Page 78 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

Nat blows out a long breath.

“But before the start of last season I’d worked my way out of whatever mental pit I’d been in, and really fucking missed him. So I tried to get a hold of him. But he wouldn’t pick up my calls. Didn’t answer my texts. In the end I sent him a long email apologizing.”

“And he didn’t reply to that either?” Nat’s brows pinch.

“Nope. Nothing. And that was over a year ago.”

She looks away, gazing at the mom-and-pop storefronts on Main Street as we slide by. The pig ears on top of her head bob with the rattle of the sleigh.

My chest tightens. This is it, the part where she tells me that her family loyalty trumps everything.

Her shoulders rise on a deep breath. “Wyatt can be such a dick sometimes.”

I run that sentence through my head again just to confirm it’s not me she’s saying is adick. And it isn’t.

She turns back to look at me, her perfect face framed by the baby blue hat that matches her eyes and the yellow plaid scarf.

“He’s been like that since he was a kid. I hated playing with him. He always had to win, no matter if it was supposed to be just a meaningless game of cards or a board game. And he’d storm off in a huff and not speak for hours if anyone challenged him. He was basically no fun.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say he’s no fun.” For some reason I feel the need to stick up for him. “He was my wingman. And we were an incredible team on the ice. We just gelled, you know? That indefinable something that makes you click with someone even though on paper none of it should work.”

Her eyes hold mine, searching them, as a warm, flirtatious smile spreads across her face, making the apples of her flushed cheeks pop.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I think I have some idea what you mean.”

The significance of her words makes my heart swell and my head swim a little. She might not want me, but we’re on a ticking clock here, so I don’t have a whole lot to lose.

“Jesus Christ, Natalie.” I take her cheeks in my hands. “I know I’ve only known you for a week, but you?—”

“Oh my God,” She screws up her face and slams her hands over her nose and mouth.

My stomach twists at the obvious rejection.

Then the stench reaches me.

“Fuck me.” I shield my face too from what smells like a combination of rotting garbage that’s been left out in the sun for weeks and decomposing flesh.

“Oh, God,” Frankie says from the front end of the donkey. “Did you get a fart?”

Natalie and I both nod.

“Sorry.” Frankie grimaces. “We had some visitors at the sanctuary this morning and one of the kids snuck her more fruit than she’s used to. It’s made her a bit gassy.”

Natalie’s shoulders shake as she dissolves into giggles.

And because not even a farting donkey can make me keep my hands off her, I pull her to me and kiss the only available bit of skin—the sliver of forehead between her eyebrows and hat. “And I thought a giant glowing pig with a flashing revolving star on its head would be the most ridiculous part of this evening.”

Natalie removes her hands from her face and the pure unadulterated glee, combined with utter revulsion, that’s taken hold of her expression is a delight to behold.

“Hey, Frankie,” I call out.

She turns to look at us again. “I’m so sorry.” She’s biting her lip and trying not to laugh.

“Could we get out here, please?”

“Oh no, is it that bad?” she asks, slowing down Mabel. “I’d have thought it might have dissipated in the fresh air by now. You should smell it when she does it inside, in the stable.” She makes a dizzy face. “Quite the experience.”

“No, it’s fine. Nothing to do with Mabel at all. And I’ll pay for the full ride back to the retirement village.”

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