Page 54

Audrey leans toward the windshield. "That is an alarming amount of leopard for one Christmas display."

"Chilmore has never understood restraint."

"Coming from a town currently hosting a billionaire's Christmas hockey tournament, that means absolutely nothing."

"Big Mike built all of it," I say, slowing so she can take it in. "Twenty years ago this was a dead-end ski town with one broken chairlift. Then he showed up with a fortune and a grudge against boredom, and now there's an NHL team on the mountain and the coffee is the best damn coffee you'll ever drink. Every kid in this town grows up with a stick in their hands now. It's not a sport here. It's the fucking weather."

"And you grew up right in the middle of it."

"Pretty much. On a tree farm an hour that way, dreaming about a building exactly like that one."

She's quiet for a second, her hand still resting on my thigh as she watches the purple neon lights slide across the windshield.

We climb out of town toward the quieter roads, where the houses spread out a little further.

Audrey turns in her seat and aims herself at me.

"So. Is this your regular move then? Driving women through Christmas lights with a truck full of snacks and calling it a date?"

"Excuse me?" I scoff, snatching a piece of chocolate out of her hand and throwing it in my mouth. "I'll have you know, my dating history is considerably less interesting than you're hoping."

"I don't buy that for a second. Look at you." She gives my body the once over. "You're enormous and kind and you smell like a lumberyard that moisturizes."

"That's the most confusing compliment I've ever received."

"Come on. Small town, professional athlete, those hands—"

I laugh. "You really do have a thing about my hands, don't you?"

"We're discussing your history, not my things." She points a piece of peppermint chocolate at me, but this time she's quicker than me and gets to eat it herself. "Come on. Confess. How many girls you had in the back seat, Romeo?"

"There've been women," I admit. "But hockey moved me around too much. Every offseason I came home to the farm because they needed me. Harvest doesn't care about your personal life, so nothing ever got serious because I was never anywhere long enough to be serious. It was casual, meaningless sex, or it was nothing."

"Huh." She chews her chocolate thoughtfully. "You know, maybe if you'd just flashed your dick around like I flashed my nipple, you might've had more luck."

I nearly crash into the sign on the side of the road. "What did you just say?!"

"What?!" She's squawking again. Her voice so high pitched an avalanche is probably coming down the mountain now. "Worked instantly for me, didn't it? I flashed a boob and landed a sexy hockey captain within the hour."

I laugh at how crazy it sounds. "I'll make a note to get my dick out in future roadside emergencies."

She laughs, then goes quieter as we pass a house with a very impressive hand-built sleigh in the front garden.

"Did you ever want it, though? Something serious?" she asks.

I think about it honestly, watching the headlights carve through the falling snow.

"Probably. But wanting permanent things felt pointless. It's easier not to start something you already know how it ends." I shrug. "So no great lost love. No dramatic heartbreak. Nobody waiting for me anywhere. Just a lot of Decembers spent hauling big ass trees."

Audrey exhales, and I turn to look at her.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That breath. You're relieved my love life sucks."

"I'm pleased," she says, chin up, "that no furious ex-girlfriend is going to hunt me down and murder me before Christmas. It's purely a safety consideration."