"Go win the game for the town."
He walked backward in his skates. "I already did."
I watchedthe game from the stands with Megan and Charlotte. Everleigh sat a few rows up, her eyes following every move on the ice while Gunnar held the sleeping baby.
GJ had her "GOALIE'S GRANDMA IS WATCHING" sign front and center.
The Windswan Old-Timers relied solely on Diefenbunker to carry the team. He was good, but the Growlers had more depth. In the third period, I screamed with the rest of the town as my boyfriend deked out the defensemen, had a breakaway, and scored the game-winning goal.
The team piled on each other at center ice. I screamed until my throat hurt. Dash barked his head off beside me.
Beck found me in the crowd afterward, still in his sweaty jersey, hair matted to his forehead.
"You were incredible."
He wrapped me in his arms. "This has been the best day of my life." His kiss was deep and the hustle of the holiday crowd disappeared around us.
Later that day,the parade rolled down Main Street. The high school band butchered "Jingle Bells." The Bobcats players peltedkids with candy canes from a flatbed. The alpaca duo, Dave and Simon, were met with cheer as they trudged by wearing their felt antlers, looking as clueless as last year.
Santa’s sleigh floated by just as the snow started to fall. Big flakes caught in the glow of the Christmas lights and settled on our shoulders.
Across the street, Mrs. K and Donnie finally held hands. I elbowed Beck to get his attention. “Look at those two lovebirds.”
"I'm glad we didn't wait that long." He squeezed my hand.
"Me too, Beck. I love you."
"I love you too, Clara the Cruel."
"Hey!" I pushed him.
"Sorry," he grinned. "That one's sticking."
I thought about Dorothy and her ruby slippers. She went through all that drama, just to figure out she wanted what she'd had all along. There's no place like home, especially when home has the right person in it.
"Beck?" I swiped a snowflake from his cheek. "Let's go home."
EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
The King CommunityCenter wasn't open to the public yet, but tonight it was home to the King Corporation Christmas Gala. It was a black-tie event with an exclusive guest list, and I was on it: Clara Dalton, plus-one to the King's Head of Development, Beckett Shepherd.
Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the mountains and timber beams were wrapped in Christmas lights. A thirty-foot Christmas tree soared to the rafters, decorated in gold ornaments and a strand of warm white twinkle lights long enough that it could probably stretch all the way to the neighboring town of Windswan.
Waiters in black vests and bowties circulated with champagne and canapés. Beck took two champagne flutes and handed one to me. Flashes from the paparazzi flickered outside the entrance as the NHL players started to arrive.
"This is insane," I said to Beck, adjusting the strap of my white silk dress.
"William King doesn't do sane."
A year ago, I might have felt weird here. A girl from the trailer park playing dress-up with billionaires. But I'd stopped giving a damn what anyone thought about where I came from.
Charlotte and Logan joined us next to the dance floor. A twenty-piece string orchestra played a variety of Christmas music mixed with instrumental covers of pop songs.
"Can you believe this is Chance Rapids?" Logan sipped his champagne. "Maybe it's time for us to move further north."
Charlotte, in a floor-length royal blue gown, elbowed him. "It's the perfect mix. You can drink cheap beer in your friends’ garages and then go for Wagyu at the Fork."
