Page 16 of Slapshot & Sweet Potato

“What?”

“Sounds kind of like a proposal,” I blurt out before thinking.

“It is kind of like a proposal only because I don’t have a ring on me.”

I giggle. “So, you don’t carry black velvet boxes around?”

“Like I don’t carry condoms around, Wendy. I don’t have half as much game as you think, and there’s only one flavor that interests me.”

“And what’s that?” I manage, throat thick.

“Sweet Potato,” he says, voice low and wicked.

My phone vibrates on the table next to us, and I look down. Storm warning lifted, power restored, town roads reopening. “Guess the world’s calling.”

Wallace grabs it, eyes the screen. His jaw tenses for a moment. “Let it go to voicemail.”

I nod, ear-to-ear grin on my face. “Now that you’ve turned over a new leaf when it comes to holidays, what are your plans for Christmas? I, for one, will be baking for the whole town.”

“Then, I’ll be there early. You’ll need your assistant, right?”

“You volunteering, Slapshot?” I ask, losing myself in his rugged, stupid-handsome face.

“For life.”

My heart thuds hard against my ribs. “Careful. I’ll put you on the payroll.”

“You already have,” he says, caressing my hand and tangling his fingers with mine.

Outside, snow drifts shimmer. Inside, the fire still burns—steady, bright, ours.

One blizzard, one bed, one unforgettable forever.