Page 42 of Mistletoe Face Off

Holly Coleman keeps me on my toes more than any opponent on the ice ever has. And I like it. A lot.

What’s more, she’s a great mom. The way she cares for Macy is like watching a mama bear care for her cub. She’s fierce, protective, and yet somehow still so gentle with her.

What a combination.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Fletcher and Abby working on their gingerbread creation. It’s clear as day those two do not get on—probably due to the fact Fletcher can be hard work, and he’s got a reputation as a total bad boy, on and off the ice. Despite their differences, they’ve managed to create a whimsical house that somehow manages to look both structurally sound and appropriately Christmas-themed magical. How they achieved this work of art is a mystery to me, particularly as they’ve done most of it in frosty silence.

I look from theirs to ours. Although Holly is putting in a fine effort to rectify the disaster I created, Fletcher and Abby’s house is next level. It's clear they're skilled competitors and we’re …not.

“You're doing a great job,” I tell Holly as she finishes piping one of the lines.

She flashes me a smile. “I admit, I usually cheat with gingerbread houses. Macy loves them, but I just don't get the chance to spend the time assembling them. My mom usually does one with her.”

“I don’t know. You look like a professional to me.” I eye our house, a homage to the leaning tower of Pisa, and can’t help but chuckle.

“What?” she asks, her eyes dancing. “Are you laughing at our total masterpiece?”

Right on cue, the chimney we only just attached to the roof, slides in slow motion down the roof, landing with athunkin a crumbling mess on the table.

“No, Holly, we’ve done an amazing job,” I say.

She snort giggles. “RIP chimney.”

“It's a good thing we're not being competitive about this, don’t you think?” I ask.

“I thought you hockey players were competitive about everything. Isn't it etched into your DNA or something?”

“On the ice, maybe. But building a gingerbread house? I prefer to eat them to building them.”

“Be my guest,” she says as she picks the chimney up and offers it to me. Instead of taking it from her, I lean down and take a bite, grinning up at her as I savor its spicy sweetness.

She smiles back at me, and it’s like we’ve got an invisible string connecting us to one another. It’s just her and me amidst the gingerbread hubbub, with the sweet promise of something more between us. Something big.

“Want some chimney?” I ask, but I don’t wait for her reply. Instead, I break another piece off and touch it to her lips.

She hesitates for a beat before she opens her mouth and takes a bite, her face flushing at the intimacy of the moment, and I feel that now familiar tingle deep in my belly.

This is the closest we’ve come to anything physical between us, and it sets my blood on fire, making me wish we were alone so I could take her in my arms and claim her lips with mine, showing her just how much I want to be with her.

Lorcan's voice cuts through our moment. “Well, that's one way to guarantee you won't win, Clarke.” He calls out from his station nearby. “Seriously, why even bother competing if you're going to make such a freaking mess?”

“Lorcan!” his partner, a journalist called Fiona, hisses, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment.

At least one of them is a decent human being.

As I look at Holly, her eyes sparkling with laughter, I realize something. Lorcan might be right about us not winning this gingerbread house competition, but Holly and me? It feels like we've won something way more valuable.

“You know what, Lorcan?” I say, turning to him. “I think Holly’s and my house is perfect just the way it is.”

Holly raises an eyebrow. “Harry, you do know it's a pile of crumbs held together with frosting? One small gust of wind, and this house will fall faster than the little pig’s house who built from straw.”

Fiona shoots us an apologetic smile over her shoulder as she guides Lorcan's attention back to their own creation.

“You know,” I say, popping a gumdrop into my mouth and savoring its chewy sweetness, “I think the roof needs more pizzazz.”

“Pizzazz? It's meant to be a classic colonial style. It doesn't need pizzazz."

I grin, reaching for a handful of colorful candies. The sugar crystals stick to my fingers as I start placing them haphazardly on the roof, creating a random rainbow mosaic. “Trust me, every house needs a disco ball. Even gingerbread ones, particularly when the chimney has slid right off of it.”

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