Page 53 of Miami Ice

Winston is looking up at Beckham with his goofy smile on his face, his tail swishing excitedly back and forth across the floor.

“Can I pet him?” Beckham asks.

“Of course.”

I watch as he extends his hand for Winston to sniff. Then he bends down and ruffles him, and Winston responds eagerly. Beckham smiles. “He looks like he’s grinning.”

“I know! Isn’t it the cutest?”

He spends another minute petting Winston and talking to him, and my heart has completely melted on the spot. He might own a cat, but it’s obvious Beckham is an animal lover, like me.

He rises, and Winston trots back to the kitchen, where he plops down and chews on his Kong again. Beckham stands in place, looking around the living room, dining area, and kitchen. I watch his expression, and there’s a mixture of disbelief and amusement on his gorgeous face.

“It looks like Santa threw up in here.”

“It does not.”

“It’s very … pink,” he says slowly.

“That’s the point. Pinkmas, Beckham!”

He groans and rubs a hand over his stubbled jawline. “Pinkmas. Christ, you were actually serious about it.”

“Of course I was.”

He turns around and studies the kitchen, and to my surprise, he strolls into it, which gives me a second to admire his wide back and muscular butt and thighs that were built by hockey.

God, he has a nice body.

“Really?” he asks, picking up a pink Santa mug from my hot chocolate bar. “You have a pink Santa mug? Santa did not wear pink.”

I feel a smug smile playing at my own lips. “Well, he’s not real either, so what’s your point, Grumpy?”

His eyes meet mine. And he begins to laugh. “Fair point, Cupcake.”

“Thank you.”

“You did all of this yourself?” Beckham asks, gesturing to all the seasonal decor that is in the kitchen.

I nod. “Yes. I like making crafts and decorating, so this is all me.”

“You’re talented.”

I blink. I wasn’t expecting that compliment.

“Why do you look surprised?”

Now I feel heat climbing up my neck and growing up toward my cheeks again. “It’s just kitchen decor.”

“You know what? I’m going to make it a mission to make you understand how talented you are.”

Talented.

He moves back into the living room and stands in front of the Candy Land Christmas tree. “This is amazing. Not just anybody can put together a tree like this, Georgie. It takes someone with artistic skill. You have that.”

I swallow. I used to believe in my talent until I couldn’t hit the sales numbers I needed for my jars this year. Then I began to question everything. Maybe I wasn’t talented. And in my darkest moments, I wondered if the lack of sales validated that thought.

But nobody knows that. Not even Ella.

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