“Look!” She points upwards, her face bathed in the tree’s multicolored glow. “The lights are dancing!”
We look up. The lightsdoseem to dance, reflected in her wide, awestruck eyes.
Denton sits slightly apart, leaning back on his hands, his gaze fixed upwards. The tree’s lights play across the strong planes of his face, softening the stern lines, catching the dark sweep of his lashes. He looks… almost peaceful.
Tabby chatters softly about the upcoming break and what she hopes Santa brings her this year. Denton listens, makingsounds of agreement. He doesn’t say much, but he’s listening to her.
Denton looks at me. Not a quick look, but a deliberate turn of his head. His eyes meet mine in the dappled light. The noise of the festival, the crowd of people surrounding us, the looming threat to my bakery… it all fades into insignificance. There’s just him, the quiet intensity in his gaze, and the shared warmth of Tabby pressed between us.
He doesn’t speak, just continues to look at me. And then, almost imperceptibly at first, the corner of his mouth lifts. It’s not the practiced, public smile he’d offered the hockey fans. It’s smaller. Barely there, really. But it’s real. Undeniably real. It reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners ever so slightly, transforming his usually stern expression into something warm.
It’s a smile just for me. A quiet acknowledgment. A shared moment in the sparkling glow of the tree.
My heart does a ridiculous, hopeful flip-flop in my chest. All of Charlie’s warnings, all the logic, all the reasons why this is a terrible idea… they evaporate like steam from a hot cocoa mug.
In this quiet bubble, under the festive lights, with Tabby’s trusting warmth against my side and that small, genuine smile curving Denton Blake’s lips… it feels like the first sprinkle on something terrifyingly, beautifully real.
The world narrows down to the soft glow in his eyes and the impossible warmth blooming in my chest. Like the first bite of a gingerbread cookie straight from the oven – sweet, spicy, and utterly irresistible.
Chapter 13
Denton
I’m methodically peeling tape off my wrists, the sticky residue clinging stubbornly, a minor annoyance in the familiar post-practice ritual. Across the aisle, Evan Daniels is stuffing his practice jersey into his bag.
“So,” he says, not looking up, his voice dripping with faux casualness. “Tree lighting.”
I grunt, balling up the used tape and tossing it towards the bin. It misses. Of course it does. I leave it there.
“Heard it was… sparkly.” He zips his bag up, finally turning to lean against the locker bank, arms crossed. A knowing smirk plays on his lips. “Tabs looked like she’d mainlined candy canes in the video Mom sent. All wide eyes and big grin.”
“She enjoyed it.” I keep my tone neutral. Objective. Just stating facts. I focus on unlacing my skates so I don’t have to look at him.
“Enjoyed it?” Evan chuckles, the sound echoing slightly in the tiled space. “Blake, she looked ecstatic. Like, Disney-princess-meets-chocolate cupcakes ecstatic. And you…” He pauses, deliberately, letting the silence hang. “You didn’t look like you were contemplating homicide by tinsel. Dare I say… almost human?”
I stiffen. My fingers freeze on the skate lace.Almost human.The phrase lands like a cheap shot, low and unexpected. It implies I’m usually something less.
And the worst part? It echoes the unsettling feeling I’d had myself, sitting on that blanket, looking up at the tree, with Holly James’s warmth radiating beside me.
“Shut up, Daniels,” I mutter, finally yanking the lace free. The skate drops to the bench with a dull thud.
I knew this was going to happen. As soon as I saw Evan’s mom at the tree lighting and she asked to take a picture (which apparently was actually a video), I knew I was going to catch shit from him.
He ignores the dismissal. Pushes off the lockers and takes a step closer. His voice drops, losing the teasing edge, gaining a seriousness that’s so much worse. “Seriously, man. It’s good. Seeing Tabs that happy? And you… not actively scowling at festive cheer? That’s a win. A big one.” He pauses, his eyes searching my face. I keep mine fixed on my other skate. “So… when do we get to meet her?”
The question hits like a puck to the chest. I look up, finally meeting his gaze. “Meet who?”
Evan rolls his eyes, the smirk returning in full force. “Oh, comeon. The architect of this Christmas miracle. The one who somehow got you within fifty feet of a giant, glittering tree and a big crowd of happy people. Holly.”
Holly.Her name in this sterile, sweaty environment feels wrong. Like bringing a gingerbread castle into an operating room.
“Why would you want to meet her? She’s Tabby’s… baking instructor.” The title sounds stupid even to me.
“Baking instructor,” Evan repeats slowly, drawing the words out. He nods, feigning deep thought. “Right.” He leans inconspiratorially. “So, this baking instructor… will she be coming to the team holiday party?”
The air leaves my lungs in a short, sharp exhale. Theparty. The annual Blades holiday extravaganza. A minefield of forced smiles, loud music, teammates’ significant others making small talk, management subtly assessing team cohesion. A mandatory event disguised as festive fun. A three-hour penalty box of social obligation.
The thought of navigating it alone, fielding questions about Tabby, about my life, about the persistent, pitying looks that still sometimes follow me… it’s bad enough. But the thought of bringingHolly? Intothat?
