Page 101 of Slap Shot Surprise
“Judging you for what?”
I frowned, rubbing my temples with a thumb and forefinger. “I don’t know. Never mind.”
“I’m here if you need to talk about anything.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I got off the stool. “What time are we leaving?”
“Mom says to be there by five-thirty.”
“Okay,” I said, heading out of the kitchen. “I’m going to get dressed.”
But when I got back up to my room, instead of pulling out my dress clothes, I lay down on the twin bed closest to the window. It was the same bed I’d slept in as a kid, the bed where I’d dreamed of playing professional hockey, where the only thing that mattered was being the best. Maybe I thought being back in that place would bring back those feelings.
But it didn’t. Instead I lay there thinking about Mabel, counting the hours until I’d see her tomorrow and imagining her face when she got her presents. She’d probably say she couldn’t accept them, but I’d convince her.
Maybe after I drove her back to Cherry Tree Harbor, I could stay the night with her. I wouldn’t really have a reason, since my flight back to Chicago on the twenty-sixth wasn’t until the afternoon. I just wanted more time with her. I’d sleep on the couch. The floor. A nearby hotel. Whatever she wanted.
I didn’t even know what the fuck to call these feelings for her that churned and billowed and bruised me on the inside, but they refused to let up.
I just wanted to be with her.
TWENTY
mabel
When I wokeup Christmas morning, my room was suffused with a soft light that I knew meant one thing—the world outside was white.
Tossing the covers aside, I went over to the window, shivering a little at the cold. When I peeked between the blinds, I gasped at the breathtaking winter wonderland on the other side of the glass—everything was covered with a blanket of snow, and it was still falling.
Climbing back into bed, I snuggled under the blankets again and reached for my phone. It was barely nine, and already there was a text message from Joe.
You awake? I’m coming to get you.
He’d sent it about five minutes earlier, so I quickly called him.
“Don’t try to argue with me,” he said instead of hello.
I laughed. “Merry Christmas to you too.”
“Sorry. Merry Christmas. But don’t you dare get behind the wheel. Have you looked outside?”
“I have. But now I’m back in bed.”
“Good. Stay there. I’m leaving soon.”
“Joe, if it’s too much to drive all the way up here, you don’t have to.”
“It’s not too much.”
“I don’t want to take you away from your family on Christmas.”
“You’re part of this family now too. And besides, I want to see you. I have presents for you.”
I smiled, sinking deeper into my pillow—and my feelings. “Fine.”
He laughed. “Was it the presents that did it?”
“Maybe.” I giggled. “What time will you get here?”
