Page 46 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“Thank you, thank you,” Natalie says, herding them down the steps from the wings to the hallway that leads to the stage door.

She stands at the top to watch them go, hands on hips, as if to block the way should any of them decide to turn and bolt back inside.

When the door clicks shut behind the last one, we’re left in a silence about as heavy and uncomfortable as a lead blanket.

“Would you fucking believe it?” She swings around to face me, her ponytail lagging slightly behind then reappearing over her opposite shoulder. “Only a week or two ago, they’d all told me they were too busy getting readyfor family visits, or going away, or tied up with a thousand other holiday-related things to be involved with the play. Then all of a sudden, after the kids went home and told them you were helping, they all showed up tonight.”

Her outrage is adorable. And amusing—or at least it would be if I weren’t equally as outraged by it.

“Bastards.” I run my fingers through my hair for the first time since pulling off my hat.

“And look what they’ve done.” She strides back out onto the stage, arms outstretched, indicating everything strewn on it. “They were here two hours and look what they’ve done.”

I step behind her, not close enough to smell her hair, but close enough that I could touch it if I reached out.

“Whathavethey done?” I ask. “It looks pretty much like we left it yesterday. But maybe a bit messier.”

“Exactly.” She spins around to face me. “Fucking nothing, is what they’ve done. They were only here to see you, the big la-di-da sports star.”

She does a funny little wiggle when she saysla-di-da, and I have to bite my lip because it’s obvious that showing any sign of being amused by her would be an incredibly bad idea.

“They weren’t interested in helping at all.” She flings her arms wide. “They moved a few things from one place to another for no reason whatsoever. One of them took the lid off that can of brown paint. Then put it back on again. And look.” She points at the trees I’d come here to paint. “They’ve not even finished standing them up in a line along the back.”

She presses her fist against her forehead and screws up her eyes. “There is so much to do. So. Much. To. Do.” She thumps her head with each of thelast few words.

My heart goes out to her and, before I know it, my hand is on her shoulder. And once it’s there, what else can I do but give her a little squeeze?

“Hey, we’ll get it done. The whole reason I came is to get it done. I didn’t expect you or anyone to be here. I thought the place would be empty and I could get the trees finished.”

“Really?” She opens her eyes and looks up at me, gratitude written all over her beautiful features. “They all came because Monday evenings are the usual working-on-the-play nights. So I guess they thought you’d be here. And I’m here because…” She huffs out a sigh. “Well, because I have no idea how I’m going to get everything ready and rewrite the script to make it work on ice and get the kids to learn it, and then there’s the rehearsals, and…” She shakes her head.

The tension in her face, her jaw, her neck, fills me with the need to fix it all for her, to take away her stress and make her smile again.

It’s impossible not to respect her commitment to doing a good job, to making the kids happy and providing the best possible experience and memories for them. Maybe she’s not so annoying after all.

I draw my hand from her shoulder down her arm until her hand drops into mine. Then I squeeze that too.

This is the exact opposite of what I came here to do. But, holy shit, holding part of her is a real fucking rush.

I take a breath to try to quell my racing heart.

“One thing at a time, Bugs. That’s how we deal with things in hockey. You can’t look at the whole game. You can only look at one play at a time. And tonight’s play is to get the scenery painted. So let’s think about just that and get it done.”

She nods and squeezes my hand back, and my heart thumps harder, pumping blood straight to my groin. But there’s no time for any of this squeezy-feelings bullshit. We have the front of a mayor’s house and a shit-ton of trees to paint.

I let go of her hand and pull off my coat. “Okay. You go over there and work on the front of the house. I’ll do what I can with the trees. Over here.”

I clearly indicate that we’ll be as far apart on the stage as it’s possible to be. There will be no accidental brushing past each other, no chance for deep looks into one another’s eyes, and I will definitely not be within touching distance of her.

Because the way I currently feel, looking at her expression, which has transformed from the brink of tear-filled panic to focus and positivity, purely because of my team pep talk, I don’t trust myself now either.

“I’ll play some music to spur us on.” She pulls her phone from her pocket and a few taps later, “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” emerges from the speaker at the front of the stage.

The jangling harmony sends an involuntary shudder through me.

“Thought I was going to be here alone,” she says, “so I connected my phone to the sound system before the Gabe-gawkers got here.”

And she dances her way to the other side of the stage with hip-swings that take my mind right off the hideous din and make me want to take her in my arms and have her right here on the stage.

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