Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
CHLOE
“Thank you so much, Chloe!” says Nicole, a little girl in a red puffer coat and matching beanie, as I finish signing her skate.
“You’re so welcome.” I smile and stand, capping my Sharpie as she beams up at me.
“Are you giving lessons again tomorrow?” her mom asks as she helps Nicole unlace her skates.
“I am.”
“Yesss!” Nicole squeals.
Her mom laughs. “We’ll register for another session with the front desk. Hopefully there’s still space available.”
“If they say it’s full, let them know I said it was okay to add you guys. They can call me if there’s a problem.”
“Thank you so much. We really appreciate it. Nicole has been talking about skating with you since we found out we’d be coming here.”
My heart warms. “I’ll see you then.”
All of the kids I worked with today were part of a special group—families who won an all-expenses-paid trip to the resort through the Mynt to Make a Difference charity by having the children write essays about what the holidays mean to them.
These kids have been the highlight of my trip. They’re eager, bright, and so excited about life. I make a mental note to ask the event coordinator if I can read some of the winning entries later. I want to know their stories. They deserve to be heard.
As I leave the rink and enter the lobby, I catch a whiff of the resort’s signature mulled-wine scent.
I drift past the garland-wrapped banisters and crackling fireplace, pausing when I see that the armchairs nestled between the grand tree and fireplace are empty.
The quiet hum of distant holiday music filters through the lobby.
My legs ache and my back is sore, but it’s the good kind of tired.
This spot feels like the perfect place to sit and relax.
I don’t feel like being alone in my room right now.
I sink into the nearest chair and let out a deep, contented sigh.
The cushions are so soft. I close my eyes, soaking in the sound of the crackling fire.
My thoughts drift to Drew. Teaching him to skate this morning was surprisingly fun. He wasn’t a natural, and I genuinely thought he might face-plant at least three different times, but he kept trying, kept laughing, and let me see a side of himself I’ve never seen before.
I open my eyes and take out my phone. Surprisingly, there’s a text from my mom.
Mom: Just saw a tagged photo of you on the resort’s social feed. Hope whatever event you’re doing is going well. I put some money in your account. Buy yourself something fun for Christmas. Let’s talk sometime this week. Just be warned Dad and I may have spotty cell service. X
I reread Mom’s message until the screen dims. I try not to think too much about Christmas. I’ll be spending it alone this year. Again. Mom and Dad didn’t even ask me if I wanted to join them on their Caribbean cruise.
They just assumed I would be too busy training for Nationals in January like I usually am. But if they’d asked, I would’ve made an exception this year. It’d be nice to spend some time with them. We haven’t spent more than a few days together in years.
Growing up, I wondered at times if they even wanted me. We were never a traditional family. I spent more time with my nanny than I did with them. She’s the one who attended my school recitals and skating competitions, and remembered my birthday.
Even when I won Nationals, Mom and Dad only sent flowers. When I graduated college, they sent jewelry. But they’ve never sent themselves.
It shouldn’t still hurt. But it does. Even now, I find myself wanting to be chosen. Not out of obligation, but because someone wants to show up for me.
The sad thing is, it also happened with my first serious boyfriend, a swimmer named Nick, when he was supposed to be at Nationals in San Jose five years ago.
He was the first guy I ever really let in.
He said I’d always be a priority, and I foolishly believed him.
I’d trained extra hard that year, and I couldn’t wait to show him what I could do.
Practices went well that week. I was nailing every jump, and skating better than I ever had.
Then the night of the short program arrived, and when I looked up in the stands, there was only Emma.
As much as I told myself I wouldn’t let his absence get to me, it did. I fell on both my double Axel and triple flip and essentially took myself out of the competition. It was my worst finish at Nationals. Ever.
When I texted Nick later that night, he was still back in Fresno. He told me he had forgotten “my thing” and gone out for a buddy’s birthday.
Nick chose his friends over me. His own girlfriend.
I didn’t matter. After that, I stopped expecting people to show up.
And stopped wanting to date. It hurt less.
I’m the only person I can count on. And maybe Emma and her family.
They’ve always been so kind to me and made me feel like one of their own.
I pick up my phone, fingers hovering. I don’t have the energy to text Mom. Instead, I text Drew.
Chloe: Do you feel like joining me for the Cocoa and Christmas Tales event tonight?
Drew: That depends.
Chloe: On?
Drew: What the story is.
I swipe out of our text chain and pull up the schedule of activities.
Chloe: It doesn’t say, but it’s probably something like “The Night Before Christmas” and “The Polar Express.”
Drew: Will there be snacks?
I shake my head. He’s all about the food.
Chloe: Yes, but it’s dessert.
Drew: That’s good enough for me.
Chloe: *Thumbs-up emoji.* It starts at seven.
Drew: I’ll see you then.
I tuck my phone away, heart a little lighter at the thought of spending more time alone with him, and wondering if I’ll have the excuse to use him as a human armrest. Will his touch ignite another spark inside me? I guess there’s only one way to find out.
At quarter to seven, Drew sends me a text.
Drew: I’m here and dressed to impress.
I raise an eyebrow. What exactly does he mean by that? I glance down at my green sweater dress and ankle boots. It’s cute, but casual. A wave of doubt creeps in. Have I missed the mark again?
Chloe: Great. I’m in the lobby, outside the fireside lounge.
Drew: On my way.
I barely have time to second-guess myself again before he appears. And he is definitely dressed to impress. Just not in the way I’d imagined.
He’s wearing a red-and-white sweater that features a dachshund in a Santa hat building a snowman. Around his neck, there’s a flashing LED necklace with red, green, blue, and yellow Christmas bulbs. Completing the ensemble is a pair of glowing reindeer antlers.
I press a hand to my mouth, torn between laughter and awe. “Wow. That’s a . . . very festive look.”
He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. “You can thank Emma. She stole all my clothes while I was in the shower and left this masterpiece hanging on the doorknob.”
I try to hold back a grin. “Wait. All your clothes?”
He nods solemnly. “She even emptied my closet and all my dresser drawers. It was either this or show up shirtless.”
Bummer. I wouldn’t have minded that look at all. But it is snowing outside, and I wouldn’t want him to freeze. I bite the inside of my cheek and manage to ask, “And she did this because . . .?”
“I made the mistake of telling her I was meeting up with you tonight.” He gives me a flat look. “I assume she wanted to be sure I left a lasting impression.”
I laugh, the last of my outfit worries evaporating. “I’d say it’s mission accomplished.”
He bows slightly, the antlers wobbling. “Glad I could deliver.” Then he straightens up and pulls out a small green gift bag from behind his back. It contains bright-red tissue and a candy cane sticking out of the side. “Here. This is for you.”
“Oh, Drew . . .” I start, heart fluttering a little. “You really didn’t have to—”
“I didn’t,” he cuts in sheepishly. “It’s from Emma.”
I blink. “Of course it is.” I reach into the bag, the tissue paper crackling as I pull out a pair of blinking LED reindeer antlers and a matching bulb necklace for me. I can’t help but laugh. “Oh, Emma,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m glad we’re going for subtle.”
Drew smirks. “You say that like you’re not impressed by how committed I am to the bit.”
Oh, I’m impressed. Not just because he’s here, rocking blinking antlers and a dachshund sweater, but because he’s here for me. He could’ve canceled on me after Emma’s little prank, but he didn’t.
I put on the antlers and drape the necklace over my head. “There. Now we’re officially matching. How do I look?”
He tilts his head, examining me with mock seriousness. “Great, except they’re a little crooked. May I?”
“Sure.”
He steps closer. My breath catches. His fingers brush lightly against my hair as he adjusts the antlers, and it’s like flipping a switch. Every nerve ending sparks to life. I go completely still. My heart thuds loudly.
“You wore your hair down,” he murmurs, fingers lingering a half-second too long. “It’s a good look for you.”
I swallow hard. “Thanks.”
The air between us shifts. He’s still so close, I can feel the faint brush of his breath. His hand hovers near my cheek now, suspended in midair. His gaze drops to my lips, and my pulse spikes.
A flurry is taking place inside my body like a snow globe shaken too hard. I’ve spent years convincing myself Drew Sullivan would never look at me like this. But tonight, it feels like I’ve made a flying leap forward. I want him to lean in and meet me halfway.
But the moment falls away as his hand drops. He takes a quick step back. “Come on,” he says softly, clearing his throat. “They’re probably waiting for us inside.”
“You’re right.”
Drew pulls the door open and places a hand at the small of my back as we head toward the lounge. It’s warm and cozy inside. The air smells like cinnamon, toasted marshmallows, and the faintest hint of peppermint.
Twinkling lights hang from the ceiling beams like starlight. Oversized pillows and fleece blankets are scattered around the fireplace, where a man in a red flannel shirt and jeans flips through a storybook, prepping for the event.
We make a beeline for the refreshment table. Drew grabs two ceramic mugs off a warming tray. There are at least six oversized dispensers labeled in loopy silver handwriting: Hot Chocolate, White Chocolate, Peppermint Hot Chocolate, Mr. Mynt’s Signature Hot Chocolate, Coffee, and Decaf Coffee.
“You think there’s enough choices?” Drew snickers, reading the labels. “Which blend are you going for?”
“Mr. Mynt’s. I’m curious if it’ll taste minty,” I joke. “What about you?”
“Same here.” He sets a mug under the spout and fills it. “I’ll take care of these. You’re on cookie duty.”
I salute him. “Yes, sir.”
“Whipped cream?” he asks, already reaching for the can.
“Yes. Make it as tall as possible.”
“On it.” He starts building a whipped-cream mountain.
I head over to the cookie trays, which are stacked with gingerbread men, frosted sugar cookies shaped like trees and snowflakes, and little shortbread stars. I fill a plate with some of everything and glance back at Drew.
Santa’s elves are working overtime inside my chest, pounding their hammers against my ribs.
Drew is still at the cocoa station, looking adorable.
His reindeer antlers sit a little crooked, his brow is furrowed in concentration, and his tongue is poking slightly out of the corner of his mouth as he carefully arranges the peppermint bark shavings.
I wish I could sneak out my phone to capture the moment. But I’ll settle for a mental snapshot.
I make my way back toward him, balancing a cookie plate in each hand. “How’s it going, barista?”
He steps back from the cocoa bar with an exaggerated flourish. “Feast your eyes on these masterpieces.”
The whipped cream is piled high and topped with shavings, two mini marshmallows, and, for reasons I don’t question, a single red M&M.
“The presentation is a ten out of ten,” I say, exchanging a plate for a cup. “But I’m deducting points for the lack of a peppermint stir stick.”
He gasps. “I knew I forgot something. Amateur mistake.”
“I’ll let it slide this time,” I say, fighting a smile.
Drew chuckles and nudges me gently toward the lounge seating area, where more guests are filtering in, gathering around the fireplace.
A soft instrumental version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” plays in the background, blending with the pop and crackle of the fire.
We settle onto a pair of oversized floor pillows, close enough that our shoulders brush.
“This is cozy,” Drew murmurs, lifting his cup toward mine. “To friendship,” he declares with a crooked grin.
“To friendship,” I echo, though the words are hollow. We clink our mugs and take a sip. Warmth spreads through me. There’s a hint of peppermint and something else unexpectedly sweet. Raspberry? I lick my lips and smile. “It’s good.”
Drew nods in agreement, eyes still on his cup. “Better than I expected.”
The lights dim slightly, and the storyteller begins. “It was the coldest winter the North Pole had ever seen . . .”
I try to focus on the story, but I’m only half listening. The rest of my attention is on the man beside me. I know we said this arrangement was just for fun, but I wish it would turn into something more. I’m playing a dangerous game with my heart.