Page 30 of Love at Teamsgiving
To be clear, I don’t have crushes on these guys. Far from it. Second to our family, hockey was Papa’s life. Even though he was a fan of the Empire State Kings, he transformed from a surly Russian who could hang massive sheets of drywall by himself to a gibbering fanboy when among pro hockey players. I’m no puck bunny, but these guys look like they could make quick work of this mess.
“It’s a delight to meet you. Thanks for coming in,” I say, noting the contrast between them and Nancy. Giving my head a little shake, I say, “I’m Juniper Popovik.”
“We know,” they chorus.
“Margo told us all about her best friend from the city,” says Grady Federer, who joined the Knights late last season.
I peer around for Beau, Margo’s, well, her beau and the Knights’ goalie, but he’s not here.
“Thanks, guys. I cannot begin to thank you?—”
“Buy us a round at the Fish Bowl and we’ll call it good,” says Pierre Arsenault, the other defenseman.
I beam a smile and say, “Deal. But who’s Max Linderberg?”
Redd starts telling me about Nancy’s ex-husband, who owns the place and let it fall to ruin out of spite for the Cobbiton CAC president, who insists on a pristine downtown. “Mrs. Gormely, the town gossip, can fill you in better than I can, but let’s just say the former couple have a feud and the town suffers for it. For example, he loved the Christmas Market and if it weren’t for our guy Pierre, she would’ve let it close for good.”
Listening to the local clothesline content, my smile falls. Another large and familiar figure enters the building. He has thick dark hair, dark eyes, and a sheet of end-of-day stubble on his sculpted jawline. Oh, and let’s not forget that stupidly sexy dimple in his chin that I thought about kissing when we stood in my doorway last night.
Miguel wolf whistles. “What do we have here?”
My arms fly in front of my chest and I grind my teeth. “We have it under control. Your help isn’t necessary. Thank you. Don’t come again,” I say in a flurry.
“Junie, that’s no way to welcome your biggest fan.”
In various stages of tossing things in the trash, moving shelves, and assessing a busted wall, all the guys gradually go still.
“Pfft. My biggest fan? More like my biggest pain, a pest, really.”
Miguel’s gaze doesn’t leave mine as he crosses the room, deftly avoiding the debris. He stops in front of me. My skin heats. The guys must’ve disturbed some dust. Could be an allergen in the air. I hope I’m not getting a weird rash. There’s no telling what kinds of germs are seeping out from behind the bathroom door.
“Junie, no matter how hard you try, you can’t break my heart again.”
My breath catches.
There’s a low, “Oooh,” from our audience.
“Nothing to see here. As you were,” I say to the troops.
“There’s a lot to see. Starting with,” Miguel’s lips twitch as he slides my bangs out of my face—I wasn’t expecting a work day and should’ve put on a bandana or worn a hat. I should also check on Mama. But Miguel has me locked in place, doing my level best to avoid allowing myself to desire his slightest touch, his attention, or anything from him, least of all his heart.
“I don’t want your help.” My voice is a croaky whisper. When left alone in my simmering rage, I can imagine all the things I’d like to say to Miguel and picture myself kicking him in the shins, but it evaporates in person. My body is a traitor.
He says, “But the wedding.”
The guys all lean in, like Mama when she’d get wind of anything having to do with Carlotta Cruz.
“Nice try making me look like the bad guy, Peppino,” I tack on his mother’s pet name for him, not caring—hoping—the guys start calling him it, knowing he hates it.
On cue, one of them says, “Peppino?”
Mission accomplished.
“We have cake to taste and flowers to select,” Miguel says, not revealing it’s for our friends and not a wedding take two redo.
“You can see that I’m busy. I’m sure you can handle that yourself.”
“You trust me now? I think Erica wants us to work together. If I’m not mistaken, I think she’s hoping we’ll patch things up.”
