Page 113

"I'M NOT RETIRING."

Nate hands him the gift, which judging by the shape, is most definitely a hockey stick. As Miles pulls away the wrapping, I see the Christmas-themed stick is covered in handwritten messages from every player. Aidan follows with a framed photograph of Coach Dave asleep during a team meeting, and Dylan appears on the ice with his guitar and leans into the microphone.

"I've composed a retirement ballad. It's called The Lumberjack Who Quit Before His Knees Exploded."

"MY KNEES ARE FINE," Miles roars over the opening chords.

Nobody listens. It's the least dignified send-off in hockey history, but Miles laughs through every second of it.

Slowly, the celebration spills toward the Ski Bar, where champagne, chocolate-orange cake and an obscene tower of Zoey's Christmas desserts wait under the glow of the fireplaces.

Stanley Frost is serving some kind of Christmas-inspired cocktail, and Susan immediately corners Samuel Voss against the bar, delivering a slightly scary mother pep-talk to the Snow Leopards captain.

"He needs regular meals," she warns. "If my boy skips lunch he becomes large, silent and unpleasant."

"Ma'am, he's my boss."

"Write it down anyway. I'll wait."

Hunter and Will hoist me onto their shoulders and toast "the woman who made the farm more money in one week than three years of our social-media strategy."

"Objection," Will says. "My shirtless wood-chopping videos are finally building a following. Seriously ladies, you should all check it out. Find me @LumberSnack."

“You named yourself that?” I ask.

“No. The women in the comments did.”

I ignore his grin, because from the corner of my eye, Nate and Eden disappear toward the balcony claiming they need to "discuss the upcoming Christmas Gala," which fools absolutely no one who's been paying close enough attention.

Across the room, Dylan watches Stevie leave with Aidan and his expression suggests Christmas is about to become significantly more complicated for the Stone family.

That's when I realize Miles is gone.

So I finish my drink and step out of the Ski Bar.

I find him beside the empty rink beneath the glow of the resort’s enormous Christmas tree. Thousands of lights twinkle across the ice while snow gathers along the boards, softening the abandoned gloves, towels and water bottles left behind after the game.

Miles stands near the players’ tunnel with the signed stick resting against one shoulder. Red ribbon curls around his skates, and from here, I can see fragments of the messages written across the shaft in silver ink.

CAPTAIN.

THANKS FOR MAKING US A TEAM.

YOUR KNEES REMAIN QUESTIONABLE.

"Surviving your retirement?" I ask.

"I have four games left." He grins. "I would like everyone to stop discussing my knees."

"Your knees are a matter of public record now. There's a ballad."

He laughs and pulls me against his side, and we stand there watching the lights shimmer across the ice.

"Question," he says. "Our Christmas-only arrangement. That's completely squashed now, right?"

"Well. Let's examine your violations." I pretend to review an imaginary contract. "You stayed overnight in my suite repeatedly. You introduced me to your entire family. You entered a business partnership with me, declared your love beneath a heritage tree, and committed grand theft auto while transporting stolen wedding gifts."

"Borrowing a distressed bride's car is a romantic emergency in Chilmore."