Page 33 of Mistletoe Face Off

“Are we friends?” she asks a little coyly.

“Yeah, I’d say we are,” I reply. “And it’s totally your call with your daughter.” I don't want to push it with her. She knows her kid a whole lot better than I do. If she thinks Macy won't do it, then I need to run with that.

She runs her fingers through her hair, and I wonder whether she’s feeling comfortable with my offer. But then she surprises me by saying, “You know what? Let's give it a shot. Who knows? You might be just what she needs to get her out onto the ice. She’s really taken a shine to you. Well, the Santa version of you, at least.”

I try not to let the fact Holly trusts me with her daughter affect me, but I fail miserably, a massive grin spreading right across my face. “Tomorrow after school? I've got practice scheduled for the morning, but no game.”

“I guess that would be okay?” she says slowly.

I sense her uncertainty. Placing my hand lightly on her forearm, I say, “You can trust me.”

She purses her lips. “As I said, you may be the magic ingredient she needs.”

“Thank you,” I reply, holding her gaze for a beat, noticing the rich brown of her eyes, deep brown like mahogany at the edges, lightening to milk coffee closer to the pupils. They’re really quite mesmerizing.

“So, we need to stage a fight. Pity now that we’re actually getting along,” she says.

“We never didn't get along. I always liked you back in high school.”

Her eyes grow to the size of pucks. “You did?”

“We had English class together, remember? We were in a study group.”

“Actually, I think you'll find we were less study buddies and you were more the guy who always needed my notes to catch up on what he missed in class because he was too busy thinking about what his next deke would be, or how he was going to play a great slapshot at the next game.”

“How do you know I was thinking about hockey?”

All she does is raise her brows at me.

“Okay. You got me. Sometimes I was thinking about other things, though.”

“Like which cheerleader you were going to date that Saturday night?”

“Hey, I only dated one cheerleader.”

“You know what I mean. You were the type.”

I raise my brows. “The type?”

“The type perky girls like Kelly Hanson would go for,” she replies, naming my girlfriend senior year.

“Oh, yeah? What was your type?”

“I didn't date. Not ‘till college, really.”

“Is that where you met Macy's dad?”

She casts her eyes down and immediately I feel bad for raising the guy.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to dredge up your past. But to be fair, you started it.”

“How?”

“You mentioned Kelly.”

“Didn't you only date her for half the year?” she asks and I nod. “I'm not quite sure six months equals marrying someone. Do you?”

“You got me there. But you’re divorced now, right?”

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