Page 12 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

Gabe pulls the phone a couple of inches away from his head and grimaces. “Well, I’m not sure I’ll have time to fit in a visit to the retirement village. I’ll have to look at my sched?—”

He widens his eyes at me in horror at her full-on-ness.

I don’t even try to suppress my giggle. Serves him right.

“Okay, Aunt Lou,” he says, even though I can hear her still talking. “I need to get some fresh ice for your niece’s ankle, so I’ll pass you back.”

He holds the phone out to me, arm outstretched and leaning back like he can’t put enough distance between himself and it.

She’s still talking as I put the phone to my ear. It now smells kind of spicy, and maybe a little bit of oranges.

“…and a couple of the residents were season ticket holders years ago, so they’d love to meet you.”

“It’s me, Aunt Lou.”

“Oh.” She barely hides her disappointment.

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re staying with Gabe Woods,” she whispers, like somehow he might hear her.

“I am. Yes. Is that special?”

“Very. Oh my goodness. The man’s a hero, and so handsome. I’ll sleep well knowing you’re in such good hands. There were just those stories in the papers a few years ago, but it was probably nonsense. Whatever he says to do with your ankle, you do it. And I know you’re safe, so that’s fine. Once they’ve moved the tree tomorrow, I’ll be right up there to bring you home.”

Stories? But finally she pauses for breath, and I seize the opportunity to get off the phone. “Okay, great. See you tomorrow.”

“You have a lovely night under Gabe Woods’s roof.” She says it with a giant wink in her voice like she’s encouraging me to sleep with a man I just met purely because she likes the way he slides a disk around a sheet of ice.

“Stop it,” I hiss. “He’s really annoying.”

“And he can hear you,” Gabe says,approaching from the kitchen, holding the floppy things he put in the freezer earlier.

“Gotta go, Aunt Lou. I’ll call you in the morning.”

She’s making a sort ofooosound as I hang up.

“Youareannoying,” I tell him.

“I promise you,” he says. “Nothing is more annoying than planning a solitary non-Christmassy Christmas only to find someone’s poured a dump truck of Christmas all over your house. And that that someone now can’t leave.”

He nods at my ankle. “Take that off and give it a rest from the ice for half an hour. I’m going upstairs. I’m exhausted. You’ll find the guest room over there.” He nods to the other side of the kitchen. “It has an attached bathroom. I imagine there’s everything there you need. Certainly should be if the people I paid to stock the house did their jobs properly. And take these gel packs with you. Use them no more than twenty minutes at a time. And when you’re ready to go to sleep, toss them back into the freezer, then they’ll be good to go if you wake up in pain during the night.”

“Annoying, yet also remarkably efficient at handing out instructions.” I lift the tea towel ice pack off my ankle and use it to wipe up the cold trickles of water running across my numb skin.

“The swelling’s going down already,” he says, ignoring my insult.

He’d paid enough attention to it that he can tell?

“Need a hand up?” he asks.

“No, thanks. I have to be able to get myself to the bathroom, so might as well practice.”

“Okay, well then.” He picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder. “If you need anything, just shout. I’m a light sleeper.” And he heads toward the open staircase.The wood steps project from the wall like they’re miraculously suspended in midair, enclosed only by a glass panel.

Gabe could almost be floating up the wall…like a tall, muscular, bearded angel.

“Oh, there is one thing,” I say.

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