Page 43 of Snowed In With the PUCK

My gaze lands on Eric, who’s a few rows away from me. He’s sitting with a group of kids, all of them wearing Avalanche jerseys and wide-eyed with excitement. I watch as he leans down, talking to one of the boys, his expression kind and patient.The kid beams up at him, probably unable to believe he’s sitting next to his hockey hero on Christmas Eve.

There’s something about seeing Eric like this that tugs at my heart, even though I’ve been trying so hard to keep him at arm’s length. I just feel too much to let him close.

He’s been so hot and cold lately, but watching him interact with these kids… it’s like seeing a different side of him. A softer side. And damn it, it makes me like him even more.

After the service, people are milling around, chatting and exchanging holiday wishes. Eric is swarmed by fans, but he handles it with the same grace he always does. Smiling, taking photos, signing autographs. I admire how he’s so effortlessly good at this.

As I watch him, a wave of realization hits me, hard and fast. I like Eric. Like,reallylike him. And it’s not just the fake dating thing or the fact that we’ve been living together. It’s more than that. It’s the way he’s always willing to show up, the way he makes me laugh, the way he looks at me like he actually sees me. At least, that’s how it used to be between us.

I thought I could keep my distance. I thought I could stay detached, keep things professional, but now I’m not so sure I want to.

When we get back to the Stanton house, it’s late, but the house feels warm and festive. The Christmas tree is twinkling in thecorner of the living room, and the smell of pine and fresh cookies fills the air.

Eric and I are alone in the kitchen. It’s quiet, the only sounds coming from the soft hum of Christmas music playing in the background. I start pulling out ingredients to bake some cookies, more as a distraction than anything else. I need something to focus on, something to keep my hands busy while my mind spins.

Eric leans against the counter, watching me as I sift flour into a bowl. “Need any help?” he asks.

I shake my head, but the truth is, I don’t know what I need anymore. “I’ve got it.”

We fall into silence again, and for the first time in a while, it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just… there. Like we’re both waiting for something to happen, even though neither of us knows what that something is.

Finally, I break the silence. “I’m sorry,” I say softly, not even sure where to begin. “About everything. About… your mom. And then pulling back from you, from… this strange relationship we have.”

Eric’s eyes soften, and for a moment, I think he’s going to say something kind. But then he just shrugs. “You were right about my mom. I’ve moved on. She made her choice to stay out of my life. Her reasons aren’t my business.” He pauses and adds. “Or yours.”

His words are like a punch to the gut, though I don’t think he means any harm. I can feel the distance between us growing again. I turn back to the cookies, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. “No problem on my part with that.”

He lets out a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t mean it like that, Jessica. It’s just… complicated. I don’t know how to feel, so maybe it’s better to just not feel anything. You know?”

I nod, but I can’t bring myself to look at him. “I get it. And I’m sorry you felt that I was pushing.” I’m suddenly losing interest in the cookies. I want to go to my room and mope in peace and quiet. I haven’t heard from my dad today, and it’s just as well, but it’s also just… all wrong. Everything feels wrong.

He steps closer, and I can feel his presence behind me, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the coldness of his last words. “Hey, you’re good. I’m good,” he says quietly. “I just needed a little time to know how to deal with it.”

I melt into his presence and turn to face him, and for the first time in a while, I feel like we’re actually talking. Really talking. His eyes meet mine, and there’s something there—something raw and real. It makes my heart ache.

“You don’t have to deal with it alone,” I whisper out my words like an offer, an olive branch to rebuild a connection between us.

He takes a step closer, and suddenly, the space between us feels small and charged. “I don’t want to try to figure things out withmy past alone,” he admits, his voice low. “But I don’t want to drag you into it either. It could get messy. Really messy.”

“That’s why you shouldn’t try to do anything like that alone,” I say softly, my eyes dropping to his full lips.

We stand there, staring at each other, the air thick with desire. And then, before I can think about it, before I can stop myself, I lean in to kiss him.

Our lips meet, and it’s like everything else fades away. The doubts, the fears, the confusion—they all melt into the background as I lose myself in him.

Eric’s hands slide around my waist, pulling me closer, and I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing my body against his.

We stumble back, bumping into the kitchen counter, but neither of us breaks the kiss. It’s like we’re both afraid to break the moment, afraid that if we stop, everything will go back to the way it was before. And I’m suddenly realizing that he doesn’t want that any more than I do.

I don’t want to go back. I want this—him.

“Jessica,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice deep with desire.

“Shh,” I whisper, tugging at his shirt. “Don’t talk. Just… don’t talk.”

And for once, he listens.

We move together, the kitchen forgotten, the cookies forgotten, everything forgotten except for this—this moment, this feeling, this need.

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