Page 68 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

“Yeah, we should go,” she says and turns toward where our cars are parked. “But I need to go home first to get changed. I’ll see you there.”

I walk beside her, desperate to put my arm around her, but that doesn’t feel like the right thing to do any longer.

If Wyatt Stone has just driven a tank through what I had going on here, I’ll fucking kill him the next time we’re on the ice together.

CHAPTER 22

NATALIE

Standing across the street from the town square and the pig lighting festival that spills from it, I struggle to take in everything that’s happened.

A week ago, I had everything figured out.

It was all nice and straightforward.

Just force myself to go on an adventure. Move to New Orleans to take a great new job and start afresh. Try on a different life for size.

And then Gabe Woods tackled me to the ground and I looked up into his eyes as he held me down, and something inside me went wonky.

On the other side of the street there’s music and laughter and lights around every one of the little wooden huts housing the festival stalls.

And usually it would make my heart sing.

But Wyatt has put a damper on that. He told me to stay away from Gabe. That Gabe is not the good guy I think he is. And it tallies with what I read online. Wyatt and I mightnot be close, or even really in touch, but he’s known Gabe for at least a couple of years. I’ve known him for seven days.

And of course it would only be a jerk who’s interested in me. I didn’t think my ex was one at the time. But looking back, I can see all his jerk-ish tendencies with fresh eyes. The way I’d hang out with his friends, but he’d never hang out with mine. The way if he hated a show I liked we wouldn’t watch it, yet I tolerated endless hours of stuff I had no interest in because it made him happy. And the way he accepted the job in Alaska just assuming I’d go with him without ever discussing it with me.

I thought I’d seen a glimpse of the good under Gabe’s loner-ish and grumpy exterior. But maybe I’m wrong and all that’s under there is a jerk. Because I’m a jerk magnet.

The heaviness dragging my heart to my stomach increases with the thought of Divina Montclair, and how much she will undoubtedly drive a self-serving truck through the community drama program and ruin it for the kids. While that’s something totally beyond my control I can’t help but feel responsible for it. If I weren’t leaving, she wouldn’t be here.

This dark weight inside me is a stark contrast to the music and laughter in front of me. Two happy little kids giggle as they pull their parents across the street toward the multicolored fun, the glittering lights, the games, and the bulbous, unlit Christmas pig.

Anyway, when it comes to Gabe, whatever the deal is with him doesn’t matter in the long run.

But could I still have some fun with him now and walk away pain-free in a few days? Could I prioritize some meaningless pleasure with a guy for the first time in my life?

“Well, fuck me. Itreally isa giant pig.” I jump at Gabe’s words that snap me out of my reverie and find him standing beside me, parka zipped up tight to his dark beard, red beanie pulled down low.

My body shivers at his presence, every inch of it from the top of the bobble on my powder-blue hat to the tips of my toes in my winter boots. This man makes my chest flutter just by standing here. And it only takes his eyes meeting mine for me to become instantly wet.

His gaze quickly moves to the top of my head. “And what in all holy hell are these?” He twangs one of the pig ears on my headband with his gloved hand.

In spite of everything, a troupe of butterflies dance across my chest and a smile springs to my lips.

“It’s called entering into the spirit of the occasion,” I tell him. “You’ll be the odd one out without them.”

“Then I’m delighted not to fit in.”

“Did you really think I’d made up the pig lighting?” I ask. “My imagination isn’t that good.”

“There you go again, diminishing your talents, putting yourself down.” He nudges me playfully, sending a shiver of desire rippling down my side.

My belly quivers with the possibility that maybe it’s my impression of him that’s right, not Wyatt’s or the tabloids’.

“I was there for the rehearsal just now, remember.” The red of his hat is a bright contrast to his dark beard. “Your play’s a work of fucking genius. I haven’t laughed that hard since—well, since you first told me about Wendolyn and Sir Percival in my kitchen.”

My mind flashes back to that morning, wearing his Apollos T-shirt and baking cookies and thinking he was an annoying ass but that I’d better do somethingto say thank you for him putting me up for the night and taking care of my ankle—even though he was the one who’d hurt it in the first place.

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