Page 48 of The Kiss Class

When I pull the sweater over my head, I inhale Pierre’s cinnamon spice scent. As I make my return to the box, head held high, I’ll be sending a message loud and clear. It will go something like this:

Me: ’Fit check? Is this better than a burlap sack?

Dad: Grunt, grumble, groan.

Pierre: Let’s meet for Kiss Class, lesson two.

Back in the VIP box, my sisters each give me a quizzical look like they might soon invest in a stylist for me, given the ugliness of the sweater, but with the candy cane tights and the headband, it kind of works, if one of Santa’s elves drank spiked eggnog. To be clear, I haven’t, but kissing Pierre is intoxicating.

CHAPTER TEN

By the middleof the third period, there’s no chance of salvaging the game.

Redd and Hayden set up the perfect breakaway, and Pierre fumbles the puck. Liam a veritable thug fends off some of the opposing team’s attempts to get us on a penalty. Ted is a repeat offender with the ref calling him out for roughing, holding, and high-sticking. Micah remains solid, but when they’re not playing tight, he tries to take control, pogging—puck hogging—and the other team exploits their lack of cohesion.

To say the Nebraska Knights don’t play their best is an understatement. They’re in the penalty box more often than not, and player number seventy-four was more focused on the VIP box than the game as I cheer them on.

Or it could be that the Nebraska Knights’ branded confetti and red, black, and silver miniature swords that Ilsa brought are a distraction. I’m afraid of where I might find them lodged later.

It could be our chanting. “Knights of the Round Rink, conquer, rule, and turn the ice pink.” I asked my dad about that once and he winced, telling me it had something to do withblood. There’s also “We side with Silver,” and my personal favorite, “Stronger than steel, hotter than the sun, the Knights don’t stop until they get the job done.”

But perhaps it’s something else. Something having to do with a certain defenseman and an unintended elf.

Despite the loss, everyone is in festive spirits when the arena clears out and we make our way to the banquet room. I haven’t been to the team Christmas party for years. It’s not open to the public, but everyone involved with the team, from the concession stand workers to the GMs, attends. Dad hosts a private New Year’s party for the team and their plus-ones.

Tonight, if Helen follows the same format she always has, it’ll start with appetizers, drinks, and mingling. Dadaszek and some of the other staff will say a few words, and we’ll eat dinner. The Secret Santa gift exchange will follow before the ice opens up for skating and dessert served in the warm room.

We’re well into dinner, and I don’t spot Pierre anywhere. Dad makes his rounds and I try to keep a low profile, but given my getup, going incognito is a fail.

“Thank you for showing some modesty,” my father says when he meets me by the Nutcracker Knight display donated by some fans.

“Dadaszek,” I grind out.

“You don’t know what these guys can be like, ogling you and—” Eyes pinched, he’s flustered. “I always miss your mother, but it’s especially tough at times like this. We balanced each other in every way. We complimented each other. We were the perfect team.”

My nose tickles with emotion and I force away the incoming tears.

The concern and sadness streaking his features soften something inside me. I say, “You’ve done a really good job.”

Up there in the VIP room, he wasn’t trying to insult me.Rather, he pointed out a fact that I’ve hardly let myself realize. I’m an adult woman now and have the same shapely figure as my identical triplet sisters. I can hide behind my cardigans or a burlap sack, but I’m not just a brain on top of a body. I don’t have to wear a skintight dress either, but there’s more to me than that and my father was doing exactly what Dads do, trying to protect me in his clumsy didn’t get a “How-to-Raise-Girls-without-a-Mom” guidebook.

Being in school all these years stunted my self-perception. I’m not the baby. I’m a grown woman.

“You have too. I’m proud of you, even if you’re not in the law program anymore.”

My eyes bulge. “You know about that?”

“I had a feeling,” he pauses, “and I got a letter from campus affairs congratulating you on transferring to the graphic design program. They must not have had your new address on record.”

I slouch because I’m not entirely sure I even want to do that anymore. “I apologize for not telling you. I thought you’d be disappointed.”

“I am a little bit, but mostly because you didn’t think you could tell me. If the fact that I drink out of the #1 Dadaszek mug every day is any indication, you girls are my pride and joy.”

It’s true. While coaching a national hockey team, he always attended Ilsa’s music recitals, hiked with Anna, and helped me study, even when estimating limits for graphs had long since slipped from his memory.

Hugging him, I puff my cheeks, prepared to come clean about everything with “The Frenchman.” From over my father’s shoulder, I spot Pierre across the room.

Our eyes lock. His expression is partLet’s run into each other’s armsand partOld West showdown in the dusty town center.

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