Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Belle walking toward me. I stopped, motioning to the guard that I wanted her to join me.
“Hey,” she said, coming up beside me as we continued back inside. “You did great out there. Although, I was hoping to see more of those hockey skills you kept bragging about.” Her teasing grin sent my pulse tripping over itself.
“You know, I’m a professional hockey player. If you wanted to see a highlight reel, you could find it online,” I said, teasing back.
“You want me to internet stalk you?” she asked, feigning surprise. “Are you sure about that? Who knows what I might find. I might learn you’re secretly a sock model. Or that you’re banned from Chuck E. Cheese for life after an incident with the claw machine. Maybe you’re an amateur competitive eater whoonlyeats grilled cheese sandwiches during the offseason.” She grinned, clearly enjoying herself as she kept going. “Or—oh! What if you’re the secret leader of a nationwide underground snowball-fight league?”
I rolled my eyes, trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of her accusations. But then she added with a mischievous smile, “Or maybe…you’re the December feature inHockey Hunks of the Year.” The flush on hercheeks was visible before she ducked her head quickly. “Forget I said that.”
This was the first time since seeing her again that she reminded me of the woman I’d met in New York, instead of being the polished, buttoned-up version she was around my cousin. And yes, she had gotten a little flirty with her last comment and had let me know she thinks I’m a hunk, which I didn’t hate, but I didn’t want this version of her to leave. So instead of letting the comment slide like I probably should have, I found myself egging it on.
“Mr. December, huh?” I said with a smirk, giving her a sideways glance.
She peeked up at me through her lashes, the corners of her mouth twitching like she was fighting a smile. “Don’t let it go to your head, Mr. December. I’m just saying,objectivelyspeaking…you’d sell a lot of calendars.”
How could I not let it go to my head? Knowing she found me attractive enough to be in some sexy hockey player calendar inflated my ego, even if she was saying itobjectively.
As we entered the resort lobby, I tried to focus on anything other than how she was walking so close to me, her arm brushing mine every so often.
“So,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets, “what’s next on your Christmas activity agenda?”
“Well,” she said, pulling her phone out of her pocket and clicking on the resort app. “On the resort schedule today, we have cookie decorating and a snowman-building competition.”
“Cookie decorating?” I repeated, raising a brow.
She nodded, the excitement in her eyes making it impossible to say no.
“It’s in the Fireside Lounge,” she added, slipping her phone away. “Come on, Mr. December. Show me those artistic skills.”
With a groan I didn’t mean, I let her drag me toward the lounge, already smelling the warm sugar and butter before we even got through the doors.
Several tables and chairs were set up with premade sugar cookies and whipped frosting, ready for decoration. With only a few chairs left, we found two stations together in the corner.
Belle immediately grabbed a sugar cookie in the shape of a Christmas tree and picked up the piping bag filled with green frosting. “Every year the first cookie I decorate is a Christmas tree.” She squeezed the piping bag, expertly decorating the cookie in short brushes of frosting to make it look like a pine tree. “What about you?” she asked, glancing over at me. “Is cookie decorating a family tradition of yours?”
It was such an innocent question, one that most wouldn’t even bat an eye at. But me? Yeah, that question was loaded. I pushed my racing thoughts into the furthest recesses of my mind. Family. Christmas. Traditions. Those words all felt like glass splinters—small enough to ignore if you didn’t look too closely, but sharp enough to cut you wide open if you did.
I shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Not really,” I said, reaching for a cookie and a piping bag even though Ihad no clue what I was doing. “First time for everything, right?”
She stopped decorating her cookie and looked at me in shock. “You’ve never decorated Christmas cookies?”
I shook my head, looking down at the stocking-shaped cookie in front of me, not wanting to see the look of pity in her eyes I was sure I would see if I met her gaze.
A beat of silence passed before Belle’s cheery voice said, “Well, you’re in luck. I happen to be a sugar cookie Christmas decorating connoisseur.”
I looked up at her in surprise to see a teasing glint in her eye.
Most people would’ve wanted to ask questions, to dig into what I didn’t say. But she didn’t. She just…moved us past it, like it wasn’t even an issue. She didn’t press me for more details or make me feel like I had to explain myself. And for some reason, that made my chest feel a little lighter.
“First,” she said, “You need to pick a color for your stocking.”
I picked up the red piping bag, going for a classic look.
Belle set down her own cookie and picked up one of the stocking-shaped ones to decorate with me. Grabbing the white frosting, she said, “Then you want to outline the cookie before filling in the middle.”
I watched as she effortlessly traced the edge of her cookie, making it look easy.
I gave it a shot, squeezing the bag—but apparently Isqueezed too hard, because a big blob of red frosting splattered onto my cookie.
