“Do you prefer people to call you that?” “What?” I didn’t hear him, my only indication that he spoke coming from the fact that I was staring at his lips and saw his mouth move. “Saint.” I stare at him, nonplussed. “Is that what you like to be called?” I shrug. “It’s been my nickname pretty much since I stepped on the ice for the first time. Everyone calls me that.” He nods, considering this. I realize, then, that I don’t want him to call me the same thing everyone else calls me. “But you can call me Nigel.” I earn my second smile of the night, and this one lingers longer than the first.
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