Denton’s grip tightens fractionally on my arm as a man with a camera slung around his neck steps towards us. “Denton! Over here! Quick shot?”
Denton gives a curt shake of his head, his gaze fixed straight ahead. “Not tonight, Mike.” His voice leaves no room for argument. The photographer falls back, already scanning for easier prey.
We weave through clusters of people and I catch snippets of conversations about hockey. This world is so different from flour-dusted counters and the comforting clatter of my bakery. A wave of profound inadequacy washes over me. What am Idoinghere? I’m Holly James, baker of slightly lopsided gingerbread castles. Not… this.
Denton stops abruptly beside a towering arrangement of white roses and holly berries. He turns slightly towards me, his body angled to create a small pocket of relative privacy amidst the flow. His hand slides down from my elbow, coming to rest lightly on the small of my back. The touch, through the thin satin, is electric.
“Breathe, Holly,” he says quietly, his voice pitched for my ears only. His gaze holds mine, intense, searching. “You look…” He hesitates, his eyes flickering over my face, my hair, the unfamiliar line of the dress. “… really nice.” The corner of his mouth twitches. Almost a smile. A tiny crack in the fortress wall, just for me.
A startled laugh escapes me, dissolving some of the tension in my shoulders.Nice.From Denton Blake, that’s big. “High praise indeed, Mr. Blake,” I retort, finding a sliver of my usual spark.
His thumb moves, a barely perceptible stroke against the dip of my spine. “There’s the owner’s wife.” He nods subtly towards a regal-looking woman holding court nearby, draped in what looks like several thousand dollars worth of ivory cashmere.
Before I can formulate a response, a voice booms from our left. “Blakey! You made it! And you brought… a date.”
A man detaches himself from a group near the open bar. Evan Daniels. I recognize him instantly from the hockey game Charlie insisted I watch last night.
He’s slightly shorter than Denton but built with the same powerful athleticism. His dark hair is slightly mussed, his grin wide as he strides towards us, holding two flutes of champagne.
“Evan,” Denton acknowledges, his tone dry. “Try not to scare her off in the first five minutes.”
Evan ignores him, his bright blue eyes zeroing in on me with unnerving focus. “Scare her? Me? Never.” He thrusts a champagne flute towards me. “You must be the legendary baker. Holly, right? I’ve heardsomuch.” The emphasis on ‘so’ is heavy with implication. He glances meaningfully at Denton’s hand, still resting possessively on my back.
Heat floods my cheeks. Denton’s fingers flex slightly against my spine. “Daniels, if you don’t cut it out, I will remind everyone here about the incident with the Zamboni and the mascot costume. In vivid detail.”
Evan throws his head back and laughs, a loud, infectious sound that draws a few curious glances. He turns his full attention back to me. “Seriously, Holly. It’s great to meet you. Any woman who can get this grump within spitting distance of a tree lighting… you have my undying respect.” He clinks his glass lightly against mine.
“Thanks,” I manage, taking a small sip. The bubbles are crisp and cold, a welcome distraction. “This is… flashy.”
“That’s one word for it.” Evan leans in conspiratorially. “Mostly it’s a lot of people trying way too hard. But the open bar is excellent, and the crab cake appetizers are legit. Avoid the salmon puffs though. Questionable.” He winks.
“So how did Denton talk you into being his date tonight for this circus?”
“She’s not a date,” Denton corrects instantly, his voice clipped. The words land like a hard spray of cold water. “She’s doing me a favor. Buffer duty.”
The warmth that had started to build under his touch cools slightly.Buffer duty.Right. I take another, larger sip of champagne. The bubbles sting my nose.
Evan’s eyebrows shoot up. He looks from Denton’s stern face to mine, then back again. A slow, knowing smirk spreads acrosshis face. “Buffer duty,” he repeats, drawing the words out. He nods slowly, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
Denton’s jaw clenches. A muscle ticks near his temple. “Evan?—”
“Okay, okay!” Evan holds up his hands, laughing. “Message received! Buffer it is.”
He turns his full charm back on me. “So, Holly the Buffer. How’s the bakery? Denton mentioned you make a gingerbread castle that could withstand a direct hit.”
The abrupt change of subject is jarring, but welcome. I latch onto the familiarity. “It’s… doing well. We’re in the craziness of the holiday season now, filling enormous orders every day.”
He smiles at me, nods and then nudges Denton, who’s still radiating low-level annoyance. “Lighten up, Blakey. She’s charming. And she bakes. You’ve hit the jackpot with this buffer.”
Denton just grunts, but his hand, still resting on my back, gives a small, reassuring squeeze. “Where’s your better half, Daniels?”
Evan points at a large group of women who appear to be deep in conversation. “I’d love to introduce you to my wife, Sophie, in a bit. When she’s not in the middle of a players’ wife summit.”
“I’d love that,” I respond.
The next hour passes in a blur of introductions and polite chit-chat. Denton steers me through the crowd with focused efficiency. His hand rarely leaves my back – a warm, constant pressure that’s both comforting and increasingly distracting.
He introduces me to teammates and their partners, management figures whose names I instantly forget. My role is simple: smile, nod, occasionally murmur “Nice to meet you,” and try not to look as overwhelmed as I feel.
