Page 20 of The Goalie and Santa's Little Helper

I pull the beard back out of my pocket and slip it on as I climb into the driver’s seat. I need to stay in character in case Conner spots me. This job is bigger than me.

“They might lock the gates before I can get you back to your car. You just want to follow me?”

Frankie shakes her head, then reaches her hand to where mine rests on the gear shift. Her palm blankets the back of my hand, and I flex my fingers so she can slip hers in between.

“I’ll hitch a ride with Anthony in the morning. I’d like to watch you two skate. It’s been a while.”

My mouth forms its first easy smile of the night.

“It has.”

Four months, six days, and a handful of hours.

7/

frankie

I don’t thinkanyone has ever looked at me the way Noah is in this photo.

I’ve been staring at it the entire trip to what wehopeis Conner’s house. In the moment this photo was captured, I felt something. But I was so swept up in my own swirl of emotions—should I forgive him, did that first kiss mean anything at all, andam I simply overcome with the feel of his body under mine?

None of that is in this photo, though. All I see is a girl who has been in love with her brother’s best friend for years, and a man who might just see her as a woman for the first time.

“Can you tell if that sign says thirty-first?”

I clear my throat and shuffle the photo from my lap, setting it on the envelope on the Bronco’s dash before leaning forward and squinting through the frosted windshield. I rub the sleeve of my sweatshirt against the glass to clear the view.

“This is it,” I say. Noah makes the turn, then crawls to a stop at the second house on the right.

“You know newer cars come with this function calleddefrost,” I tease.

Noah chuckles as he kills the engine, then taps on the switch for defrost just below the driver’s side blower.

“They made those in the eighties too. Just not with enough power for Decembers in Illinois.” His windows have nearly fogged back up completely in the five seconds we’ve sat here.

“How’s that beard feel?” I unbuckle and shift so I can give it a gentle tug. Noah winces, but the beard stays in place, the glue from earlier still tacky enough.

“I may never grow a real one again if you keep doing that. But I think this one will last for five minutes.”

His crooked smile is paired with a wink, and the cuteness of it all pins me to my seat for a moment. I think Noah Drake is the only man I can honestly say looks as good with a beard as he does freshly shaven. And if this costume is any indication, he’s going to be one hell of a silver fox.

We both get out of the Bronco. I snag a Sharpie from my backpack before shutting the door, and meet Noah by the rear door as he pulls out the stick. I pull the cap from the marker and hold it out for him to take.

“Here. You need to sign it.”

His brow angles.

“As Santa?”

My head tilts, and I pull my mouth in, narrowing my eyes.

“As Noah Drake, dumbass.”

His skeptical expression only hardens, so I shake my head and shift the stick in his hand to the flat area near the blade.

“Trust me, Noah Drake means something to that kid. Sign it.”

His face relaxes, his mouth hinting at a smile. His hand grazes mine as he takes the pen, and my lips tingle from the memory of our kiss from minutes ago. I brace the stick for him as he forms the prominent N and D of his signature. I almost want to tell him how I practiced signing my name with Drake when I was a freshman in high school.

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