Page 69 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“Is your aunt here?” he asks.

“Yeah, she had to come on ahead. One of her mayoral duties is to make the official speech and flick the switch on the pig.”

His broad chest shakes. “This town is totally fucking bonkers.”

And despite my new doubts, his deep laughter is infectious.

I slap him right over his heart. “Hey. It’s my town. And I fucking love it.”

He looks down at me and meets my eyes again. “Then why the hell are you leaving, Bugs?”

This time his tone has more of an undercurrent of affection and familiarity rather than teasing.

I don’t even have any answers to that question anymore.

The only thing I’m sure about is that I’m here right now. And so is he.

And when have I ever just said “fuck it” and enjoyed myself just for sheer pleasure of something?

Never.

So, fuck it. I’m going to have fun tonight. And maybe Gabe will have fun with me.

“Come on.” I tap my elbow against his. “The coffee twins usually have a little something hidden under the counter to spice up the cocoa for the adults.”

“Cheers, Atticus.” I drop my change into the jar on the counter of the Bearded Bean’s hut and hand the second cup of spiked sweet goodness to Gabe.

He’s about to take a sip, but I pull him to the side. “There’s a giant line behind us, so let’s get out of the way. Also, if you sip it right away, you’ll burn your tongue.”

Gabe’s eyebrows rise under the edge of his hat, and the coffee bean-shaped lights decorating the stall illuminate the glint in his eye.

Tongue.

My insides cringe with embarrassment.

Why did I have to mention his tongue? It sounds like I’m concerned it stays in good shape because of all the nice things it could do to me. Jesus.

“Mouth. You’ll burn your mouth.” Not one hundred percent better, but a good fifty, so I’ll take that.

“Is it this busy every year?” Gabe says, thankfully not taking my accidental bait.

He glances around the packed town square that’s dotted with festive huts for sellers of gifts, snacks, and treats. The air’s filled with endless festive music piped through speakers attached to the light-and-tinsel-wrapped lampposts, and the laughter of happy families.

“Coming through,” says an unmistakable voice as the crowd in front of us parts and Mrs. Bentley and her walker emerge.

“I wouldn’t want to get in her way,” Gabe mutters out of the side of his mouth, his words only for me.

Yup, Mrs. Bentley’s determination to trample everything between herself and her goal is even worrying to a man who’s mown down many a professional hockey player in his time.

“And you certainly don’t want to getbetween her and the Bearded Bean hut when they’re spiking the drinks,” I say.

“There you are,” a panting Cecil says as he trots behind her. “I got stuck talking to Gerald at his homemade wine stall. Something about a new cranberry and chestnut variety. Barely managed to escape a taste test.”

“This way,” Mrs. B. shouts as if she’s leading her troops into battle. “Oh, hello, Natalie.” Her walker slams down half an inch from my toes. Then she looks to my right and her gaze gradually moves higher and higher up Gabe’s body until she gets to his face. “And hello to you, Mr. Gabriel.”

I swear to God if her hips were good enough to cock one, she would.

“Lovely to see you again, Mrs. B.”

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