Page 18 of Take Two

Jasper launches into an explanation so detailed, so enthusiastic, and so comprehensively organized that I find myself working genuinely hard to keep pace with him. He covers production schedules with the thoroughness of a man who finds timelines genuinely exciting. Location scouting. Costume fittings. Training requirements. Studio expectations. The particular vision the director has for the physical world of the film, the way the ice will look, the way the locker room will feel.

At one point I become reasonably certain he has a notebook open in front of him and is reading directly from it.

“Are you reading notes right now?” I ask.

“What?”

“You’re reading notes,” I say, smirking into the phone.

“I’m organized,” he says, with dignity.

“You’re reading notes.”

“I refuse to apologize for professionalism,” he says seriously.

I laugh and turn to look out the window again. Seattle grows larger and more detailed around us with every passing minute, the city filling in the spaces between buildings, becoming itself. The Space Needle appears briefly between two structures before disappearing behind them again, fleeting and then gone. For some reason, the sight of it makes everything feel more real.

“So, when do we start?” I ask.

“Tomorrow.”

My eyebrows rise toward the hood still covering my head. “This is the mystery meeting?”

“Yes, tomorrow is introductions,” Jasper continues, shifting into the efficient register he uses when he’s working through a list. “We’re meeting with the production team, studio representatives, and several people from the Seattle Vipers organization.”

That gets my attention in a way that the rest of the schedule has not.

“The Vipers?” I ask in surprise.

“Yes.”

I shift slightly in my seat. The image of Jamie on that airport banner resurfaces without being summoned. Number seventeen. One hand on the Cup. That completely unguarded smile.

I push the thought aside with the practiced discipline of a man who has been doing exactly this for two months, and I concentrate on what Jasper is saying.

“They’ve been fantastic partners throughout the early stages,” Jasper continues. “Climate Pledge Arena is available. Several of their facilities are available. The organization is fully committed to helping make the project feel authentic.”

“Authentic,” I repeat.

“Authentic.”

I laugh. “That’s a dangerous word when we’re talking about me and hockey.”

“Which brings me to my next point,” Jasper says, and the slight shift in his tone is the only warning I get.

“What next point?” I ask, with the wariness of a man who has learned to read Jasper’s conversational gear changes.

“You need help,” he says, quickly enough that it lands before I can prepare for it.

“Wow. Tell me what you really think.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Still rude,” I grumble, without real feeling.

Jasper, predictably, ignores me. “The production team is assigning a hockey liaison.”

I nod slowly, the wariness dissolving into something more useful. That actually sounds reasonable. That actually sounds like exactly what this situation requires.