Page 83 of Miami Ice

Beckham throws his head back and laughs. “Sorry.” Then he grows serious. “You know, as soon as Sofia and Aaron are gone, and I’m moved into their place until I can close on my house, you’ll need to come over and meet Minnie Pinny.”

“Minnie Pinny? Is that your nickname for her?”

Beckham’s mouth curves up in a sheepish smile, and he rakes a hand through his dark hair. “Yeah. I call her Minnie Pinny. I don’t know why, I always have. But you need to meet her.”

That is so cute, I can hardly stand it. “Well, I’m looking forward to meeting Miss Minnie Pinny. Hopefully I’ll get the Minnie seal of approval.”

“You know, she’s a tough judge of character. But I think she’ll like you as much as I do.”

Swoon!

“I have a question. Why are you in a hotel? Surely you could have moved into the house Sofia and Aaron are in with the girls.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know how long they’d be here, and I didn’t want to intrude on their family time. They already gave up enough to help me get settled.”

“I doubt they’d see it that way. They adore you.”

“Well, they still need their space to be a family. I respect that.”

“You’re very perceptive.”

“People usually only give me credit for that on the ice,” Beckham says as we reach the pizza place. He stops at the door and opens it for me.

“Maybe because you let very few people see the non-hockey side of you,” I say.

“Touché.”

I step inside the restaurant, and Beckham follows behind me. I’m hit with the scent of freshly-baked pizza—the trifecta of golden crust, tomato sauce, and gooey melted cheese. Ceiling fans whirl overhead. Framed restaurant reviews are hung on the brick walls. From the open kitchen, I can see pizzas being slid into ovens and people tossing dough overhead to get it to that perfect crust consistency.

Bliss.

“Oh, now we’re talking,” Beckham says, looping an arm around my waist and drawing my back into his chest. “This is a legit pizza place.”

I forget about pizza as he leans down and plants a kiss on my temple. I glance down at the inked arm that is holding me close.

This is happening. I’m with Beckham.

We’redating. For real.

And Beckham is making it clear right here in the pizza place that we’re together.

Suddenly I hear the words from Taylor Swift’s “So High School” rolling through my head, and happiness surges through me.

This is the beginning.

And I have a good feeling about where we are going to go.

Chapter Twenty

“Cupcake?”

“Yes?”

“This is the weirdest date ever.”

We’ve had pizza as big as our heads, argued over folding versus not folding, and now we’re back at my place doing something I’ve always dreamed of doing with a date.

We’re lying underneath the pink Christmas tree, side by side and holding hands, gazing up at the branches above us filled with twinkling lights and confectionery-themed ornaments.

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