Page 77 of Cross Check Christmas
Hendrix pulls me closer, one hand cupping my face. "So what you're saying is, we're perfect together?"
As perfect as a lopsided gingerbread house.
I grab the front of his Santa suit and pull him down to me. When our lips meet, it feels like every Christmas wish I've ever made coming true at once. His arms wrap around me, lifting me slightly off my feet as snowflakes dance around us.
His kiss warms me from head to toe, making me forget about the December chill. When we finally break apart, I rest my forehead against his chest, breathing in the scent of him mixed with the new fabric of the Santa coat.
Behind us, I can hear the last few cars leaving the parking lot, Christmas carols fading into the night.
Above us, snow continues to fall, turning Brookking Sound into our own private North Pole—witha hockey player Santa. And for once in my life, I don't need everything to be perfect. This moment—standing here with Hendrix under the stars—is better than perfect.
"You know what this means, right?" I say, remembering something.
"That you're finally admitting I'm irresistible?" Hendrix waggles his eyebrows, still holding me close.
"No." I tap his chest. "It means you lost both bets. Tucker gets your Boba Fett, and I successfully got you out of town before Christmas Eve."
He squints at me. "That's the same bet, I think."
"But you're here now, and that's all that matters. At least until you get traded to somewhere far away?"
His eyes widen. "Actually..." He grins that infuriating, wonderful grin. "I signed with the Titans this morning. Full contract, no trade clause." He brushes a snowflake from my nose. "They wanted me to play tonight's game, but I couldn't miss your pageant. Or the chance to tell you how I feel."
"So you're saying...
"I'm saying I'll be here every chance I get. And maybe..." He takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. "Maybe you could come visit me in Toronto sometimes?"
Looking up into his warm brown eyes, I know my answer. I've always known it, really. Ever since that first dance in high school, when the class clown showed me his heart.
"Yes," I whisper, standing on tiptoe to kiss him again. "But only if you promise to wear that Santa suit again."
"Deal." He grins against my lips. "And maybe you can dress up as Mrs. Claus sometime."
I roll my eyes, but I can't help smiling. This wonderful, ridiculous man is mine. And maybe that's the best Christmas miracle of all.
24
HENDRIX
The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg wafts through Grannie's kitchen as I plate the last of my signature German pancakes—a recipe Dad taught me years ago. The table's already set with Gran's best Christmas china, steam rising from the coffee pot in lazy swirls.
The doorbell chimes and my heart skips. I know that sound means Colette's here, right on time as always.
"Coming!" Aunt Goldie's voice rings out from the living room, followed by the click of the front door opening. "Oh, sweetie, you don't need to ring the bell! Just come right in—you're family now."
My hands freeze over the plate I'm arranging. Family. The word echoes in my chest, spreading warmth better than any cup of coffee could. Last night after the pageant, when Colette and I finally talked everything out, it felt like a new beginning. But hearing Aunt Goldie say that word—family—makes it real in a way I wasn't prepared for.
"I brought cinnamon rolls," Colette's voice carries from the entryway. "They're probably still warm. And some of that tea Grannie likes."
"Perfect timing! Hendrix is just finishing up breakfast - he insisted on cooking this year.." Goldie's voice drops to a stage whisper. "Can you believe it? Our boy, all grown up and domestic. He's been up since dawn cooking."
I roll my eyes but can't help grinning. The sound of Colette's laugh, soft and genuine, fills the house. It's different from her polite teacher laugh or her sarcastic one. This one's real—the one I've been working so hard to earn.
"Something smells amazing in here." Colette appears in the doorway, holding her baking dish. Her eyes meet mine and that spark between us ignites all over again.
"Had to maintain the Ellis Christmas breakfast tradition." I take the dish from her hands, letting my fingers brush against hers. "Though I think your cinnamon rolls might steal the show."
"We'll see about that." She bumps her hip against mine as she moves past to help with the table setting. The casual intimacy of it, the way she fits so naturally into this space, into my family's traditions - it feels right. More than right. It feels like home.
