Page 17 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

My shoulders slump as I admit defeat and slam the pot into his palm.

“The community center is booked for a tech company’s retreat,” I say, as he wraps his other hand around the lid and unscrews it in the blink of an eye and with about as much effort.

Okay, those hands are impressively strong. And his tight grip has made the veins stand out on the back of them.

He holds the jar and the top out to me, one in eachhand, an eyebrow and a corner of his mouth lifted in a satisfied smirk.

“Jeez, so you’re stronger than me. Who’da thought it.” I take them from him, diligently avoiding touching any part of those highly skilled and highly attractive hands. “Thank you.”

Where in the world was I? Oh yes. “The high school is also out while all its flooring is being replaced. And the elementary school only has a gym, and that’s being used for the Christmas arts market.”

“Wow, you are very up on all the local public building usage.”

I focus on scooping out a spoon of honey and stirring it into the creamy coffee to avoid another one of those smirks. “My aunt is the mayor, so I hear what’s going on.”

“Retirement home managerandmayor. Busy lady.”

“Very.”

Anotherbeepand Gabe turns to retrieve his own mug of steaming coffee.

My eyes are drawn to the movement of the finely honed muscles that rise from up the back of his thick neck and spread across his shoulders and down his arms as he adds some cream, then pulls open the fridge door and replaces the carton.

This man has the physique of a god.

Jesus Christ, what am I doing ogling a miserable stranger who wants nothing to do with Christmas when I should be trying to save one of this town’s longest-running holiday traditions?

I bang my hand on the counter to try to snap myself out of the hypnotic state the rear view of Gabe Woods has sucked me into. “Fuck. I can’t let the kids down. And it’s bad luck if theplay doesn’t go on.”

Gabe turns to face me and folds his right forearm muscles over the left and all of them across his pecs and whatever the hell all those other muscles are across his chest. “Bad luck?”

“Yup. It’s a tradition. Been going for forever. People might see it as an omen for the year ahead if it doesn’t happen.”

He pushes out his bottom lip from between the dark whiskers and nods slowly, like you would if a child were telling you something ridiculous, but you decide to humor them in case it gets funny. “Go on.”

I wrap both hands around my mug like it might keep me safe. “The play’s based on an old local legend. And the kids re-enact the story every year on Christmas Eve.” I lift the mug to chin height and the steam warms my lips. “About three hundred years ago. Or something like that. Everyone will tell you a different number of years. A nobleman was passing through town and fell for the mayor’s daughter.”

“A nobleman, huh.” He nods seriously and picks up his coffee.

“Yes.” Even though he’s obviously being sarcastic I carry on. “But Wendolyn?—”

Turns out that not only can Gabe smirk, he can also chuckle.

I let out a deliberately dramatic sigh. “I’m not telling you if you’re going to laugh.”

One of his large hands covers the bottom half of his face. “Promise. Wendolyn is a very serious name. Please continue.”

“Wendolyn wasn’t interested in Lord Percival.” I pause in case he finds Lord Percival as hilarious as Wendolyn. He takes a sip of coffee, possibly to quell any sign of amusement. “But the mayor thought he would be an excellent match for her and raise the social standing of the family, so he gave Lord Percival?—”

Gabe splutters into his mug.

“It was the second Lord Percival that got you?” I glower.

Coughing, he circles one hand in a carry-on gesture while he puts down his drink and reaches for a paper towel with the other.

“I really don’t like you,” I say.

He blows his nose.

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