Page 24 of Gamechanger

Good! Just walked in the door – huff puff. The food, oh man, ever had lutefisk?

Can't say I have. Sounds… interesting?

One of those acquired tastes. Dried whitefish treated with lye. Axel insisted I start to acquire it, but meatballs more than made up for it.

Lye? Don't they use that to unclog drains and eat through the gunk?

Hahaha. Yeah, but you know Axel, tradition and all. Plus mulled wine. Oh man, dangerously good.

Our texts shot back and forth as fast as we could type them. Moose told me all about Christmas in Sweden including little gnome-like creatures called tomte.

Quite the cultural experience, eh?

I did my best to ignore a twinge of envy. I loved finding out how different families and cultures celebrated the holidays.

It was great, but, I missed you. What are you up to? Chowing down on gingerbread?

My heart raced. I didn't expect to be missed, and certainly didn't think I'd hear about it.

No, chilling. You? What's a Moose-tastic Christmas night like?

Maybe it includes you. Wanna come over? My place? I've got leftover frosted cookies and eggnog.

I stared at the message and warmth surged through my body, clear out to the tips of my toes.

Sure. Be there in 15.

I grabbed my keys, dragged a comb through my hopeless curls, and headed out, seeing my breath as I raced to the car. About an inch of new snow had fallen during the day while I'd lost myself in video games.

The new layer of white turned Portland into a winter wonderland, and it was almost magical to see it on Christmas Day itself.

I smiled as I slid into the driver's seat of my car. The snow reminded me of home in Minnesota and those endless hockey practice sessions on frozen ponds. Perhaps the universe conspired to make my first Christmas away a little better than it might have been.

My tires crunched on the fresh snow. The sound triggered a flood of memories: Dad teaching me how to drive in winter conditions, snowball fights with the neighbor kids in our driveway, and Mom calling us inside for hot chocolate with giant, puffy marshmallows.

Hang in there, Novak.I gripped the steering wheel tightly.It's just Christmas, snow, and… Moose.

I was downplaying it too much. We'd been dancing around something for weeks now. We'd exchanged dozens of stolen glances, "accidental" touches, and over-the-top laughter at each other's jokes. Would the magic of Christmas make it different?

A driver leaned on his horn when I failed to take off after a stoplight turned green. It snapped me out of my daydreams. Then, I nearly missed a turn.Focus, Finn!

I maneuvered into a parallel parking spot on the street near Moose's building and killed the engine. For a moment, I sat there and stared out through the windshield. The snow started falling again, dropping big flakes that floated leisurely to the ground.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped out into the night. Once inside Moose's building, I took the stairs two at a time, stretching my legs as my pulse quickened.

Moose answered on the second knock, and his broad shoulders filled the doorframe. He wore a cozy Christmas green sweater, and the scents of cinnamon and cloves seemed to encircle him.

"Hey, come on in." He stood to the side. My desire to kiss him upon greeting was almost overwhelming.

The atmosphere inside the apartment was warm and inviting. It was all uniquely… Moose. He'd moved into a refurbished warehouse building, and the space was larger than I expected. The high ceilings, at least twelve feet, maybe fifteen, looked proportionate to his size.

Exposed brick walls lent an industrial chic vibe, but he'd softened it with plush, slightly worn, oversized furniture. It could all comfortably accommodate his large frame. The couch was a dark, midnight blue piled high with throw pillows and knitted blankets.

The famed bubble hockey table had an honored position in one corner of the living room space. I imagined the many hours he'd faced off with Quinn on either side of that.

Moose had piled a neat set of knitting supplies in another corner on a repurposed drafting table. Beside it, skeins of blue, green, and red yarn filled an oversized wicker basket. Laid overthe top was a half-finished project. I guessed that it might be a scarf.

Stepping further into the room, with Moose standing silently behind my shoulder, I checked out a set of bookshelves. The books were an eclectic mix, like their owner's interests. Thick biology textbooks rested next to popular business titles likeThe Tipping PointandGood to Great. He'd dedicated one shelf to worn sci-fi paperback novels.

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