Page 59 of My Pucking Perfect Goalie

“I don’t mind,” I say, and I really don’t. As an only child, I’d always wanted siblings. There’s something specifically about having kids around for Christmas that makes the whole thing more magical. “I didn’t know you guys were coming.”

“We’re only staying for a day,” Ellie says, puffing out her cheeks. “Then we’ve got some other family stuff.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Yeah, sounds like a ton of traveling,” Ellie jokes, her hand landing on the doorknob. “Well, I’ll let you get ready. Devon is making pancakes, but Brett is wolfing them down as fast as they come out of the pan.”

“I’ll hurry, then.”

I shower quickly and head down to the kitchen, which is a bustling hub of chaos. Devon is stationed at the oven, Lola sitting on the counter next to him and laughing. I imagine the pink apron tied around his waist is her doing.

Kids are everywhere—some of them running around, others gurgling from various carriers. Fallon has a baby in her hands, as does Ellie.

The back door opens, and the smell of eggs and breakfast meats rolls in. Grey appears with a tray of bacon, sausage, and ham, deftly stepping around the toys and kids on the floor to deposit the tray on the counter.

“Sammy!” Grey says, grinning when he turns, his smile stretching over his face. He claps me on the back. “You made it! How was the drive, brutal? We’ve got to make a similar one tomorrow morning.”

I spend the next hour playing with Clementine, talking to the others, and accepting plates and cups. In just sixty minutes, I have eggs and bacon, a muffin, a glass of eggnog, and a steaming mug of apple cider. The general chaos continues, with the kids laughing and jostling toys and the adults fussing, cooking food, cleaning up, or generally trying to fix things.

“Hey, man,” Brett says, his head popping out from behind a massive Christmas tree in the corner of the room. “Give me a hand?”

I barely manage to fit myself in the space behind the tree with Brett.

“What are we looking at?”

“Nothing,” Brett says, grinning. “I mean, I unplugged the lights.”

“Why…did you do that?”

“Because I wanted to ask you about the thing with Finn!”

“There is no thing with Finn,” I whisper, cheeks heating. I look around out of habit, but the only thing I can see is the tree. “And you’re acting like a kid, dude.”

“Kind of my whole thing,” he laughs, swinging the end of the lights in his hand. “But there’s no way there’s nothing between you guys. Drove four hours together? And you werelaughingwhen you pulled in? You can’t do that with just anyone, man. And I saw the way you were looking at her.”

“I think we were delirious from eating too much candy. There’s nothing—” My mind flashes back to Finn, explaining why nobody can know about the fake dating. About any of it. “Dude, you can’t say this aroundanyone,okay?”

“So thereissomething,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, then running his fingers over his lips. “Your secret is safe with me. And Fallon.”

“Don’t tell Fallon,” I say, and then, realizing what I’ve said, “and there is no secret!”

Brett is still laughing when Lola calls out, “Are you boys kissing back there? You are too big to hide behind a Christmas tree.”

“Thanks, Sammy!” Brett says, loudly, before plugging the lights back in. He shoots me one last conspiratorial look before sliding out from behind the tree, the ornaments tinkling as he does.

After we reappear, I get lost in the chaos. Coach Aldine shows me how he plans to spatchcock and grill a turkey. Fallon asks for help put a huge ham in the outside refrigerator. I’m in the middle of hoisting Clementine in the air—with a warning from Grey about dropping her—when Finn steps into the room, blinking sleepily and looking absolutely cozy. My body twitches with the urge to go to her, scoop her up in my arms and carry her right back upstairs.

It feels like the entire room stops to look at her, but maybe it’s just me.

Her hair is mussed, in a loose bun on the top of her head. When I found out she’d never had a pair of Christmas pajamas, I bought a set and put it in her purse, thinking she would probably just get rid of them.

But she’s wearing them now, the warm, soft flannel just barely hugging her hips. I can’t tear my eyes away from how the sleeves follow her arms, how the red ribbon at the bottom of each legbrushes against her ankles, against a pair of woven eggshell cabin socks.

“Good morning,” Fallon says, stepping over a kid on the floor and over to Finn. “How did you sleep?”

“Oh, great,” Finn says, clearing her throat. “But, I—I can’t seem to find my bag?”

Of course Finn would never come downstairs in her pajamas otherwise. While Fallon looks for Brett, who brought out bags in last night, Finn’s eyes drift over to me and widen slightly.

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