The invitation arrived in a simple white envelope carried by a smiling boy no older than ten. He came running down the stone path from the village, barefoot and breathless with excitement, clutching the letter like it was something sacred. Malia brought him to the terrace where Chase and I sat drinking morning tea.
He bowed awkwardly in front of Chase, hair sticking up like he had raced the wind down the cliff.
“From the youth league,” he said proudly.
Chase accepted the envelope and tore it open. As he read, the boy watched his face with wide hopeful eyes. Chase’s expression shifted from confusion to surprise, then softened into something gentle.
“They want me to join a charity game,” he explained. “Local youth hockey league. The island turns the old community hall into a rink during
