Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
When we’re done, Charlotte clears her throat, her gaze swinging pointedly to the kitchen. “Dad, is there something you wanted to give Mabel? From us?”
I stare right back at her. “Charlotte, is there something you wanted to give Mabel?”
She grins a little evilly. “Why, yes.”
She scurries to the kitchen and grabs the gift box, then marches it right back to Mabel. “My dad and I saw this and thought it would be perfect for you. It’s from both of us.”
“You two are so sweet,” Mabel says.
We settle down at a table in the front of the store, the holiday lights still twinkling outside the shop. Mabel unwraps the paper with anticipation in those big brown eyes, then takes out the sweater, her expression softening. “This is perfect. I love it so much,” she says, then gives my daughter a hug.
Charlotte hugs her back, and that’s a real good sight. So good my chest tightens with emotions. Dangerous things. But things I’m not as scared of as I was a couple months ago.
When Mabel lets go, Charlotte gets straight to business. “The fosters are coming over on Tuesday. Mischief and Mayhem. Do you want to help with them?”
“Obviously,” Mabel says.
Like it’s that easy, and maybe some things just are.
What’s not easy?
Making it to the first blind-date cookie event on Monday night. I promised Mabel I’d be there early to help set up, but the team meeting started late. It’s going overtime too.
“You’ve done a good job turning things around after last season’s rough ending. We’ve got a few more games to play, but I just want to remind all of you that we don’t have much time off during the holidays,” Coach Ahmed says—stuff we should all know by now.
But I’ve learned over the years that some players go a little too hard over the short Christmas break and come back sluggish.
Translation: hungover as hell.
“So hydrate, men. Okay?”
Ivan chuckles. “Shouldn’t you save this speech for New Year’s?”
“And I will,” Coach deadpans. “Because that’s when you’ll really need it. Keep up the workouts, keep up the conditioning. Let’s finish the year strong and start the new one even stronger.”
“Yes, sir,” Miller says, like a good soldier.
“Suck-up,” Lake mutters.
“Feel free to do extra push-ups, Axelrod,” Coach fires back.
“I love push-ups,” Lake says matter-of-factly.
“Of course you do.” Coach shakes his head.
He turns it over to the assistant coach to review plays and strategy for our next few games, and I check my watch. Shit. No way I’m helping set up now.
“Got somewhere to be, Knight?” Coach asks.
Chastened, I look up. “Right here, sir.”
“I thought so.”
Twenty minutes later, the meeting finally ends. Soon I’m flying along the Embarcadero toward the Golden Gate Bridge, and I call Mabel on the car’s speaker.
She answers after a few rings. “Hey, what’s up?” She’s friendly, but sounds busy.
“The meeting ran late. I’ll be fifteen minutes behind. Maybe twenty.”
She pauses. Plates clatter in the background. Shit. Did I piss her off?
“And here I thought you were never late,” she teases. “Or was that just what you told Ronnie to get me into the trailer?”
The callback makes me laugh, tension loosening in my chest. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“It’s all good. No worries,” she says. “I’ve got Aisha here—we can handle it.”
But that doesn’t sit right with me. I want to handle things too.
After we hang up, I call Annabelle. “Got any mistletoe?”
“Of course I do, hun. I’m a plant dealer.”
Her shop’s along the way, so once I exit into Cozy Valley, I swing by, grab the sprigs, and race over to our bakery.
I walk into Afternoon Delight, waggling three bunches like contraband. “Look what I brought.”
From behind the counter where she’s straightening a display card, Mabel gasps. “Great idea. So glad you thought of it.”
Yup. I’ve still got it. Even though, as I look around at the bakery—the tables with Christmas pine cones, the plates with snowflakes, the napkins decorated with reindeer—I wish I’d been here to set up.
That’s why I insisted on being a hands-on investor in the first place.
But at least there’s mistletoe.
Are we matchmakers? Not exactly, but the event goes well, and I get the sense that there might be a second date or two.
The potential lovebirds leave, and then after Aisha helps clean up, she heads out too, leaving Mabel and me to finish.
When everything is done, Mabel yawns, then turns toward the stairs. My chest aches with the desire to follow her.
But I can’t. Charlotte’s with me tonight, so I steal a kiss under the mistletoe instead.
And it does feel stolen.
Maybe someday it won’t.
On Wednesday night, we destroy Montreal in our barn, and it feels damn good to crush them.
“It’s a very fucking Merry Christmas indeed,” Ivan says as we skate off the ice with the W, and he taps his stick on the gate.