Page 22 of Mistletoe Face Off

“I've got an idea. If it's okay with your mom, would you like me to take you out on the ice sometime to give it a try?”

His offer takes me completely by surprise.

“Oh, you don't have to do that for her,” I reply hastily. I don’t even know who this guy is. For all I know, he might be some kind of serial killer. A serial killer who’s great with kids, can figure skate like a pro, and has abs for days.

Okay, so probably not a serial killer, but he could be some kind of weirdo.

“I'd like to,” he replies simply.

“That's really kind of you, but I'm not sure Macy—” I begin, only to be cut off when my daughter says, “I want to try it. With you, Harry.”

I blink at her in disbelief. “You do?”

“I do,” she confirms.

“Are you sure that's okay?” I ask him.

“It would be my pleasure. If you skate, you could hang out with us out there on the ice, as well. In fact, it might help Macy if you do.”

I'm overwhelmed. Seriously, could this guy get any nicer?

We hold one another's gaze for a beat, and I wish he wasn't dressed in the Santa suit so I could know what he actually looks like, this talented figure skater who is so good with my daughter, and who I find myself thinking about more often than I should.

Chase, one of the hockey players I interviewed at the Community Center, comes over and slaps Harry on the shoulder. “Good work, man. Who knew you had figure skating skills as well as hockey.”

Wait. Hockey?

With his arm around Harry's shoulder, he turns to me and says, “Who would have thought Harrison had such hidden skills. Am I right?”

“Harrison?” I question, my brain whirring. Harrison… Harry…

No!

It can’t be!

Is the guy I’ve been thinking about, the guy who gives me butterflies, the guy Macy just agreed to go skating with …Harrison Clarke?

Chapter Five

Harrison

If looks could kill, I would be a dead man.

“Let me explain,” I say to Holly before I shoot Chase a look that says a seriously sarcastic, “Thanks a lot, man.”

I was onto a good thing here. Holly had no idea who I really was, and we were getting on great. More than great. And now Chase has come along and wrecked it all with one stupidcomment, and I look like a total jerk in her eyes, not having told her who I am from the get go.

Chase raises his hands in the air. “Sorry. I forgot there’s a kid here,” he replies, totally misreading the room. “This is Santa,” he tells Macy. “The real one. He came in on his sleigh from the North Pole.”

Macy shakes her head, her lips pursed. “He's not the real Santa. Santa’s in the North Pole, making toys with the elves to deliver on Christmas Eve. This is Harry.”

“Riiight,” Chase replies, watching her uncertainly. He turns to me. “If the kid already knows, what's the big deal I called you by your name?”

I risk a look at Holly. She's got her arms crossed over her chest, and she’s tapping her foot as she glares at me.

Oh, yeah, she's mad.

Looking between me and Holly, Chase suddenly seems to find the ability to engage his brain, clocking the look on Holly’s face—and wanting nothing to do with it. “Okay then. I’ll leave you to … whatever this is,” he says as he slaps me on the back once more and turns to leave.

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