Page 66 of Playing His Game

Adam huffed. “More people? More volume? Or more incomprehensible Miramichi dialect?”

“Meer-ma-she?”

“Miramichi Valley is northeast of here. Mum’s from there but hasn’t lived there since she was a teen. Uncle Ian’s never left.”

“Uncle Adam!”

Adam bussed another quick kiss to Mo’s temple—for verisimilitude, Mo guessed—and pulled away to address the ginger tornado from earlier.

“Chuckie!” He scooped the kid high in the air and then settled them on his hip. “Chuckster, I want you to meet my new friend, Mo. Mo this is my favoritest niece, Chuckie.”

“I’m your only niece, that’s what Mum says!” She spun her gaze to Mo and evaluated him. “I’m Chuckie and I’m five-and-a-half, so I go to school.” She held out her hand.

What the hell. Mo grasped her tiny hand and shook it gently. “Hello, Chuckie, I’m Mo. I’m twenty-four and three months and do not go to school.”

Chuckie nodded as if she’d expected this information. “You go to work.”

Well. That was awkward. Figuring it was best not to attempt an explanation of adult allowances and parental expectations, Mo said, “It’s the sad lot of adults.”

“Adults are boring.”

“Hey now, I’m not boring, am I?” Adam teased.

Chuckie patted his cheek. “Only sometimes.”

Repressing a laugh, Mo choked out, “His job is pretty cool, though.”

“I guess. Nobody else at school has an en’chell uncle.”

“No, I bet NHL uncles are pretty rare around here,” Mo agreed.

“Thanks, Chuck,” Adam said dryly. “But you know who has a cooler job?”

“No. Who?”

“Mo.”

Mo tried not to stare, but where was Adam going with this? Mo had no job. Adam knew this.

“He does?” Chuckie eyed him dubiously.

“Yup. Mo fixes cars.”

The change was instantaneous. Chuckie’s gaze turned sharp, and her body coiled with so much tension, she practically vibrated. She looked ready to launch herself from her uncle’s arms. “You’re a mechanic?” Her eyes burned with emotion.

“Um, yes?”

“What’s your favorite car make and model?”

“Uh.” Mo stared at the pint-sized human, who was leaning toward him at an angle that made Mo thank the universe for Adam’s hockey muscles keeping her airborne. “I’m not sure I have just one… What about you?”

“I have five!” She held up one hand, fingers splayed as far as she could manage. Then she started the list with “a 1981 DeLorean DMC-12” and Mo almost fell over. That car was older than he was! It was older than her parents too, surely. How did she even know what that was?

“Wait, wait,” he stopped her before she could get to the next item. “Why the DeLorean?”

Chuckie reared back so fast, Mo thought for sure Adam would drop her, but the change of balance didn’t faze him. Mo should know better by now; if the guy could carryMowith no issues—“Cause its doors open likethis,” she said as though Mo were very stupid, and then she made an M shape with her hands and raised her elbows so high, Adam had to dodge so she didn’t hit his chin.

This child was a safety hazard.