Page 55 of The Goalie and Santa's Little Helper

Frankie blinks.

And then she says the greatest word ever formed.

“Yes.”

epilogue

One Year Later

frankie

I keep checkingthe parking lot for Noah. He said he would head right from the airport to the photo booth, and I’ve been explaining that fact to the winter campers who have slapped pucks into my backdrop set at least a dozen times. They think it’s funny, and it would be if my head wasn’t on the other side of the facade.

“Say eggnog!” Norris dangles a stuffed candy cane above the camera lens to draw the toddler’s attention toward him. He snaps a burst of photos in the one second the toddler gives him before squirming his way off my father’s lap.

“I hope I got it,” Norris laughs out.

“It’ll match every other photo we have of him,” the mother sighs.

I hand the woman a candy cane and give her an understanding smile. My guy won’t sit still for pictures either. Of course, he’s twenty-two.

“He’s here!” one of the kids shouts from the rink. Dozens of skates peck at the ice as my brother’s winter camp squad racestoward me. I wave them toward the rink’s entrance, but it’s no use—they’re roaring right at me.

“Sorry about that. I’m glad I made it before they trampled you,” Noah says at my shoulder. His arms circle around me before I can startle in surprise, and his lips press cool kisses into the crook of my neck as a gaggle of pre-teen boys and one bad-ass girl encircle us.

“I’m going to kiss him now, so if you find that gross, you should probably go wait over there,” I warn, spinning around and leaping into his arms.

He holds my legs around his waist while his mouth covers mine in a deep kiss I’ve dreamt about for the last month. A few of the boys whistle, and some of them tease us by shoutinggross. It bounces right off me, though, because I have waited for this kiss. I’ve been a good girl, and it’s the only thing I asked of Santa. TherealSanta, not my dad.

“Sorry I’m late. I missed you so bad,” he says, peppering my lips before setting me back on the ground.

“Do you think we can get the extra hour back from the NHL?” I joke.

“Ha, probably not.” Noah grins and holds up his hands, ushering his fans to head toward the table my brother set up to the side of our photo set.

“I’m just glad I beat the snow,” he says.

I glance up at the sky, patches of blue peeking through the cloud cover, and drop my gaze back to him with my usual skeptical squint.

“You sure about that?” I don’t know why I question him. He’s freakishly accurate about the weather.

He shrugs.

“We’ll see.” His smug grin tells me he’s absolutely sure. Snow is coming. Sooner than we all think.

“I’ll sign jerseys and pictures over there, then we’ll take the ice for an hour. Hope you guys are ready to work hard!”

He waves the kids into a semblance of a line. They shoutyeahin unison and follow his directions for the most part, bumping into one another as they battle for the first few spots by the table. Noah has been a Flame for a full month. Instead of spending the year in a smaller market getting games under his belt before heading to the big league, he was pulled up right away, thanks to an injury to Calgary’s starting goalie. His saves in his first five games pretty much solidified him as the team’s starting goalie for the rest of the season.

Of course, that means he’s traveled this year a lot more than we expected. And between my heavy semester in Michigan and his schedule, it’s made planning a wedding a bit of a challenge. Maybe that’s all right, though, because we sort of blew our families’ minds with the announcement. They have no idea he proposed in the elevator the day of my brother and dad’s surgeries. They think it happened a month later at Tiff, when we all went to watch a game. We didn’t recreate the moment because we felt like it was a rash decision, even if it was. We just wanted our families to feel a part of it. And sure, there was the added benefit of not hearing my brother lecture us on how we’re rushing things. Noah and I are simply catching up.

Noah slips into the line waiting to see Santa and signs a few autographs for some of the parents while he waits to see my dad. My father stands from his seat and levels my fiancé with a heftyho, ho, howhen their eyes meet. And when they hug, some of the younger kids in line look on with open mouths, not impressed that Santa knows a famous hockey player, but rather awe-struck that Noah knowstheSanta, himself.

“You want to give the suit a try, just for old times’ sake?” my dad teases.

Noah chuckles and shakes his head.

“I think I’ve had my fill.”

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