“Thanks,” I say, then drink some of the smoothie. Liquid courage and all for the next thing I need to say. When I set it down, I dive right in. “And since I haven’t met anyone I’ve clicked with, and since we get along well, I figured I’d take her to the gala.” I glance around, making sure the pranksters are completely out of earshot. “Sort of like another practice-date. But I’m going to tell all those jackasses that we’re dating.” I drop my voice another notch. “It’s really fake though, like one of yourparents’Tinsel Takestop picks. That’s only for you to know.”
His eyes pop. “Damn, I didn’t see that coming, but that’s a brilliant solution.” His approving grin disappears though, and his eyes flicker with real concern. “How the hell are you going to find something real then?”
And that went south fast. But I’ve got to be as honest as I can. “Dude, you and the guys got me a matchmaking package. I used it. I don’t want a relationship. Isla and I are friends though. That’s got to count for something. This is the best I can do. Take the win, okay?”
He sighs in defeat. “Seriously? I thought you were opening up to finding the one.”
Have I opened up? Maybe every now and then I start to think love might not suck so bad. Maybe occasionally I catch a glimpse of what it means to trust someone again. Possibly, I can see what it’s like to share a bit of my life with someone who has a big, open heart. I’m also starting to tolerate Christmas a little.
But none of those are the same as wanting a big love. “Love isn’t for everyone, Jason. Some of us are just fine with hockey and family.”
He’s quiet for a beat, then he holds up his hands in surrender. “All right. I hear you. No more pushing.”
My gut twists. He made such an effort. But at least I’m not going to grinch my way through anyone’s gala now. I have to give him something though. “And I’m going to get a tree for Mia. Isla’s going with me.”
“Well,” Jason says, approval twinkling in his eyes, “I guess a little social interaction is doing you some good.”
I wish there were something I could do for Jason to make up for…well, my lies of omission. But then, my putting effort into the competition is something he’s wanted. “Tell you what—I’ll wear this shirt to the competition today.”
“Damn right you will,” he says, then his eyes narrow, and I can tell his big brain is putting pieces of a puzzle together. “You know what? Natalie’s coming by to get the kids. Let’s tell the guys now. I can’t wait to see their faces.”
Funny thing—I can’t wait either. Once his wife pops in, I say hi, then glance toward the back of the shop, imagining the patio beyond.
I didn’t defile it last night, but I did use it after hours. A little minor trespassing.
“I’ll meet you outside,” I say to Jason, then head to the counter and stuff a hundred-dollar bill in the tip jar.
“Thanks for…everything,” I tell the grandmotherly woman behind the counter.
She beams. “You’re welcome…Santa.”
I’m hardly the good guy in this Christmas story. But even so, I nod, and say, “Thanks.”
There are many places in town to have a snowball fight, but the town square is top among them. Along the way, we pass the mayor, walking her dog, who’s wearing antlers. She must be planning to go to the competition right after since she has that megaphone.
I stop her with a: “Good morning, Mayor Bumblefritz. Nick is looking festive today. Any chance I can borrow that to share a little Christmas cheer with my teammates?”
I deserve a gold star for buttering her up.
She gives me a quizzical look, then stares longingly down at the megaphone. “If you hurt it, you buy me ten new ones.”
“Deal,” I say, then take it and head to the town square where the clowns I play hockey with are pelting each other. A few other townsfolk are giving them a wide berth, probably trying to avoid getting hit by a stray missile.
Jason and I stand at the edge of the square. I lift the megaphone. “Listen up, trolls,” I say with all the affection the term entails.
Wesley stops with his arm cocked. Miles lowers his bomb. Tyler nails me with a snowball to the shoulder, and it smarts for a second. I don’t let on. Max is here too. So are Asher and Ford.
“I want to thank you all for your generous gift of a matchmaker. Good news—it worked so well in fact that I’m now dating my matchmaker and taking her to the gala. You’re welcome.”
I expect raised eyebrows. Scoffs. Trash talk. What do I get?
A fucking pile-on. They rush over to me, rubbing my hair, patting my back, high-fiving me.
“Know what this means?” Miles asks when we break apart.
“What does it mean?”
He turns to the other guys, a wicked smile on his face. “It means we’re going to help you,” he says. “Right boys?”
