Page 19 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“Your Realtor?”

“Never mind.”

“Anyway.” I reach for my phone. “I need to find a new home for the play. This will be my sixth and last one, and I want it to be memorable for the kids and the town as well as for me.”

“Is there a rink here?” He taps the remainder of the cookie against his lips.

“Nice of you to think of trying to get in some training while I’m telling you about the devastation of a local tradition that is going to leave kids across Warm Springs in tears. Though, it looks like you can get plenty of training in here—couldn’t help but notice when I went to bed last night that you’ve turned the sunroom into a state-of-the-art gym.” I gesture toward the room off the end of the kitchen.

“I wasn’t asking because I want ice to train on. I’m just doing PT by video call and some light workouts right now.Not allowed back on the ice yet. But is there one? A rink?” He shoves the snowman’s body into his mouth.

I scroll my phone for the town message board to check the tree situation. “Not an indoor one. Everyone skates on Turtle Pond, off Main Street. And last week’s cold snap made it safe early this year.”

“Then just do…” The rest of his sentence comes out covered in splutters as he half-chokes on the cookie.

I nudge the cooling rack toward him. “Have more. That one obviously didn’t quite finish you off.”

He clears his throat, takes a slurp of coffee and shrugs. “I was trying to say, just do it on ice.”

“Do what?”

“Jesus Christ.” He coughs again, his eyes watering and looking extra green and glossy. “The fucking play. Do it on ice.”

Oh, holy shit.

I leap to my feet and cry out in pain—“Fuck”—my left foot hit the floor too hard. “But that’s brilliant.Brilliant.”

He shrugs with a casual acceptance of his own genius.

But I guess his default setting is to think of ice because he lives his life on it and it’s his answer to everything. Twist your ankle? Ice it. Need somewhere to stage a play? Do it on ice. I bet if I asked him how to knit a pair of socks, his solution would involve ice somewhere along the way.

“And…oh my God…of course…” I hop about a bit with no real direction, almost turning a full circle with excitement at the fabulous idea that’s just come to me. “You can help!”

Gabe glares at me, eyes wide and full of horror.

CHAPTER 7

GABE

Now she really has to be fucking kidding. “Oh no. No. Absolutely not.”

Did it feel good to make Natalie secretly giggle behind her coffee mug? Yes.

And being responsible for turning her expression from distraught at the theater fire to full of enthusiasm at the idea of a solution is not an entirely unpleasant experience either.

And yes, the ridiculous story about the nobleman and the woman and the piglet was fucking hilarious in the way only small-town legends can be. And it was true that it made me laugh more than I recall laughing in a long time.

But there’s no fucking way I’m getting involved in some community festive kids’ play when I came here to get away from Christmas and people.

“But you know more about doing things on ice than anyone.” The air of pleading in her voice mixes with theexcitement in her blue eyes as she walks around the island toward me, limping only slightly.

“I came here to have the first Christmas of my life away from Christmas. And to rest and fix this.” I point at my left shoulder.

“But wouldn’t it be much more fun to actuallydosomething while you’re here?” Her enthusiasm is borderline infectious. “To contribute something? To feel useful?”

“I already feel useful. I scored fifty-one goals last season.”

She shrugs, causing the Apollos’ rocket ship to rise and fall on her chest.

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