“Are performing serenades a regular activity for you?”
“I wish I could say my jaw injury happened on the ice, but it was at karaoke night.”
“At the Fish Bowl?”
“Got in a bit of a tussle with a guy.”
“Why?”
I wince. “Didn’t realize the girl I was singing with had a boyfriend.”
“So you are a cad.”
“Nothing of the sort.” He stops defending himself as if confident in the truth.
I lean my head to one side, expressing doubt, but inviting him to explain.
He says, “The dude broke my jaw. Had to have it wired shut for weeks. Couldn’t talk, couldn’t sing, couldn’t eat solid food.”
“Does that interfere with your playing?”
“Coach Badaszek is extremely cautious when it comes to injuries, not wanting a minor setback to turn into a major one.”
I find myself studying his face with new interest—the strong line of his jaw, the slight asymmetry of his grin, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he looks at me. All of it makes him seem more human, tolerable. Handsome.
“You know,” he says, pulling me back into our impromptu dance, “you should consider writing hockey romance. I hear it’s pretty popular.”
“It is?” I’m genuinely surprised.
“If it’s not, it should be.” He winks. “As your mother said, there’s a lot of me to love.”
I gasp. “She didn’t say that.”
“No, but she thought it when I gave her that big hug. Seemed like she needed it.”
He’s got that right and finding myself in his big, capable arms now, I suddenly want to know what it would feel like to sink into his embrace.
As if reading my mind, he winks again, playful and somehow not at all annoying.
Oh my, pumpkin pie.
My mind is muddled by this music. I meant totally annoying.
Based on our college experience and thinking about my mother’s comments about the two of us, I expected Fletch to take up all the space in a room—his personality is as outsized as his athletic build. But he doesn’t. Instead, he seems to create space, making room for me, the dog, and for the Christmas chaos he’s orchestrating.
It’s nice. Nicer than I want to admit.
“In the congratulations packet from Heartland HEA, there are some bonding exercises,” he says.
“Is participation mandatory?”
“You can consider it research.”
“Okay, name one.”
“We’re supposed to stare into each other’s eyes for five minutes.”
“Like a game of chicken?” Or like the hypnotist videos I see on social media, who supposedly uses this method to get people to fall in love. Seems real to me, which is fascinating, but it can’t be. Because no way am I going to fall for Fletch.
