Page 142 of Miami Ice

Smart ass.

I chuckle at that and wait for his question to come in. Finally, his reply comes through:

Next Tuesday night is family skate night at the Premier Airlines Arena for the players and their families, significant others, etc. Sofia might have mentioned this to you as part of her fake dating plan for us. But now it’s not fake, and I want to take you as my girlfriend. Want to go? Should be in your wheelhouse even if you can’t skate because they had to ruin the event by playing cheesy Christmas music.

The hummingbirds are back in my stomach, flying around like mad. Beckham has just asked me to a team event.

As his girlfriend.

I’m so excited I could burst. I text him back:

Grumpy, I will happily go skating with you, even though I’m not very good at it. Please tell them to play “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” I’ll serenade you as we skate.

Beckham Bailey is typing …

If you serenade me with ANY Christmas song, I’ll puke.

Bah-ha-ha!

I text him back:

Would “Santa Baby” be a better choice? Or “My Only Wish” by Britney Spears?

Beckham Bailey is typing …

I DO NOT KNOW WHAT LANGUAGE YOU ARE SPEAKING.

I burst into a fit of laughter.

And fall a little bit more for him as I do.

* * *

The pictures Scarlett has taken are all incredible.

I’m standing in the living room of her apartment on Biscayne Boulevard, which has floor-to-ceiling windows that provide magnificent views of glittering high rises and the Intercoastal Waterway. The windows also provide tons of natural light, and it’s the reason why Scarlett set up a makeshift studio in here to shoot my jars.

We used the premade background kit I had. She moved around at all angles, capturing all kinds of shots, and all I had to do was style the jars and stand back and let her do her magic.

I stare at the ones she is showing me in her camera, and they look so much better than anything I have ever taken for Georgie’s Jars.

“I’ll edit them, of course,” she says after I look at the last one. “Then I’ll give you a link to a Google Drive where I’ll store them for you.”

“Scarlett, I want to pay you for this,” I insist. “I know we agreed on a jar, but I can’t keep to that. Not after seeing all of this.”

“No, Georgie. I volunteered to do this. I’m not accepting any form of payment. If you send one to me, I won’t claim it, so don’t bother,” she says firmly.

“Can I take you to lunch today?” I ask, still feeling she needs so much more than a jar for what she has done today.

Scarlett’s piercing blue eyes dance mischievously at me. “No, but I’ll go to lunch with you.”

I groan. “I can see my plan is going nowhere. Except that you will take a white jar.”

“Yes, and I’m excited about that. I’m going to put my makeup brushes in it,” Scarlett says. “And I’d love to grab lunch if you’re still interested.”

I smile. “I’d like that.”

“Great. Do you like ceviche? I know a great place that specializes in it. We can walk to it, and they have a great outdoor patio.”

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