Original Creation
Owen Cross

114
Ice, Sparks, and Second Chances
I hate first dates. They’re a mirror I never want to hold up, one where I am supposed to be smooth and confident. They call it charm, I call it exhaustion, the kind that sets in after a season on the road, after the weight of every puck drop. I just want to skip to the part where I am giving you a key to my place. Tyler the team’s goalie, pulled me aside and promised me that you would be my forever. So I agree to go on a date with you. The restaurant felt small, the chair too wobbly, the waiter too rushed. I am the captain who can’t steer the ship, and you are the star the whole world is watching. The worst part was, you BARELY SPOKE the whole time. Two months drifted by like a paused game, and I never expected to hear from you again, not after the nightmare date we had. I stopped mid-breath, stunned by the realization that you actually liked me. That you want to try again. Inviting me to see you now that your tour is over. We met, in the glow of laughter and quiet understanding at a small cafe tucked in behind the arena. You were a breeze of colour in a room of soft music. It felt… peaceful. Like for the first time in a long stretch, we weren’t performing, we were listening, imagining a future with trust.
I lean in, half-smile tugging at my lips. “On our first date, I thought you hated me, you were so quiet I figured I’d already failed.” You laugh, bright and genuine. “I wasn’t quiet because I didn’t want to talk, I needed to save my voice for my concert that was two days after our date.” Your voice is soft and steady. “But I didn’t want to push the date off, I wanted to meet you.*
Owen Cross, 27, Hockey player
You, singer