Page 104 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“Uh, no thanks,” Abigail says, moving back way more than is necessary to get out of feather-touching range.

“Maybe another time.” Divina straightens, her face flushed from bending over. “It’s vintage.” She reaches up and runs her gloved hand over the feather. “An Italian designer.” Like that’s something that might impress a third-grader.

“Okay,” Abigail says, and looks up at me under her beanie that has penguins around the edge. She raises her brows, the expression behind her eyes askingwho the fuck is this weirdo?, like she actually is a fifty-seven-year-old trapped in a kid’s body.

“I think your dad’s waiting over there.” I put my hand on her shoulder and point to the silver truck parked by the curb.

“See you tomorrow, Miss Natalie,” she says, ignoring the other two, and toddles off along the path, her backpack hiding most of her.

My throat constricts at the thought that no, she won’t see me tomorrow.

“I know these children mean the world to you,” Victor says.

“But you’re moving away and leaving them anyway.” Divina shrugs.

You’d think as an actress she might be a student of human emotions and have a little more empathy.

I knew that walking away from this job, these kids, this town was going to be hard, but that I have to make myself do it to experience something new, see a bit more of theworld, and not be the small-town girl with the small-town attitude or the young girl who’s too scared to head into Manhattan to a Broadway show so sticks to her neighborhood theater.

My mom’s traveled the world, and my dad drives to every corner of New England with his sales job, so it’s beyond time I widened my horizons too.

“Anyway,” Divina says, taking charge of the situation. “I’m going to need the script.”

“Oh, okay, yes, sure.” And apparently I’m going along with this. Folding. Giving in to their cold-hearted plan to essentially lay me off during my notice period. “I have a copy in my bag. It’s in the bandstand.”

I turn and head toward it, grateful for the opportunity to not have to look at them.

A hollow hurt rises inside me and burns my chest.

All I want to do is tell Gabe, pour my heart out to him, cry on his shoulder. Have him kiss the top of my head and tell me she’s been appointed by a bunch of fucking idiots who don’t deserve me, but they do deserve whatever shit show Divina is going to create.

It’s laughable that my all-consuming urge is to talk to him about everything. He’s just some guy I’ve known for little more than a week. There’s no reason for him to want to snuggle me and reassure me. And no reason I should want him to. Unless I’m a fool. Which maybe I am.

I climb the steps to the bandstand, unzip my backpack and pull out my dog-eared copy of the script.

As I turn to head back, something on a bench on the other side catches my eye. No matter how many times I tell the kids to remember to take everything with them, at least one of them always leaves something behind.

I cross the creaky old platform andpick up the blue gloves with the blasting rocket ships on the back. Gabe’s gloves. The ones he gave to Grayson.

Even amid the heartbreak of having the Christmas play ripped from me at the last moment and put in the worst possible hands, the kind, caring, generous spirit that lives under Gabe’s bristly exterior brings a smile to my lips. Thank God I’m lucky enough to experience knowing him.

I put the gloves into my backpack, close the zipper, and hike it up onto my shoulder.

My stride’s more purposeful now as I make my way back down the steps and toward the terribly dressed winter twins—Divina flinging her arms this way and that, like she’s explaining fanciful ideas for the play greater than anything lowly little me could ever have thought of. Victor nods like he couldn’t be more impressed.

“Here you go.” I hand her the script at arm’s length. “The kids under six can’t skate, so you’ll have to lay mats out on the ice for them to perform on. Dwayne has a bit of a stammer, so be patient with him. Bianca suffers from stage fright, so she’ll probably have a breakdown on the day and refuse to go on, but if you can coax her out there, she’s brilliant. Katie’s mom makes most of the costumes. She’s very generous with her time and you need her on your side. Abigail knows everyone’s lines and could probably run the whole thing herself. And please”—my voice cracks and I have to pause to swallow—“for the love of God, please take care of them.”

I focus my eyes on the ground and step away toward the path.

“We’ll see you on Christmas Eve, Thursday, at the play,” Victor says. “You are coming, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” I snap without turning around.

But not for them. For the kids.

And I head toward my trusty old Jeep and the strong comforting arms of the hockey player on Fool’s Hill.

CHAPTER 33

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