Chapter 28 Secret Santa
SECRET SANTA
ROWAN
Look, I didn’t want the money from the Nutcracker Auction to go to waste. I bid on the Christmas carolers for a reason. I used them last night as planned, and they were up for an encore this morning.
Mia and I walk Wanda along Main Street—I made an exception by coming into town—because maybe, possibly, fine, I do want to see Karlsson’s reaction.
We turn left, then a few blocks later we arrive at the inn where I know the New York team stayed last night.
The carolers are long gone. I asked for an early morning serenade, after all.
Mia and I hang around the front entrance.
Soon, the players start trickling out. They trudge down the steps after their loss, with Karlsson the last to go.
He’s built like a wooden block, and his ruddy face is still sour.
Good.
I tip my forehead toward the beefy D-man. “What’s wrong, Karlsson? Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”
He sneers at me. “Yeah, someone sent some carolers to sing ‘Good King Wenceslas’ outside my hotel room last night. And this morning they did ‘Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.’”
I remain stone-faced. “That sounds…real thoughtful. Holiday cheer and all.”
“No, dick. It was annoying as fuck. But I’ll find out who it was.”
“Watch your language,” I say, curling a hand around Mia’s shoulder for emphasis.
“Whatever.”
He’s such an ass. “Good luck finding out who your secret Santa is.”
“Yeah. I’ll be watching you,” he says, his beady eyes locked on mine.
“Sure you will. Because you want to learn from a better player. I get it.”
Mia lifts her chin, stands taller. “My dad scored a point last night,” Mia chimes in. Wanda gets in on my defense too, barking angrily at my rival.
The asshole shakes his head and walks off.
When he’s gone, Mia turns to me with inquisitive eyes. “Dad, did you send the carolers for him?”
I can’t lie to her. “I sure did.”
“Good. He deserves to be woken up.”
“Exactly. He’s been saying rude things about my teammates and their girlfriends and wives for years. It was time for a little payback.”
“You’re so smart. And ruthless,” she says, like a proud daughter.
And call me a proud papa. “Thanks. That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
I ruffle her hair as we wander back toward Main Street, Wanda trotting ahead. As we pass the town clock, I note the time—ten hours till my second practice date with Isla.
I’ve been patient since the other night. I haven’t pushed. I focused on hockey and Mia, and flashing a PR smile, as per Jason’s instructions, when the photog snapped pics at the contest yesterday morning.
Today though? I’ve got to turn my attention to Isla. When she texted this morning asking to meet at the North Pole Nook, she also sent instructions for our dating lesson. It’s so very her.
Isla: As part of your dating school, I want you to think of a story about yourself that you can tell me. Something you haven’t shared before. Something that makes you vulnerable. It’ll be good practice.
I’d rather have dinner with Karlsson than share something vulnerable. But if it’ll get me what I want—more practice dates with Isla—I’ll come up with something.
Mia’s spending the evening at an ornament-making class at the local pottery shop, so I’ve got some free time after I drop her off. I’ll head into the North Pole Nook tonight and work on my homework for a bit before Isla meets me there.
I walk along a side street, passing a cobblestoned alley I’ve never seen before.
I stop, take a few steps, then peer down it.
Ah, at the end of the little alley looks like there’s a courtyard tucked behind Rudy’s Coffee Shop, with fairy lights and all sorts of decorations.
Probably a back patio for the shop. Isla would love that.
Maybe that’s vulnerable? Telling her I saw this alley and thought of her?
No, idiot. She said make it about you.
Still, I explore the alley more, checking out details, filing them away, then I stalk the rest of the way to the bar, turning over stories I don’t want to tell. Regina walked out the morning I planned to propose. Regina left me with a letter. Regina hasn’t seen our daughter in almost five years.
That last one is like a rusty knife blade, excavating my heart. All those nights when Mia cried. They nearly broke me. I do not want to crack open that trunk of sad stories.
But maybe I’ll figure something else out in the North Pole Nook. I go inside, then peer closely at a familiar frame at the bar. The fucker didn’t tell me he was here. Corbin’s nursing a beer, chatting with the bartender.
“Dude. You didn’t tell me you were in town,” I say, then clap him on the back. “You keeping secrets now?”
“Yeah—a daughter who loves this town. I had two free nights without a game, so Charlotte convinced me to take her. She’s at the—”
“Ornament-making class?”
He laughs. “Yours too?”
“Yep. I didn’t go all the way in, so I didn’t see Charlotte. But great minds,” I say, then sit next to my friend and order a scotch. When the bartender leaves, I steal a glance at the door. Isla is the early type. But she’s not here yet.
That’s probably good, since I need to think about this whole “vulnerable homework.” Even though it makes my skin crawl like roaches are scurrying across me. Trying to shake off that image, I check out the door one more time.
When I turn back to Corbin, he’s smirking as he pushes his messy hair off his forehead. “You’re meeting someone you’re into. That’s why you just checked out the door. Twice. Guess the whole matchmaking thing is working out?”
Shit. My cheeks burn. How am I this obvious? “No. Not at all.”
Corbin gives me a look that says don’t bullshit a bullshitter. “Come on. I know how to read people—and I know exactly what that face was. You’re fucking into someone. Who is it?”
“I’m a hockey player. I know how to shield my emotions. I didn’t show anything.”
“Yeah, me too, dickhead. That’s how I know what you’re up to.” He gives a chin nod. “What’s the story?”
I fiddle with a coaster, stalling. Is this part of being vulnerable? Fuck if I know. Before I can respond though, the bartender arrives with my scotch.
After I thank him, I knock back some liquor, then meet Corbin’s eyes. “Yes. I’m into someone, and it’s fuck-all complicated, and that’s all I’m going to say.”
I don’t tell him anything more. It’s not because Jason’s his agent too.
It’s because it’s not my story to tell. It’s Isla’s, and she won’t want me breathing a word of it.
Which means this whole practice date thing has to stay on the down-low.
’Tis the season for secrets, I suppose. Except, that doesn’t entirely sit right with me.
Especially since I don’t think Isla’s into the whole forbidden thing.
Sure, we had that night at the Candy Cane Diner, but that was before I hoisted her against the exterior wall of her parents’ house and grinded against her in the dark.
If we keep this up like I want, will she have a hard time explaining—to anyone—what we’re up to?
Isla prefers to be on the up and up. And won’t practice-dates feel a little like sneaking around?
I set those thoughts aside for now though as Corbin lifts his beer in a toast. “To…second chances?”
I shudder but clink my glass to his.
Yeah, this is going to be the toughest date of my life. Isla gave me a challenge I’m not sure I can meet.
As I shoot the breeze with Corbin about hockey and the Christmas carolers, the words second chances echo in my brain.
Insistent.
Like a reminder of something to do.
When Corbin says he needs to take off to meet some friends, I’m a little relieved he won’t be here when Isla arrives. He is good at reading people. What if he can read her? That might make Isla feel…uncomfortable about all these secrets.
The seed of an idea takes root.
“Good luck with your complicated thing,” he says as he pushes away from the bar. “Also, I was right. I was right. I was fucking right.”
“Get out of here.”
“So you can watch the door and pine for your mystery woman.”
I have no choice but to flip him the bird. As he leaves, he mimes checking the entryway.
Maybe I’ll order another round of carolers for him.
As I settle the tab, the idea starts to take shape a little more. It doesn’t solve the vulnerability issue, but maybe it solves another issue—one of vulnerability for her?
My phone buzzes, and it’s Isla.
Isla: I’m over in the corner in a booth. You were with a friend, so I didn’t want to bug you.
She was early after all. I spot her easily, her head bent over a book—something with a red and pink cover.
Her chestnut hair cascades over her shoulders, and she sweeps it off her face as she reads.
She looks incredible: lips glossy, hair shiny, pink sweater screaming date night.
The entire ensemble is like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart.
When I reach the table, Isla looks up. Nerves flicker across those blue eyes.
But hope, too, chased with longing. Her eyes sweep up and down me quickly, and they tell me she’s remembering the other night up against the house.
Yep, I’m pretty sure my idea could protect her too.
“Ready for practice?” she asks.
I’m ready all right. To be vulnerable. Maybe not in the way she asked for. But in another way. It’s a way that I’m pretty sure we both want.
I push the nascent idea to the back of my mind for now. First things first.
I sit next to her, leaving no space between us.
My thigh touches hers. I cut to the chase.
“You said to be vulnerable. Here goes,” I say, taking a beat and a breath, and maybe, possibly, letting the anticipation I see in her eyes build even more.
“I want to kiss you until you can’t think straight, undress you by the fire till you’re hotter than the flames, and devour you under the mistletoe all night long. ”