Page 41 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“What?” He looks up at me.

“Movie night. At Senior Central. I volunteer at the concession stand. I have to get back and set up.”

Did the universe just send a buzz to my ass to save me from myself?

Possibly.

I mean, this isn’t me. I don’t behave like this with men. I don’t throw myself at them and confess my personality flaws all in the space of less than an hour.

What strange spell has this man cast over me that I did that?

Thank you, universe. Thank you, buzz in the ass, for waking me up.

Now to extricate myself from this ridiculous kissing situation I’ve gotten myself into.

“It’s every Sunday night.” I jog up the steps onto the stage to retrieve my coat and bag. “We’re doing Christmas classics for all of December. And tonight isMiracle on 34th Street.”

If I keep filling the void with chatter until I’m out of here, it’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. I can leave and it will all be forgotten, and we won’t ever mention the unfortunate—phenomenalbut unfortunate—incident ever again.

I shove one arm into my coat. “Last week it wasThe Shop Around the Corner.” I flail around, trying to find the other sleeve. “It’s the original film thatYou’ve Got Mailwas based on. You could see the similarities.”

The other sleeve isn’t happening, so I grab my bag, fling it onto my non-coated shoulder and fish around for my car keys. “The week before that it wasLove Actually.”

I move across the stage as I rummage, eyes firmly focused in my bag. “Some of the residents thought it was too new to be considered a classic.” There they are. Finally.

“It was all a bit controversial.” I trot toward the wings, waving without looking back. “Gotta go. Thanks. Bye.”

The relief of reaching the wings andgetting out of his sight is akin to holding my breath underwater and finally coming up for air.

I race along the back hallway toward the stage door, dodging a spool of cable, a precariously propped ladder, and a box of props from a production ofA Midsummer Night’s Dreamthat’s been sitting there since the summer.

I pull open the door and almost slam straight into Ralph, the theater custodian, who’s on his way in.

“Whoa, Nat.” He takes a couple of steps back. “Where’s the fire?”

“Sorry, in a hurry.” I dash past him toward the street.

“You done? Can I lock up?” he calls after me.

“There’s a volunteer still inside. Not sure if he’s staying to work. You’ll need to check. Sorry, I have to dash.”

When I get to my old Jeep Wrangler, I pull off my half-on coat, throw it and my bag onto the passenger seat, clamber behind the steering wheel, and slam the door shut.

Phew.

My heart thumps against my ribs, as if I’ve just stepped onto a Broadway stage to stand in for Meryl Streep and forgotten all my lines.

I can’t believe I kissed him.

The man was walking away from me, apologizing foralmostkissing me, and I grabbed him andactuallykissed him.

That’ll serve him right for telling me I don’t take charge of things or stand up for myself and take what I want.

That showed him.

It showed me too.

I was brave. And I did it.

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