Page 19 of Mistletoe Face Off

Wait. I cannot still have a crush on this guy! It’s been over a decade.

But still, as he skates over toward me, my heart rate kicks up a notch or two, and I find it’s him I watch as the players move around the ice, waving at the fans as music blares.

Him and no one else.

Just like back in high school, he has this presence that draws me in, the kind of magnetism you either have or you don't. Harrison Clarke has it in spades, from the top of his head to his wide shoulders and all the way down his long, muscular legs to the very tips of his toes.

“And now your Blizzard team is going to show you what makes them the best this state has to offer!” the announcer says, to huge cheers from the crowd.

The puck is dropped and the team theme song blares once more. The players’ skates cut arcs into the ice as they practice tight turns, passes, and precise shots at the goal. Each player performs the drills with fluid precision, from speed drills to puck handling and breakaways.

It’s a display of talent, and I watch in awe, captivated despite myself. I might have had a rocky love affair with the game, thanks in no small part to my ex, but watching these guys—particularly Harrison Clarke—is nothing short of magic.

Of course this is a showcase for the fans, not a real game. They would have practiced these moves, knowing the crowd will lap them right up. But nevertheless they're impressive, and despite my distaste for pro hockey players, I can't help but admire them.

And then it's Macy's turn to be thrilled as the team leaves the ice, a couple of Zambonis do their thing, and then the figure skaters finally arrive. She leans forward in her seat, glued to their every move. I watch her, wishing she had the confidence to try skating, or even to simply get on the ice. But whenever we’ve gone to a rink, she looks like she's going to give it a shot and then chickens out at the last minute. I know she finds it hard. I know she suffers with her worries. But I wish, I hope, one day that will change and she’ll be able to do the things she loves, no longer held back by fear.

Once the figure skaters have finished their impressive routine, they smile and wave at the crowd as they leave the ice.

“Did you like that, honey?” I ask.

She looks at me, her eyes as large as saucers, her face lifted in a grin. “It was so amazing! Did you see that triple axel? And the death turn? They were so good, Mommy. So good!”

I beam at her, caught up in her happiness. “They were amazing, honey.” I plant a kiss on her warm, soft cheek. “Do you think you want to come skating with me at the rink this weekend?”

She nods, grinning.

I don't get my hopes up. She’s gone to the rink a bunch of times intending to skate, and it hasn't happened yet.

“Let's do it then. This Saturday.”

“But Daddy's meant to take me out on Saturday. He promised. Remember?”

I hold my smile in place, my heart breaking for what feels almost an inevitability. He’s been in town, playing for his team, but he hasn’t once come to see his daughter. I’d put money on the fact he’ll let her down once again this Saturday with some lame excuse.

“Sunday then,” I say with a bright smile as a Christmas song begins to play.

“Look, Mommy!” she says excitedly, pointing out to the ice. “It’s Santa!”

I look back to see Santa on a pair of skates, sailing across the ice as effortlessly as the professionals before him. He waves at everybody, patting his large belly as the songSanta Claus is Coming to Townplays over the loudspeaker.

I watch, trying to work out whether it's the same guy who played Santa at the Community Center—and hoping it is. He sure is as tall as that guy, and he's in the same suit, but then don't Santa impersonators always wear a red suit with white fur trim?

People begin to clap along as Santa glides across the ice. He turns and pivots, and before too long, he leaps off the ice in a turn, landing back on his skates, gliding backwards. The crowd goes crazy, and Santa moves into another turn, looking almost as polished as the professional figure skaters before him.

Macy and I clap along with everyone else, enjoying ourselves, and when the song comes to an end people burst into applause, and Santa gives a bow before he skates off the ice.

We were so riveted by Santa’s unexpectedly expert performance that I hadn't noticed a bunch of hockey players have returned to the area we’re seated in.

“Mommy needs to go do her job for a bit. Will you be okay sitting here for a while and color, honey?” I ask.

“I will,” she tells me, and as I pull out her coloring book and pens from my purse I thank my lucky stars she's the kind of kid that doesn't simply wander off. If she says she’ll stay then I know she'll stay.

I bounce up and begin to chat with the players, avoiding Lorcan the Slime as best I can. I ask them about their charity events and a couple of them seem quite happy to talk to me.

“Onto hockey, word on the street is that you’re retiring soon, Dan,” I say to the team captain. “Who will be your replacement?”

“That's not up to me to decide, Ms. Coleman,” he replies smoothly.

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