Page 23 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

“Now could you please pick up that cookie sheet from the floor so I can bake these gingerbread men?”

“Certainly. Then I’m checking if the road’s re-opened.” And trying to stop myself from wondering what her panties might have looked like.

CHAPTER 8

NATALIE

“At least you can get into the theater tomorrow to check out the damage.” Aunt Lou puts down her side of the round folding table that we’ve just opened up.

I’m helping her set up the retirement village’s extravagantly named Entertainment Salon for tonight’s music evening—the local pianist and singer are always one of the most popular nights of the month. The tables and chairs had all been folded and moved to the sides for yesterday’s ballroom dancing class.

“Yeah, and the arts committee says we can still use it for storage and for rebuilding and painting the sets. So at least we have that.” I’m seriously trying to see the upside of this situation and not disappear into a downward spiral of anxiety over how much there is to do to rejig the play to be staged on the pond, and worry whether anyone will even come if it’s outside. What if there’s a storm? Or hail?

“About Gabe,” Aunt Lou says to my back as I head off to fetch a chair.

That’s an unsubtle change of topic. I thought I’d been lucky to escape with only gentle teasing about spending the night at a handsome, famous, rich, sports star’s house.

“Are you sure he’s a—what was it you called him?—big lump of grump? Hard to believe,” she says. “He was so sweet to me on the phone.”

“Couldn’t be more sure.”

And I couldn’t be. Also, how can a man who presumably whacks the living crap out of his opponents on the regular be too scared to tell his parents he doesn’t like Christmas? So scared he cooks up a whole plan to send them off on a Caribbean cruise while he pretends to be at a rehab facility?

“Shame I didn’t get to meet him this morning.” Aunt Lou’s doing her best pouting voice.

“So you said.” When she came to pick me up from his house once the tree had been cleared from the road, I made sure I was waiting at the end of the drive so she didn’t have the chance to pull in before I’d tossed my bike and the bunny suit into the back of her trusty old station wagon, hopped in myself and persuaded her to turn around.

Not that I’d deny her the opportunity to meet one of her idols. There’s just no way I could have dealt with it today while I was still all aflutter from the whole weird but-not-entirely-unpleasant experience.

“Can I sit down yet?” Cecil, one of Senior Central’s longest-standing residents, appears at the door, straightening his bow tie.

“We’ve not quite finished setting up.” Aunt Lou gestures to the large square room with windows draped with swags of rose-patterned curtains on three walls.There’s a grand piano in the corner and way too much pink-and-green-swirled carpet not yet covered in tables.

Cecil is always first to lay claim to a seat on music nights. Always the one closest to the pianist. And afterward, he treats the poor guy to a few tips on what to work on for next time.

“Just want to be sure Rich has improved his arpeggios since last month,” Cecil says.

He was a conductor. In his room are amazing photos of his arms sweeping through the air and his face pulling emotive expressions as he conducted symphonies at Carnegie Hall, London’s Royal Opera House, and an incredibly elaborate theater in Vienna that I don’t recall the name of. He was quite the big deal.

In his retirement, Cecil’s switched from conducting orchestras to conducting weddings, and has become the most in-demand officiant in town.

“How about I come get you when we’re ready?” I offer. “And I’ll have an old-fashioned waiting on your table for you.”

“The one closest to the?—”

“Yup, the one closest to the piano,” I reassure him.

I’ve been serving at the evening events for extra cash since I moved in with my aunt a year ago.

Cecil’s face lights up. “Oh, you are a love, young Natalie. We’ll miss you when you head south.” He looks at my aunt, who’s adding four chairs to the table we just erected. “Won’t we, Lou? Miss her? Won’t we miss her?”

“We sure shall.” She gives me a warm smile that tugs at my heart.

And I know she means it.

Aunt Lou and I have always been close. I spent a lot of time with her when I was a kid. My parentswere away a lot with work, and whenever they had to go at the same time, I stayed with Lou. Over the course of my life, I’ve probably spent as much time around her as I have with my mom and dad.

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