Page 53 of Mistletoe Face Off

“Who were they, Edgar?” Holly asks.

“The woman was in fact the artist’s sister, Nan Wood Graham. The man was Byron McKeeby, who was a local dentist. Wood had them pose separately, and in fact never intended for them to be regarded as a married couple.”

“Huh. I never knew that,” Holly says.

“Me neither,” I add.

“Why doesn't that surprise me, Mr. Hockey?” Holly teases.

“I’m not all muscle and brawn, you know,” I quip.

“Oh, I know,” Holly says softly for my ears only, and it sends a little thrill through me.

Why did I arrange a tour when all I want is to have this woman all to myself?

But I know why. I’m trying to impress her, and by the look on her face, I think it’s working.

“This guy reminds me of ‘The Enforcer’ holding his hockey stick, looking the way he always does out on the ice: super grumpy,” I say as I imitate the pose of the pitchfork holding man, and earn another laugh from Holly.

Man, do I love her laugh.

“Do you mean Hunter Adams?” she asks.

“The very same.”

“The Enforcer is one of my favorite players,” Edgar says. “Besides you, of course.”

“You’re a hockey fan, Edgar?” I ask.

“I most certainly am. A Blizzard fan, to be precise.”

“Good man.”

Edgar shows us a few more paintings, and then he leads us to the Nichols Bridgeway, where we admire the Chicago skyline, the lights twinkling like stars. It would be ridiculously romantic if Edgar wasn't with us, but I need him to lead us to our next destination in this huge place, so instead of lingering, we move on.

Reaching the entrance to our dinner destination, I thank Edgar. “I learned a lot tonight from you. Thanks a lot, Edgar,” I say as I pump his hand.

“Would you mind if I took a selfie with you? As I said, I'm a big Blizzard fan and my teenage kids won't believe I took you and Ms. Coleman here around the gallery if I don't get some evidence.”

“Of course.”

He pulls out his phone and Holly takes a few snaps of us before Edgar bids us goodnight and we’re finally—finally—alone.

Holly turns to me, her eyes soft. “I can't believe you did this for me, Harry. Thank you.”

“And the evening has only just begun,” I reply as I pull the double doors to Fullerton Hall open with dramatic flair.

On my instructions, the theater has been transformed for a private dinner for two, glowing with fairy lights draped along the arches, casting a soft, magical light. The stained-glass dome sparkles golden with tiny lights, creating a shimmering night sky effect, and there are even wreaths and holly framing the stage, giving the place a romantic Christmas feel. On the stage sits a table for two under a soft candlelit glow.

As she takes it all in, Holly’s eyes grow to the size of pucks. “Harry!” she breathes.

“Do you like it?” I ask, even though the chances are high she will. I’m impressed by what I see, and I’m a guy.

“Like it?” She pulls her gaze from the lit dome to mine. “It's perfect.” Her full, luscious lips pull into a smile. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me,” she says, shaking her head.

I reach out and brush my fingers across her cheek. “You deserve this and more, Holly.”

“You might well be the perfect man, Harrison Clarke.”

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