Page 3 of Mr. Mistletoe
That earns me a real laugh, warm and unguarded, the kind that makes the crowded arena shrink to just us.
She’s gorgeous. A classic beauty with pale skin, dark hair, and eyes the color of sapphires. Sleeping Beauty come to life.
I zero in on her lips and feel a zing straight to my heart.
“Is that guy your boyfriend?” I ask, gesturing at the men’s room.
She rolls her eyes. “First date.”
Something inside me loosens. “He’s not scoring a lot of points right now.”
“Nope.” She pops some popcorn in her mouth and chews. “My brother set us up. He thought we’d be perfect for each other—just because he’s tall.”
I scoff. “There’s more to a relationship than height.”
“Tell me about it.”
“In high school, my sister had this boyfriend who hated that she was taller than him, so she wore three-inch heels to the prom just to see what he’d do.”
“What did he do?”
“He stood on a stool for pictures.”
She nods with approval. “Badass.”
“She’s pretty pregnant right now, so she’s even more badass.”
She smiles warmly, seeming genuinely interested. “When is she due?”
“Pretty soon,” I say. “Right around Christmas.”
Her full lips stretch into a warm smile. “You must be so excited.”
My heart thuds, dropping to the pit of my stomach. Ingrid’s kid will be the first grandchild. It’s a blessing and a heartbreak. I swallow hard on the knot of sadness tightening my throat. The toe of my boot catches against the tile as I fail to pick my feet up.
It’s moments like this that just sneak up on you. Crash over you like being hit on the head with a hockey stick.
A firm hand lands on my arm. “You okay?”
I nod, blinking back the sudden emotion. “I’m fine. It’s just a rough night.”
She grimaces. “Tell me about it. I spilled popcorn all over my date. And the Stingers are bound to lose to the Rogues.”
“Yeah.” I stuff popcorn in my mouth and chew thoughtfully.
“You sure you’re okay?” she asks, stopping suddenly in front of the entrance to the upper level.
I try to nod, but can’t seem to make my head move. “Not really.”
Her hand tightens on my arm. “What’s wrong?”
“My dad died.” The words come tumbling out. It’s a lot for a stranger to take in. I don’t even know her name and I’m spilling my guts, but something about her makes me feel safe. She’s open. And she has the kindest eyes.
She squeezes my arm, her fingers sending a wave of warmth through me. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“It’s my first game without him.”
“That is tough.” The corner of her mouth lifts up in a hopeful smile. “I’m sure he’s with us. Cheering for the Stingers, right?”
