Chapter 5
Chapter Five
CHLOE
“Here we are. Feel free to sit anywhere you’d like,” the coordinator says, ushering me in with a brisk wave.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
Scanning the room, I avoid eye contact with as many people as I can and gravitate to a seat in the back half of the room and exhale. Everyone here is a professional athlete who works with the Mynt Athletic Clothing company.
I recognize a few of the faces. There’s the football player Ledger Bishop. Tennis player Eddie Evans. And snowboarder Aspen Sterling. All big-time names!
The others are less familiar, but they all give off an aura of confidence that makes me believe they’re all huge successes in their respective fields.
Like the guy sitting four rows away from me, also by himself.
He has brown hair, gray eyes, and a short, trimmed beard.
With those broad, muscular shoulders, I bet he plays a sport like hockey.
I fan myself and sink lower into my seat. I can’t believe I’m sitting in the same room as all of them. They all look so put together in their crisp button-down shirts, designer jackets, and high-end jewelry. And here I am wearing a stained sweater, shoes, and jeans.
My cheeks burn. It’s my first major event with Mynt Athletic Clothing, and I should’ve known the dress code was going to be business casual. I wish I would’ve gotten the memo to dress nicer. But it’s too late now. I roll up the sleeves of my sweater, hoping to hide the worst of the stains.
“Welcome, everyone!” a woman with short curly blond hair says as she enters the stage. “We’re thrilled to have you all here to support an incredible cause, Mynt to Make a Difference.” She says a few more words, then introduces the owner and CEO, Barry Mynt.
True to his larger-than-life personality, he’s dressed in a hunter-green suit covered in tiny peppermints.
It works well with his white hair and neat beard.
I shouldn’t be surprised, given that every time I’ve seen him, his clothing has had a mint theme to it.
I’m half-surprised he doesn’t have a candy company that specializes in mint chocolates in his portfolio.
Taking hold of the mic, Mr. Mynt smiles and greets the crowd, letting us know in a booming voice that we are all “incredible” and “some of the best athletes in the world.” I clap along with everyone else.
Mr. Mynt reminds us that this week isn’t about pushing sales or posing for the cameras. “The real reason we’re here is to give back. My team has lined up some truly incredible events for you to take part in. In about an hour, we have a VIP meet-and-greet scheduled with some of your biggest fans.”
I shift in my seat, trying to hide my discomfort. I doubt I’m high up on the list of athletes that people are excited to see.
“And Christmas is right around the corner, so we also have a full offering of holiday-themed events, like breakfast with Santa, our polar plunge, our snowman- and cookie-decorating contests, and of course, my favorite event, the Merry Mynt Ball. This week is going to be packed full of fun, fun, fun!”
There’s some more polite applause from the crowd. Those events don’t sound too bad, except for the polar plunge. Jumping into a freezing-cold lake, pool, or wherever they hold the event is not my idea of fun. I shiver. Even though I’m an ice skater, I don’t care for cold weather. Shocking, I know.
“But before all of that can happen, we need for all of you to get to know one another a little better. The Mynt Athletic Clothing family has grown since last year. For our festive ice breaker, we’ll break out into small groups.
You’ll each say your name, your sport, a team if you have one, and answer a holiday question. ”
I sigh and try to keep from fidgeting. Hopefully I don’t come off as too awkward. But I probably will. The only places I feel like myself are when I’m with friends, like Emma, or when I’m skating.
The second my blades hit the ice, the outside world blurs away. I don’t think about who’s watching or what they’re expecting. It’s just me and the music. But here? In this room full of accomplished athletes? I feel like I’m an imposter.
“And let’s have you guys all get together,” Mr. Mynt says cheerfully, waving toward my section of the room.
I plaster on a tight smile that hopefully reads as friendly and not mildly panicking and shuffle over to the group he’s wrangled together. There are only four other people. I can do this.
The girl sitting to my left turns toward us with the kind of easy grin that reminds me of some of the sorority girls I used to see on campus at Fresno State.
“Hi, I guess I’ll go first. I’m Kelly and I’m a golfer.
” She looks over to the projector near the stage that has the list of questions.
“If you were one of Santa’s reindeer, which one would you be and why? ”
It only takes her a second to answer. “Oh my goodness, that’s easy. I would totally be Prancer because everyone loves watching me on the green and I always give a good show, bringing more viewers to the game of golf.”
I nod politely, though my brain is scrambling to remember the other reindeer and a reason.
A snowboarder named Aspen Sterling goes next followed by another girl with a lot of energy. “Hi everyone, I’m Juliet Morgan, and I play soccer for the US women’s team. And I guess if I had to pick a reindeer, I’d pick Rudolph, if that counts, because when I get cold, my nose turns bright-red.”
Darn, why didn’t I think of that? Rudloph would’ve been a great answer.
Then it’s my turn. I clear my throat. “Um, hi.” I hold up my hand in a half wave. “I’m Chloe Reynolds, and I’m a figure skater.”
That part’s easy. I glance at the screen again. The question is still glowing up there. What were the names of the reindeer again? And what did the others say? I rack my brain for an answer as I force a smile.
“And I guess . . . if I were one of Santa’s reindeer, I’d be Blitzen.” I pause, then rush to clarify. “Because like lightning, I tend to show up out of nowhere. Like at Nationals. I kind of won it by accident.”
There’s a beat of silence, then a few polite chuckles. I’m not sure if they think I’m joking. Either way, I’ll take it.
The last person in our group is the guy who was sitting near me. “I’m Holden Prescott. I play hockey, and I’m with the Minnesota Wolves.”
Ha, I knew it. Hockey player. I can pick them out a mile away.
“If I had to be a reindeer . . . I’d be Comet because I’m fast on the ice.”
Just as the words are out of his mouth, “Jingle Bells” bursts out of the speakers, cheerful and a little too loud, signaling that time’s up.
Mr. Mynt pops back up onto the stage, grinning like he just handed out candy canes to a stadium full of kids. “All right, everyone, well done. Now we have just enough time for a group photo!”
There’s a bit of shuffling as we’re all herded forward toward the stage. Someone hands me a Santa hat that still has a tag attached, and I slip it on sideways. We squeeze in close, me between Holden and the girl who liked Prancer, and the photographer counts down. I smile.
“We got it.” The photographer flashes a thumbs-up.
“Great,” Mr. Mynt says. “Let’s go spread some cheer. There’s no pressure, just be as charming as a mug of peppermint cocoa.”
A few minutes later, the doors open and the VIP ticket holders begin to fill the room. I take a deep breath and force a smile as the first few fans approach, but my mind drifts back to the hallway, to the puddle, to the look on Drew’s face right before I ran.
“Oh my gosh, Chloe! I’ve been dying to meet you,” a teenage girl says as she approaches me. “You’re my favorite skater.” Her dad hovers behind her, recording us with his phone.
I push my thoughts aside and turn my full focus to the girl in front of me. I’m reminded that I have work to do. “Aww, thank you so much. You have no idea how much hearing you say that means to me. Are you an ice skater too?”
“Yeah. I just passed my junior moves test.”
“Maybe I’ll see you at Nationals this year.” I wink and sign her badge.
She beams.
As she walks away, a younger girl approaches with her mom. I guess she’s around eight or nine years old. Her hands tremble slightly as she cradles an ice skate to her chest.
I crouch a little to meet her at eye level. “Hi there, I’m Chloe. What’s your name?”
“Brittany.” She sheepishly hands the skate to me.
“And what’s your favorite skating move?”
“Layback spins,” she says, wide-eyed.
“You’re brave. I always got scared looking up at the ceiling.” We take a photo together, and I scribble my name on the skate, then hand it back to her. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You too!”
She hugs me. As I watch her bounce away with a grin, my chest swells. Maybe I don’t always feel like I belong in rooms like this, but to these girls, I do. I’m not just a skater. I’m someone worth looking up to. And for the first time all day, I start to believe it too.
When we’re done, I slip away from the meet-and-greet crowd and head for the lobby, gripping a to-go cup. After crashing into Drew, this is the least I can do. I just hope he forgives me.
I retrace my steps from earlier. The mess has been cleaned from the floor, but Drew is still working on the fish tank. His sleeves are pushed up, and he’s muttering something under his breath.
I hover for a second, unsure if now’s a good time, or if I should run as fast as I can in the other direction. No. What am I thinking? Meeting Drew here earlier has to be a sign. I’m doing this. I clear my throat. “Hey.”
He glances over his shoulder, brows raised. There’s still a streak of green across his jaw that somehow makes him look even more infuriatingly attractive. “Hey, Chloe,” he says. “You’re back.”
“I am.”
He stands. “I didn’t scare you away like the Grinch?”
“Not yet.” I hold out the to-go cup. “I, um . . . brought you this. It’s peppermint hot chocolate. Not quite an apology bouquet, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”
Drew takes the cup and eyes it warily. “I hope you didn’t put something like fish flakes in there instead of chocolate.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” I say softly.
He chuckles. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. I know you wouldn’t. But Emma might.”
He chuckles and takes a sip. “Wow. This is really good.”
I shrug. “I remembered you liked peppermint, and I figured . . . well, you looked like you could use a little pick-me-up.”
“Seriously,” he says, lowering the cup. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to,” I say quickly. “Also, I may have felt bad about accidentally giving you a seaweed facial.”
He grins. “To be fair, that was mostly on me.”
I nod solemnly. We fall quiet for a second, and I suddenly become very interested in the peppermint ribbon on a nearby garland.
“I should probably let you get back to the tank,” I say, backing away slowly. “But . . . I’m glad you’re not too mad.”
He lifts the cup in a mock salute. “This helps.”
“Phew.” I give a dramatic exhale. “Guess I won’t have to hide behind the gingerbread house for the rest of the week.”
“Not unless you hit me with another bucket.”
“Noted.”
I turn, cheeks warm, and walk back toward the elevators with a little more spring in my step. Behind me, I hear him mutter, “Best apology I’ve ever tasted.”
I grin all the way to my suite.