Chapter Text
Bitty showered when he got home and then pulled on jeans and the new Falconers hoodie he’d bought for the occasion.
He tried to think about the kiss — his first kiss in what, over a year? And it had been, objectively, a nice kiss, too — but he was too focused on the game, and what the invitation meant for his budding relationship with the Falconers.
He’d gotten two new texts while he got ready, and their implications were intriguing.
From Tater: Ticket for you is at will call. Maybe don’t drive — come out with us after!
And from an unfamiliar number: Hello, Eric! This is Georgia Martin from the Falconers. Some of our players speak very highly of you; I’m looking forward to meeting you!
That sounded positive, but it didn’t really give Eric any information. Was he supposed to call her and set up a meeting?
He couldn’t do it now. He had to get going if he was going to collect his ticket and be in his seat for the pregame warmups, especially if he was taking a rideshare. Which he would; he liked hanging out with the players, even besides needing them to encourage the team to let him use the rink.
Besides, it was after five on a Saturday. Surely this could wait until Monday?
With that thought, he called a ride and tugged a jacket on over his hoodie, waiting outside for the car to pull up.
The line at the ticket window was manageable, and Bitty was congratulating himself on good planning when the ticket agent slid an envelope under the window.
“Enjoy the game, Mr. Bittle,” she said.
Bitty moved to join the line for security screening, opening the envelope as he waited. Would he be up at the top somewhere? Or had they found an unsold seat in the lower bowl for him? On the glass or behind the benches would be too much to ask.
But the ticket wasn’t in the 100 level, or up in the 300 level. The number started with a two: the suites. Who got him a seat in a luxury suite? And who would he be with?
Curiosity piqued, Bitty took the escalator to the second level. He had to show his ticket to enter the carpeted corridor that ran behind the suites. There were a few people in the hallway, but it was nothing like the main concourse, which was crowded with people lining up at concession stands and bars.
The usher scanned his ticket and said, “Team suite. To your left, fourth door.”
Bitty suddenly felt underdressed.
There was nothing for it, so he squared his shoulders, leveled his chin and smiled as he headed for the suite.
The door was open, and a half-dozen people or so were in the room, mostly in suits or at least dress pants and sweaters or button-downs. He was underdressed, dangit. At least the hoodie was Falconers branded.
Most were seated in the armchairs that surrounded a low table in front of a TV screen. High tables stood behind the stadium-style seats at the front of the suite.
A woman in a pantsuit with a Falconers blue blouse was standing at the bar near the door, waiting for the bartender to slide a glass across. Water?
She smiled as soon as she saw him.
“Eric?” she said. “I’m Georgia Martin. Since you were going to come to the game tonight, I thought this would give us a chance to talk. I also want to introduce you to our social media team.”
Later, Bitty couldn't have said exactly how the meeting and the game went. He knew Ms. Martin (“Georgia, please. Or George”) had offered him a drink, and he’d accepted a Coke. Georgia had told him that there would be a buffet by the time the game started.
He remembered that she said she’d looked at his content, and liked it, and at video from some of his old Samwell games. She seemed to take it as a given that the team would let him use the rink; she wanted to know how much time he would need, and if there was any special equipment, and of course he would have to sign liability waivers …
And then they were watching the game together, and she was asking what he thought of the plays, and whether the team could benefit from some specialized skating coaching.
“Jack mentioned that it might be a good idea,” she said. “He said he talked to you about it, because you came to hockey through figure skating.”
When two social media specialists came into the suite about halfway through the game, George introduced them and asked them to explain what the team was trying to do with its socials.
“A lot of what we post is just, like, news,” Amy said. “Scheduled games, rosters, scores, trades … it’s a way for fans to stay informed. But the fun part is the videos we post — the Falcs Faceoffs, and the Focus on the Falcs? We usually debut them during a game on the scoreboard, but then we post them.”
“Most of the players like those,” added Keith. “They’re fun.”
“Most of the players,” Amy said.
“There are a few who are pretty new to North America,” George explained. “So they might be a little self-conscious about their English.”
“You could do something where they don’t have to talk,” Bitty said. “Like … maybe a dance challenge? We had a guy from Sweden on the Samwell team my last year, and he loved all this Eurodisco music, and he would teach us dances.”
“English isn’t Jack’s problem,” Amy said. “He just doesn’t like to do it.”
“Anyway,” George said, clearly changing the subject, “I shared your accounts with Amy and Keith, and we were thinking maybe you could collaborate with us on some things?”
“Things … like baking?” Bitty asked.
“Maybe,” Georgia said. “If you’re up for it, the three of you can figure out what you think would work.”
They settled in to watch the third period. The Falconers were ahead by two, and after Jack scored on a breakaway, the coach started giving more shifts to the guys who were still on the bubble. The Devils scored one more, but never really threatened.
After the final horn, Bitty stood up and said, “Um. Tater asked me to go out with the guys after the game. Do you know where I should meet them?”
That’s how Bitty was standing in the door of the family lounge when Tater emerged from the dressing room. He was one of the first, the others being possible rookies who seemed to want to escape the eyes and the banter of the veterans as quickly as possible.
“George said you were here!” Tater said.
Bitty hadn’t seen Georgia Martin go into the dressing room, but she could have. Or, Bitty supposed, just passed the word to someone who would be in there.
“She said you were going to do some projects with the team!” Tater went on. He sounded almost as excited as Bitty. “I volunteer to help.”
“That’s great!” Bitty said. “But you don’t even know what we’re going to do yet.”
“No matter,” Tater said. “I’ll help.”
Bitty smiled and felt more relieved than he expected. This collaboration with the Falconers would only get good traction if they could convince players — especially fan favorites — to participate, and if it was successful, it could be a huge boost to Bitty’s brand.
During a break in the game, Amy had explained to Bitty that the players were strongly encouraged, though not actually required, to participate in the social media games and interviews. The younger guys, the ones trying to build their own brands, were usually eager, she said, while the more established players, the ones who actually were fan favorites, demurred more often.
“They have more of their own stuff to do,” Keith had explained. “Photo shoots and sometimes commercials. And some of them just don’t want any more exposure.”
He didn’t say Jack’s name, but Bitty was pretty sure that was who he meant. Especially after the way Amy had mentioned Jack earlier.
“And they do a lot of other stuff we end up using — visiting the children’s hospital and afterschool programs and things like that,” Keith continued. “That all ends up on our channels, too, but the event isn’t set up especially for us.”
“You ready to go?” Tater asked. “You and me are getting the table. Jack will come when he is done with trainers and coaches. Fitz, too, and maybe Thirdy. He’s checking to see if the girls are in bed yet. Maybe some others.”
They went to a different restaurant this time, one closer to the arena. When he walked in with Tater, the host welcomed him with, “Glad to have you back!”
He took them to a table in an alcove, almost but not quite a separate room, near the back. Bitty was glad to see that it wasn’t a booth. At least he wouldn’t get squished this time.
Fitz and Thirdy came in next, followed by two players Bitty didn’t know and the goalie, Snow. When Jack came in a few minutes later, he took the last chair, between Bitty and Snow.
After they had ordered — Bitty tried to demur, saying he’d eaten at the game, but somehow found himself getting grilled chicken with broccoli anyway because Jack insisted that everyone should eat more protein — Bitty turned to Jack and said, “Thanks for talking to George about me. It seems like your word goes a long way with her.”
Jack shrugged.
“Seemed like the least I could do,” he said. “You helped us.”
“Yes, but collaborating with the team?” Bitty said. “It means a lot.”
“When are you going to do the skating video?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know for sure,” Bitty said. “George said she’d work it out. Maybe Friday or Saturday? Y’all have a preseason roadie, I think.”
“Home Friday, away Saturday,” Jack said. “Boston both nights.”
“Bitty’s going to work with Amy and Keith!” Tater broke in, loud enough for the whole table to hear.
“Really?” Thirdy said. “Like, join the social media team?”
“No, not that formal!” Bitty said. “Just collaborate on a couple of videos, at least for now.”
“Doing what?”
“We’re not sure yet,” Bitty said. “Probably something cooking-related for at least one? If y’all have any ideas, let us know. We’re still brainstorming.”
“Not one of those things where you have to eat gross stuff, right?” Fitz asked. “Like a cookie dipped in hot sauce or something?”
“I … I don’t think so,” Bitty said. That had never crossed his mind. “I’m all about making things taste good.”
“Bitty makes good food,” Tater assured.
“But what if it’s us making the food?” Fitz asked.
That led to a round of what they all were comfortable cooking, which included mostly what Bitty expected: baked chicken breast, rice, steamed vegetables. Clearly they had been taught to cook by nutritionists, not cooks.
There were a few surprises; Fitz said he made a great grilled cheese sandwich, and Randall said he made great strawberry and banana pancakes.
“The girls love them,” he said.
“What about you?’ Bitty turned to Jack. “Any surprise specialties? Or are your cabinets stocked with a half-dozen varieties of protein powder?”
Jack almost smiled. “I think I only have four kinds at home,” he said. “And I can actually cook, at least a little. My dad is big on soups and stews, things that go in the slow cooker, so when we’re home, I do a lot of those.”
The general conversation had broken up again, with Tater asking Fitz about his grilled cheese and a couple of players sharing their favorite childhood foods with Thirdy.
“So,” Jack said. “How’s the baking going? Apples, now, right?”
The group stayed at the table for an extra drink after dinner, rather than going out to the bar, and Bitty had time to tell Jack and anyone else who would listen all about his apple videos.
“They’re great because they’re easy,” he said. “Especially the ones I did this week. People like them. The hardest part for most people is probably peeling the apples. Next week is a little harder for beginners because there’s pastry involved. Then I have to decide if I want to do a new apple pie video. I’ve done them before, and I could just plug one in … but the old ones look old. Different kitchen, and my setup wasn’t as good. And you can always add a new flavor in.”
He was talking too much. Probably because of his second cosmo. And Jack did not care at all about baking. He’d only asked to be polite.
“Sorry,” he said, and swallowed the last of his drink. “I’m running off at the mouth. What’s next week like for you?”
“Practice,” Jack said. “Conditioning. And more practice. Until the games next weekend. We need to solidify our lines. At least, I’d like to.”
Bitty nodded.
“I know we always played best when we had time to develop some chemistry on our lines,” he agreed.
“You want another drink?” Jack asked, seeing the server approach the table. Several of the players were ordering. Jack asked for a refill on his water.
“Water for me, too,” Bitty said.
“You can have a drink if you want,” Jack said. “Tater said you didn’t drive, and I can drop you at home. I have to drop him, too.”
“Thanks,” Bitty said. “But no. I’ve had enough.”
He did end up accepting the ride home, after telling both Jack and Tater that it would be out of their way. Tater didn’t seem drunk, exactly. Just maybe a little more boisterous than usual, but maybe that was just his excitement that Bitty was going to be around the team. Bitty wasn’t sure if Tater was happy to have done a favor for a friend, or excited that Bitty would be involved in team videos, or looking forward to being in the videos.
“I will be in all of them,” he promised from the front seat.
Jack was quiet as he drove, listening to Tater go on and to Bitty’s occasional response, but when he pulled up in front of Bitty’s building, an old Victorian divided into condos, he thanked him for coming out with the team.
“No, thank you,” Bitty said. “And the rest of the guys, I guess, for dinner. But thank you for getting the ball rolling.”
Bitty’s look took in Tater as well as Jack, then, as he climbed out, he said, “My entrance is in the back. Thanks again for the ride.”
When he got upstairs, he turned on the lights and glanced out the window to see Jack’s taillights driving away.
“I mean, they were so nice to me,” Bitty told Lardo the next day. “George — Georgia Martin, the AGM? — she had me up in the team suite, and they said I can use the ice at the end of this week, and they want me to collaborate with their social media team. Then I went out with some of the team, and they insisted I have a meal, even though I ate in the suite. Just a hot dog and some popcorn, but still. And then Jack and Tater gave me a ride home.”
“Sounds like you were the belle of the ball,” Lardo said.
“It felt like that,” Bitty agreed, stretching out on the couch. He had two baskets of apples still on the counter, and he could peel most of them off camera today, but he’d promised himself another day off. Maybe he’d go to the gym later, not to record anything, just to get a workout in. Or maybe a run. His shoulders were a little stiff.
“What about kayaking with Alex?” Lardo asked.
Yes, that was what he was feeling in his shoulders. He wondered if Alex was sore, as well.
“It was good,” Bitty said. “I haven’t boated much — just canoeing at camp, and that was always with a bunch of rowdy kids. Something peaceful about being on the river, even in the city. I’d definitely do it again.”
“With Alex?” Lardo pursued.
“Sure, why not?” Bitty said. He knew he wasn’t really answering what she wanted to know. It was just that he really didn’t have an answer.
“He kissed me,” Bitty volunteered. “When I was leaving. He’d wanted to continue the date, but I had to get ready for the game.”
“And?”
“It was nice,” Bitty said. “Sweet. And he asked about next time, maybe dinner and …”
“And ‘do you want to come up for a drink or coffee?’” Lardo asked.
“I guess so,” Bitty said, swinging his legs off the couch to sit up. “I get the impression that’s what he wants, and I do too. Like, I’d like to … with somebody, and he’s great.”
“But?”
“But I’m not sure we’d be good together, for like, a serious relationship?” Bitty said. “He wasn’t angry or anything, but he seemed a little put out that I had to work last night. Like I should be able to be free when he’s free.”
“Is that what you’re calling hanging out with the Falconers?” Lardo asked.
“It was for work,” Bitty defended himself, getting up and walking over to the window. “I told you about the collaboration and all.”
“But you didn’t know about that until you were there,” Lardo pointed out. “You went because Tater asked you to.”
“Not just Tater,” Bitty said, staring at the maple tree in the backyard. The red in the leaves was slowly working its way down the crown of the tree, with the top a blaze of scarlet and the bottom branches still cloaked in green. “Anyway, I explained it to Alex as a work thing.”
When they hung up, Bitty changed to running gear and headed out. He’d considered going back to the Woonasquatucket Greenway, but the leaves wouldn’t have changed enough for him to record the run. And it was quicker for him not to have to drive anywhere.
It was going to be a busy week. He had to plan his on-ice video, including how to best deploy his cameras for the various moves, and have at least a rough script. He had to do the turnovers, mini pies and dumplings. Maybe he could make enough to take to St. Anthony’s again?
Plus all the regular upkeep. He really should do at least a couple of TikToks to keep his face in front of people. Maybe one of him peeling an apple set to music?
By the time he met up with Jaime on Tuesday, he was ready to give up on the skating video. He couldn’t figure out a way to do it with just himself and two cameras, not in a way that would look good.
He put his coffee down on the table and his bag on the chair, not saying anything as he extracted his laptop, an external hard drive with videos to edit, and his headphones.
When he put his bag on the floor and flopped into the chair, Jaime finally said, “What’s up with you?”
“Sorry,” Eric said. “Nothing. Really. Just work stuff. How’re you?”
“I’m good,” Jaime said. “You know, coding away over here. Hoping for an interesting problem to solve. What’s the issue? I thought you could do anything in the kitchen.”
Eric offered a brief smile and said, “It’s not the baking that’s the problem.”
“So the fitness?” Jaime said. “Did you get hurt or something? Can’t work out?”
“No,” Eric said. “I just — I have plans for a video, and I had to ask a bunch of people — important people — to make it happen, and they said yes, and said they wanted to do some collaboration with me, and now I can’t figure out how to do it.”
“Why not?” Jaime said.
“I just don’t know how,” Bitty said. “Not with the resources and equipment I have.”
“So, it’s not, like, physically impossible?” Jaime looked interested. “What you want to do?”
“No,” Bitty laughed. “I want to record a skating video. But I want to get some shots of myself skating fast, from the side, and some of me skating towards the camera, and some focused on my skates, and I only have two cameras. And the amount of time it would take to reset and redo everything for the different shots — it would take all day. Or hours, at least. And realistically, I can only have the ice for about an hour.”
“They? You mean the Falconers?”
Bitty supposed it made sense that Jaime would draw that conclusion.
“Yeah,” he said. “I got a couple of the players to put in a good word with the AGM. I won’t even have to pay to use it. And they even talked about having me do some collaborations with their social media team. So I really don’t want to tell them, ‘Never mind, I got too ambitious.’”
“And you couldn’t just scale back your plans for the video?” Jaime asked. “So it’s easier?”
“That’s kind of Plan B right now,” Bitty admitted. “But it won’t look good. Or, not as good as I want.”
“So you need … what? More cameras? Better cameras?”
“More, probably,” Bitty said. “It would be ideal if I could get someone to move them, but it would have to be someone with at least a little experience.”
“And you don’t know anyone like that?” Jaime asked.
Bitty first thought of Elena at the orchard, but holding the camera on him for a thirty-second shoot in front of an apple tree wasn’t the same thing. Besides, he couldn’t ask her to take a morning away during apple season. Even if he paid her.
Lardo would do it, but he probably needed more help than she could give.
And neither one would solve the “more cameras” problem.
What he needed was someone who did what he did, recorded video on small, portable cameras all the time, and had — or had access to — equipment.
He needed Amy and Keith.
“I think I have an idea,” he said.
Now to write an email that sounded professional, not too much like begging, but also making it clear how much he’d appreciate their help, and how maybe spending some time together could help them plan the Falconers videos they would do together.
He signed off by asking what their favorite pies were and hit send.
After their regular snack break, Bitty turned to the backlog of notes on his accounts. There was a lot of enthusiasm for the apple desserts from last week, including a few notes from people who had tried them all. It seemed that people wanted to add their comments to those from the St. Anthony’s guests.
JLH3Y was there, with a picture of a slightly overbaked cobbler.
This was easier than the pies, he wrote, but I don’t think I enjoyed making it as much. It does taste good though.
That deserved some encouragement.
I’m glad you had an easier time! And I agree that pies are more fun, but they take more practice! It’s nice to do something easy sometimes, though.
By the time he left, he had an email back from Amy.
Keith and I would love to help! Coaching staff says ice will be free until nine both Friday and Saturday. Can you come at eight on Friday and run through what you want to do, and we can figure out how to record? Then actually do it Saturday at eight? I’d say we could get coffee or breakfast after, but we have to go to morning skate at the arena Friday and stay for the morning skate at the training center Saturday. The team’s leaving for Boston after the skate Saturday; if you hang around we can get lunch.
Wednesday was another gym workout, this one focused on weights for beginners, followed by a half-hour on the exercise bike because the weather had turned chilly and wet.
Thursday was all about rough puff and shortcrust pastry and apple fillings, but by the time he was done, he had six dozen turnovers, mini pies and apple dumplings. He dropped most of them off with Sharon, along with printed feedback forms for the guests, then went home to get ready for the next day.
He packed the remaining apple pastries up and loaded them in the car with his skates, helmet and gloves. He’d debated on bringing a stick and pucks; this was a skating video, not a hockey video, although he was skating in hockey skates, doing hockey moves. He brought them just in case. He wore the hockey warmups he’d had at Samwell, grateful the warmups were basic black and the team logo was small.
Keith was waiting in the lobby of the training center.
“We’re on the back rink,” he said. “But we still need to be out by nine because there’s a kid’s team coming in.”
Amy was standing in the bench area, a coach’s white board in front of her.
Bitty handed Keith the tray of coffees he’d brought, and held up the pastries.
“Let’s have some coffee and go over the plan,” he said.
Amy and Keith ate while Bitty took them through the plan for lazy warm up laps, edgework and crossovers, then skating hard intervals, blue line shuttles, and lateral crossovers.
Then he did the workout, not quite all out, while Amy and Keith watched, pausing to introduce each new exercise, before skating to the boards at the end.
“And you have two cameras we can fix in place?” Amy said. “I’d do one on the side, and one at that end. Those will pick up your laps from a distance. Then I’ll do closer work from right next to that one, so I don’t end up in the shot, and I can get your blades and such, and Keith will do closer work from the end. We can save the footage to a hard drive and get it to you next week?”
“Perfect,” Bitty said. “You are lifesavers, really!”
He spent the rest of Friday editing the videos he’d shot the day before, pausing when his phone vibrated with a text from Alex.
I was hoping to take you to dinner tomorrow but a family thing has come up, Alex wrote. Sunday instead?
Bitty hadn’t thought they’d made a date for Saturday, but maybe Alex thought it was implied when he mentioned the weekend? It wasn’t like Bitty had plans anyway.
Sure, he replied. Looking forward to it
Tater also checked in, asking about progress on the video.
Amy and Keith are helping so much! Bitty replied. We planned it out today, and we’re shooting before morning skate tomorrow. It should be up by the end of next week!
Bitty arrived at the rink at 7:30 Saturday, already wearing his warmups and carrying his cameras and tripods and some fill lights. Amy was already there, standing next to a wagon carrying the Falconers’ equipment. She helped him set up his cameras, and went over the plan again.
“Thanks so much for doing this,” Bitty said. “I got this idea, and I was committed to it before I realized there was no way I could record myself while I was on the ice.”
“I think it’s great,” Amy said. “We don’t get to do a lot of recording the team skating — that’s something the professional camera operators do. Or, you know, the print or web reporters recording practice from the stands on their phones.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I think I could manage better than that by myself,” Bitty said.
Keith arrived just before eight and he and Amy took their positions. Bitty started his cameras and made a couple of easy loops around the ice before pulling up directly in front of Keith’s camera and smiling brightly.
“Hey, y’all!” he said. “If you’ve been following along with my hockey workouts, we’re making a big step today — we’re taking them to the ice. We’ll do some skating warmups, some interval training and a lot of stopping from full-speed and starting again. If you’ve never played hockey, some of this will be difficult, but don’t let that stop you from trying!”
When Keith gave him the thumbs up, he skated away. Then he ran through each segment twice, first introducing it to Keith’s camera, then once with Amy or Keith focusing tightly on his footwork and once at full speed, with all four cameras getting different angles.
This was going to be a nightmare to edit, he thought, as he went through the last skating burst drill. And there was no way he’d be able to do it in his usual five to six minutes for a workout video. Oh well.
When he finished, he skated up to Keith’s camera again.
“That’s how you get a good workout on the ice, y’all,” he said. “I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please hit the like and subscribe buttons, and follow me on Instagram and TikTok! And, of course, I have to thank the Providence Falconers for their help recording this! ”
When he turned and skated away, he heard a smattering of applause from behind Amy.
Tater, Jack and a few of their teammates were standing there, not yet dressed for morning skate.
“Good job!” Tater said. “You really are very fast. You were taking it easy on me last week!”
“Not really,” Bitty said, shrugging. “I am so gonna feel this tomorrow.”
“Still,” Jack said. “It’s been five years since you were on a team, right? That was impressive.”
“If only you all would put that much effort into practice,” George said, emerging from the dressing room corridor. Her tone was joking. “Now you’d better get ready for morning skate, or Jan will be waiting. And you don’t want that.”
Amy and Keith had taken Bitty’s cameras down and put them away. He accepted them and said, “Is it okay if I just hang out here during the skate? If y’all still want to get lunch? I’ve got a little work to do, but I can just sit in the bleachers.”
“That’s fine,” Amy said. “Morning skate’s not open to the public, but there’s media and some other people. So it’s not really private, either.”
“What do y’all do, if you’re not recording?” Bitty asked.
“Mostly just watch and listen,” Keith said. “See what the players are talking about, if there’s anything we could use to make a post. And get today’s lineups from the coaches after, but we can’t post them until closer to the game.”
Keith opened the gate to let Bitty into the bleachers, which, to his surprise, weren’t empty. There were a handful of people waiting for the skate to start, mostly seated a few rows back. Bitty hadn’t even noticed them.
“Hey,” one guy said. “You do those workout videos, don’t you? I’ve seen them. You’re Eric Bittle.”
Bitty nodded and took a seat three rows ahead.
“Yes,” he said. “And baking videos.”
“Matt Benjamin,” the guy said. “Providence Journal.”
Bitty nodded again, and said, “Nice to meet you.”
“So you were recording a skating video?” Benjamin said. “You played at Samwell, right?”
A couple of the other reporters were clearly listening to their conversation, so he nodded again, and smiled, and said, “Yes, the Falconers were generous enough to let me use their ice.”
Then he opened his laptop and put on his headphones and opened the baking video he’d edited the day before. He watched it all the way through before posting.
By that time, the team was on the ice, so Bitty closed the computer and watched them skate from his seat only about a dozen feet from the boards. They clearly were not pushing themselves — they had a game tonight, after all — but Bitty thought it was ridiculous that they had been complimenting him. Sure, there were places where they could improve their technique, but at least some of them, he was sure, would beat him in an all-out race, and the hits — even in morning skate, even when they were actively trying not to injure anyone – those hits would have laid Bitty out and made him wish never to get up again.
It was only about fifteen minutes after the team left the ice that Amy and Keith met him in the lobby. They headed out to the same restaurant Bitty had gone to with Tater the first time, and spent a pleasant hour coming up with ideas: taste tests, to see if the players could identify different flavors (“But only things that are actually good!” Bitty insisted), cupcake or cookie decorating, a race to beat whipped cream by hand ….
“What about other sports?” Keith asked. “We could do a three-pointer challenge, or a penalty shot challenge.”
“What about —” Bitty was about to suggest beer pong, knowing how popular it had been with the Wellies, but the Falconers probably didn’t want to advertise that. “— pingpong?” he finished.
After they had finished their food, Bitty said, “I should probably tell you — some of the reporters who were there for morning skate recognized me. So if you were hoping to keep this quiet —”
Amy grinned.
“It’s all to the good,” she said. “Build some anticipation for when we officially announce the collaborations.”
Bitty went home, took a long, hot shower, and settled in for a nap.
Recipes:
Apple turnovers: https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/59124/apple-turnovers/
Apple mini pies: https://sallysbakingaddiction.com/apple-hand-pies/”
(these are the same as earlier)
Apple dumplings: https://food52.com/recipes/62211-apple-dumplings