people recognize.”

“What is his name?” Ryan asked.

“Quinn Sterling,” Dena replied.

Ryan’s jaw dropped open. “He’s the hockey player who lives on the third floor of your building? You didn’t tell me he was in the NHL.”

“I didn’t know,” she said in her own defense.

“Quinn Sterling,” her brother repeated in amazement. “Who would have expected him to be living in a boardinghouse with a bunch of women.”

“It isn’t a bunch. There are only three of us and we each have our own apartment,” Dena reminded him.

Ryan shrugged. “I guess the guy has to live somewhere…and it probably helps him keep a low profile.”

“So what’s he like? Is he nice?” Lisa asked, turning her attention to the stove.

Ryan chuckled sarcastically. “Defensemen usually aren’t described as ‘nice.’”

Dena wrinkled her face. “He isn’t one of those guys who’s always fighting, is he?”

“I’m sure he’s spent his share of time in the penalty box. He has a reputation for being bad…which is one of the reasons the fans love him.”

“Then he’s popular?”

“In Minnesota he is. He’s a good hockey player,” her brother stated matter-of-factly. Luke was at his side, arms outstretched, waiting for his father to lift him onto his lap. Ryan scooped him up and propped him on one knee.

“Would you say he’s like the Michael Jordan of hockey?” Dena wanted to know.

Ryan gave her an indulgent look. “Basketball and hockey are two different sports, and no one’s like Michael Jordan. Quinn’s made a name for himself, although I don’t think he’s ever made the All-Star team.”

“But would a hockey stick signed by him bring in big bucks at a charity auction?”

“Probably anything signed by Quinn would do that.” Lisa had set three mugs of hot chocolate and one small cup for Luke on the table. Ryan reached for the small cup and helped his son take a sip.

Dena thought again of how different he was from their father. So patient, so protective. So interested in his son.

“Quinn Sterling was born and raised in St. Paul,” her brother continued. “That’s one of the reasons he’s so popular in this area. Hockey fans around here were very happy when the Cougars got him on a trade.”

“Sounds like the right guy to ask for a donation, Dena,” Lisa stated.

“Yes, but how am I ever going to get it?” Dena pondered aloud. “I can’t just walk up the stairs, knock on his door and say, ‘Hi, I’m your new neighbor, give me a stick.’”

“Why not?” Lisa asked, taking the chair next to Ryan’s.

Dena’s eyes met Ryan’s and he chuckled. “Lisa would do it.” His eyes were full of affection as he smiled at his wife.

It was obvious to Dena from the glances they exchanged they were just as much in love now as they’d been as teenagers. Ryan had proved his father wrong. How many times had he warned Ryan that if he were to marry Lisa, he’d end up in the same predicament his father was in? Dena was relieved to see her brother and his wife so happy.

She pushed a loose strand of hair back from her face and sighed. “I wish I didn’t have to do this. This is so not me.”

“Even if you work up the courage to ask for the stick, you might have a problem getting to the guy,” Ryan warned her. “Professional athletes know how to avoid the public.”

“She’s not the public, she’s his neighbor,” Lisa pointed out.

“A neighbor he’s never met,” Dena reminded her sister-in-law.

“And I think he’s one of the hockey players who keeps a low profile,” Ryan added.

That didn’t come as a surprise to Dena. She hadn’t seen anyone going in or out of his place, but then she hadn’t had any guests since she’d moved in, either. The day Leonie had shown her the vacant room on the second floor she’d explained the rules of the house. Guests were welcome as long as they didn’t impose on anyone’s privacy.

So far the only resident who took advantage of that rule was Krystal Graham, the hairstylist who occupied the other half of the second floor. She had a steady stream of visitors, and Dena could understand why. Krystal was a people person. From what her brother was saying, the man upstairs probably wasn’t.

“You might want to think of another item for the charity auction,” Ryan said, reaching for a napkin to dab at hot chocolate that had dribbled down Luke’s chin. “We don’t know this guy. For all we know, his persona off ice could be the same as it is on ice.”

“He’s not going to be mean to his neighbor,” Lisa insisted. “Stop trying to discourage her.”

“You don’t think I can get the stick, do you?” Dena said to her brother.

“It’s going to be difficult,” he warned her.

“Yeah, so what else is new?” she retorted.

“So you’re going to go for it?” Lisa wanted to know.

“Yes. I want my donation to the auction to stand out from the others. I just have to figure out a way to get the stick.”

“The Cougars have a game at the Excel Center tomorrow, which means Quinn Sterling is in town,” Ryan announced.

“Now’s your chance,” Lisa encouraged her. “If you don’t want to knock on his door, you could always bump into him on the stairs.”

An equally unsettling thought for Dena, who knew that she was right. It was now or never. The auction was only a little over a week away. If she didn’t get to him this weekend, there was a good chance he’d be on the road and she wouldn’t have another opportunity.

“You’re right. I’m going to do it. Wish me luck.”

BEFORE DENA COULD DO SOMETHING so bold as to introduce herself to a professional hockey player and ask for an autographed stick, she needed to be prepared. That’s why she made sure to leave her brother’s house early enough so that she had time to stop at the library on her way home.

Later, armed with a stack of periodicals and a couple of videotapes, she climbed the stairs to the second floor at 14 Valentine Place. Once she was in her room, she slipped a tape cassette into the VCR and pressed Play.

As scenes of hockey players flashed across the screen, a voice announced the featured segments of the weekly sports program. If she watched the entire thirty minutes she could get an analysis of the games played the previous week, hear an interview with the head coach of the Minnesota Cougars hockey team and watch a demonstration of stickhandling at its best. Since she’d checked out the tape for one reason only—to see the player profile feature—she pressed the fast-forward button until she found that particular segment.

Images of bodies being pushed into the boards and sliding across the ice as skaters battled for the small black puck flashed on the screen. “Every team has one…a big, mean skater who patrols the blue line using his physical presence as a weapon,” the narrator said as a player rammed another against the boards. “He’s as tough as nails, adding muscle and strength to a defense that is out there for one purpose—to keep the puck away from the guys who want to stuff it in the net.”

Dena grimaced as two men collided with a thud that could be heard above the noise of the crowd. “Around the league he’s established a reputation for being a leader on and off the ice, and with good reason,” the narrator continued. “With a solid work ethic and an attitude that conveys he’s going to get the job done, he’s what every head coach wants a defenseman to be—rough, tough and ready to do battle. This week we profile number thirty-two…”

The hockey player who’d been banging bodies into the boards stopped in the center of the rink, the camera catching the action of his blade on the ice at the same moment the narrator said, “Quinn Sterling.” It was then that Dena saw for the first time the face of the man who lived upstairs.

The first word that came to mind was gladiator. Maybe it was the helmet he wore. Or it could have been the rugged features that seemed to be all angles. Dena frowned as she realized that it was also a familiar face. Where would she have seen him before? Maybe as a professional athlete he’d done a commercial she’d seen. He certainly had the kind of look that could sell products.

As the profile continued, Dena listened to stats and figures that had little significance to someone who didn’t follow hockey. Then the question was raised. “Is Quinn Sterling one of the meanest guys on the ice?”

The camera moved to one of Quinn’s teammates, who grinned and said, “All hockey players have a mean streak. It’s just that Quinn wears his on his jersey.”

The next shot was of Quinn. He stood with his helmet off, his dark hair damp from exertion, defending the accusation. “It’s my job to make sure my teammates are safe and protected on the ice. If that means I’ve got to get rough to do it, then I’m gonna do it. No one’s going to run up on one of my guys.”

Footage of him getting rough followed. Dena winced as a sequence of collisions was shown, all of them resulting in bodies being knocked to the ice. When a brawl erupted, gloves dropped and fists were raised. Dena decided she’d seen enough and stopped the tape. She didn’t need to watch grown men who were supposed to be professionals behave like little boys on the playground.

She looked at the stack of sports magazines and wondered if she should even bother to read any of the articles on Quinn Sterling. Curiosity had her flipping one open and reading a brief bio. He was born and raised in St. Paul and played his first hockey game at the age of five. He’d left college early to enter the NHL draft. Now he made his living fighting on the ice.

She heaved a long sigh and tossed the magazine aside. The task of having to ask him for the donation seemed to be an even more unpleasant one than it had earlier in the day. She wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to simply go buy an autographed stick or jersey from a sports shop. Of course it would be easier, but it would also be costlier.

Lisa could be right. Quinn Sterling might be happy to donate the stick simply because she was his neighbor. She just had to work up her courage and ask him for it.

As she scooped up the periodicals scattered across the floor, she noticed one was a woman’s magazine. Whoever had pulled the magazines for her from the library stacks must have accidentally included it. She looked again at her request slip and saw that it wasn’t a mistake.

According to the guide to periodicals, Quinn Sterling was in the magazine. Dena flipped through the glossy pages until she came to the article called, “Why We Love Those Bad Boys.” It didn’t take long to find his name in boldface type.

“What could be more tantalizing than a professional hockey player who plays rough?” the writer asked. “He’s cold and cruel on the ice, but what we want to know is what he’s like when he’s not slamming bodies up against the boards. This thirty-one-year-old bachelor may look like every girl’s dream with those baby-blue eyes, but don’t expect him to behave like the boy next door. Taming this bad boy is definitely going to be a challenge. He’s been quoted as saying that the woman hasn’t been born yet who can tempt him to hang up his blades.”

Dena rolled her eyes and groaned. “And this is the guy I have to ask for a donation for a charity event?” As she turned the page a photograph of Quinn Sterling stared back at her. Without his helmet he still looked rugged. And tough. And handsome.

He also looked familiar. Again she asked herself why. Her answer came as she noticed the small scar along his jaw—a scar that hadn’t been noticeable on the videotape.

She had seen him before. The night of Maddie’s wedding. In the men’s rest room. Dressed in a suit, he’d looked very different from the man in the hockey uniform. He’d flirted with her, and she smiled as she remembered their encounter.

The question was, would he remember her? She doubted it, not with the number of women who probably came and went in his life. If she was lucky, she wouldn’t even be a blip on his memory radar.

All weekend she watched for a sign that he was home, but not once did she see him or his silver SUV parked out back. His absence made her do something she hadn’t done on previous Monday mornings. She went into the kitchen on the main floor.

“This is a nice surprise,” Leonie Donovan greeted her. “I was beginning to think you didn’t eat breakfast.”

Dena didn’t want to admit that she often skipped breakfast and simply said, “I usually grab something on the way to work.”

Leonie nodded in understanding. “You put in long hours, don’t you?” She didn’t expect an answer to her question and continued, “Krystal’s the same way. I haven’t seen much of her lately, either.”

“What about Mr. Sterling? Does he use the kitchen much?” she asked as she busied herself getting a cup of tea.

“Quinn? No.” There was a hint of regret in her voice. “When I had the third floor remodeled, I put in an efficiency kitchen up there, but I doubt he does much cooking. He’s seldom home.”

Dena filled the kettle and set it on the stove. “I noticed. Actually, I’ve been trying to connect with him.”

Leonie raised her eyebrows. “You have?”

She nodded. “I have a favor to ask him. Maybe you can tell me if you think he’d be interested in this.” She sat down across from Leonie and told her about the charity event being held at the high school, including what items had already been donated to the auction. “I was hoping he’d be willing to autograph a stick or some other hockey memorabilia for the event.”

“I don’t see any reason why he wouldn’t do it, especially since he went to the same high school as Aaron Jorgenson,” she said over her cup of coffee.

“He did? I knew he was from St. Paul, but I didn’t realize that.”

She nodded, then set her cup back in its saucer. “His family used to live right around the corner. He was always over here with my boys, slapping pucks around on the small skating rink my husband would make in the backyard every winter.”

Which would explain why he was at Dylan and Maddie’s wedding, Dena concluded silently. “Did you ever think he’d get to the NHL?”

“I knew he loved the game,” she admitted, then smiled. “Lots of young boys dream of becoming professional athletes. I think mine did at one time, too. It’s nice to see that dream come true for Quinn. If anybody deserves it, he does. He’s worked hard to get where he is.” There was admiration and respect in her voice, which had Dena wondering if Leonie realized the kind of player Quinn was.

“You sound very fond of him,” she commented.

Leonie smiled. “I am, and with good reason. He’s a good guy. I’m going to have to introduce you two.”

An alarm rang in Dena’s head. One of her reservations about moving into 14 Valentine Place had concerned her landlady’s occupation. Maddie had told her Leonie was a romance coach, but she had also assured her that her mother-in-law wasn’t the kind to try to do any matchmaking with her tenants. Now Dena wasn’t so sure Maddie had been right about that.

As if Leonie could read her mind, she said, “Don’t look so frightened. I’m not going to throw you two together with a couple of candles and some Barry Manilow music. I just meant you should know each other because you’re neighbors. I like to think that my tenants look out for one another.”

Dena gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to that conclusion.”

“It’s all right. I should have explained to you when you moved in just what it is a romance coach does. I help people put romance in their lives. Have you seen my column in the paper…Dear Leonie?”

Dena nodded.

“Then you know what kind of questions people bring to me about romance. I also teach a class on making relationships last. And I’m thinking about adding one on flirting.”

Dena thought, judging by the way Quinn Sterling had flirted with her, he’d be a good resource, but she didn’t tell Leonie that.

“I also do one-on-one counseling. When it comes to romance, some people really don’t have a clue, and sometimes all they need is a little push in the right direction. My goal has always been for people to discover the joy romance can bring. There’s nothing more wonderful than the right somebody to love.”

Dena didn’t want to tell her that so far that particular pleasure had evaded her. Not that she was looking for it. The romantic relationships she’d had thus far had suited her just fine. Not exactly romantic, but they hadn’t left her brokenhearted, either.

“So you see, Dena, I’m really not a matchmaker,” Leonie concluded.

She smiled in relief. “That’s good to hear. I’m really not looking for the right somebody to love.”

She held up one hand. “I understand. I told you when you moved in that I regard all of my tenants as just that—tenants. Their personal lives are their own, as is mine. When we’re in this house, we’re simply friends. Fair enough?”

Dena nodded. She could see why Maddie had come to regard Leonie as a mother long before she’d married Dylan. Dena knew it would be tempting to let this woman mother her, especially since her own mother had never really filled that role.

“Now, back to Quinn. With all the Cougar road trips, it’s no surprise the two of you haven’t met,” Leonie said thoughtfully.

“We both have busy schedules, I’m sure.”

Leonie nodded. “And he keeps to himself. I know Krystal talks with him occasionally, but then Krystal can get anyone to talk. Quinn values his privacy. It’s one of the reasons he lives here. With the success he’s had, he could afford a fancy penthouse apartment anywhere, yet he chose to rent the third floor of my house.”

“This is a lovely place,” Dena told her. “It has a charm you don’t find in newer housing.”

“Why, thank you, Dena. I’m glad you like it here.”

“I do.” It was the truth. She’d had her reservations about sharing a bath and the kitchen with the other tenants, but she’d discovered that Maddie had been right. There was something about the big old Victorian house that made her feel comfortable.

“I figured if you were a good friend of Maddie’s that you’d fit in with us,” Leonie said with a twinkle in her eye.

Dena was beginning to think she would, too. At least with Krystal and Leonie. As for the man upstairs…she guessed it really didn’t matter whether they liked each other. He was never around, and once she got the hockey stick she could forget about him, which reminded her she still had to get the auction item.

“If Dylan’s a private person, I probably shouldn’t bother him about the stick,” Dena commented.

“I don’t think he’ll see it as a bother, but if you’d like, I could ask him for you.”

Dena said a prayer of thanks right then and there. “You wouldn’t mind?”

Leonie took a sip of her coffee, then said, “No, not at all. I’ll see what I can do.”

TRUE TO HER WORD, Leonie talked to Quinn. The very next day when Dena arrived home from work, she found a hockey stick propped against her door. Attached to it was a note that said, “Leonie told me about the auction for the Jorgensons. If there’s anything else I can do, let me know.” It was simply signed with a capital Q.

Leonie knew she needed to thank the man. Taking a deep breath, she took the stick and climbed the stairs to the third floor. To her relief, there was no answer to her knock on his door, and she went back to her apartment, where she studied the signature on the hockey stick.

The writing was bold and confident, the Q a big flamboyant circle compared to the rest of the letters, which weren’t much more than a series of upward strokes and wavy humps. His entire name was underscored.

She propped the stick against the wall, then sat down at her desk. She pulled a note card from the drawer and began to write.

“Mr. Sterling, Thank you so much for the auction donation for the Aaron Jorgenson benefit. It was very kind of you and your generosity is appreciated. Sincerely, your neighbor, Dena Bailey.”

She went back upstairs and slipped the note beneath his door.

The next day, when she brought the stick with her to work, it raised more than a few eyebrows of admiration. As the auction drew nearer and other donations arrived, Dena was confident that hers would bring the highest bid. Unfortunately, she was disappointed. As much as the fans in St. Paul loved Quinn Sterling, they were willing to pay more for lunch with the lovely Channel 8 news anchor than for an authentic, autographed hockey stick by their hometown hero.

Dena had hoped that her donation to the auction would get the creative director’s attention, but other than a personal thank-you note, it didn’t. What it did do, however, was give her a small amount of fame. Male co-workers made a habit of stopping by her cubicle to inquire about her neighbor.

Her popularity, however, was short-lived, and within a few days, it was business as usual. She forgot about the man who lived upstairs from her, and she put all of her energy into her fast-approaching deadline.