Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

Christmas morning brings flurries as I pack for the trip to Colorado. The team plane departs this afternoon, so I have plenty of time to debate with myself whether to sneak in a visit with Cara.

As mentioned, frequent practice will help perfect the art of the kiss. Catching my reflection in the mirror, my smile is big, goofy, and doofy. Who am I kidding? The kiss we shared last night was already perfect, and I just want an excuse to do it again.

I should get her a Christmas gift. I have an assortment of blueberry items from the farm that I brought back from my last trip home. But that doesn’t feel personal. She insisted I keep the sketch she made of me in her notebook when I thought she was writing verbatim the so-called technical details of a kiss.

There was nothing technical about it. Cara’s lips against mine were all desire and passion wrapped up in a bow.

I should pack my suitcase, but I’d rather wear the ugly sweater than go into my room, which is a mess with clothes scattered all over the floor. My condo is sparse, but that’s mostly because my bedroom contains the catastrophe that represents my life. It’s a door that usually remains shut.

But what if I want to be less of a hot mess as a social media troll so recently commented? New Year’s resolutions start now. No, they began last night (last week?) because kissing Cara changed my life as I know it. The world blew apart. The explosions exposed my true longings and desires. Fires still smolder because I want more. I want her.

My family calls, and we spend the next hour and a half on video chat with the phone being passed around between my parents, siblings, tantes , oncles , and, of course my many cousins. My eyes burn when we get off the call from staring at the screen for so long.

But I notice one thing. My father has always called my mother amour . I realize I’ve called Cara that on numerous occasions, almost without realizing it. But now I do . . . and it means something.

I fix some lunch, finishing off the cookies I got at the market. Yes, I have cookies for lunch because it’s Christmas . I also clean my room and finally pack, including enough gear for two nights, having learned my lesson about winter travel and delays.

After closing my bedroom door, I stand in the living room. Even with the tree Cara and I decorated, a lonely feeling blows through me like the snow now whirling around outside the window. I drop onto the couch, and the white lights blur. Sitting here by myself, I have a bit of an Ebenezer Scrooge moment, imagining my past, present, and future.

If I were to continue on the path I’d been on before that first magical kiss with Cara, I’d probably spend many holidays just like this. Alone. I shiver.

I could detour and see what develops between us.

The future could either be full of glowing smiles, us dancing to Christmas carols with me in a Santa suit and her looking gorgeous in the ugliest Christmas sweater on earth, and warm kisses, or her dad could execute me ice-skate style. I jitter. That sounds like a brutal way to go.

As if answering my question about what kind of future I want, my phone beeps with a message.

My Dream Girl: Merry Christmas!

Me: You too! Did Santa bring you everything you wanted?

My Dream Girl: Sadly, no. How about you?

Me: No? We should fix that. As for me, remember? I’m on Santa’s naughty list.

But that’s going to change. By this time next year, I’ll be a new man. I flip to my phone’s contacts and go nuclear, deleting every single name with a bunny emoji. The only woman I’ll be messaging with is Cara . . . unless her father breaks my hands, which is a real possibility.

My Dream Girl: You’re lucky you guys left when you did. The roads are terrible. I just returned from dropping my sisters and the guys at the airport . . . only to have to head back there tonight.

Me: I’d offer to bring you, but I have to meet the team plane in a couple of hours.

My Dream Girl: Wait. What?

It takes me a moment to compute what she wrote about the team leaving early. I check the group text thread that I keep on mute otherwise, it would be dinging constantly. I also have a few missed calls from when I was chatting with my family.

I pound my forehead with my fist. The flight left early to get ahead of the storm. I missed it.

Me: Funny thing. I’m here in Omaha. Looks like I’ll be flying out with you tonight.

My Dream Girl: I’m not sure that’s funny, considering you need to be on the ice tomorrow.

Me: Your father won’t be pleased.

My Dream Girl: We can tell him I was nervous to drive in this weather, so I asked you to travel with me.

He won’t like that, and I don’t like lying, but I book the only flight to Denver that leaves this evening. A popup appears, asking if I want payment protection in case of delays or cancelations due to weather. With a glance out the window as the snow squalls, I click the box.

Me: I just booked a ticket.

The text bubble blinks with little dots to indicate Cara is replying.

My Dream Girl: I was going to visit the Christmas Market one last time if you want to come over before we have to leave for Eppley.

She doesn’t have to ask me twice. Hurrying, I gather all my stuff, including my Elf on the Shelf, for company and get in my truck. The moment I’m on the road, I take it slow because the plows are struggling with the heavy snow.

By the time I get to Cara’s house, I’ve heard “The Twelve Days of Christmas” twice and have the earworm stuck in my head.

This time, I enter through the side door because the front path is covered in snow.

She rushes up to me and wraps me in a hug as if relieved that I arrived. “Figuring the roads were bad, I didn’t want to call or text while you were driving.”

“They weren’t good.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t hear. The airport grounded all flights until further notice.”

“This is Nebraska. We can handle the weather.”

“The meteorologists are calling this weather event a bomb cyclone. I guess high winds and ice are compounding the situation.”

“So we’re stranded?” I calculate what this will cost me with Badaszek as I pull out my phone, prepared to book every flight available that could get me to Colorado in time for the game. The thing is, Coach doesn’t tolerate tardiness, and being on time means arriving early because there’s a whole lead-up to us hitting the ice.

“I could drive.”

“In that?” Cara points to the window.

“It’ll only take me about nine hours.”

“It took you twice as long to get here, so maybe tack on a bit more time?”

“Good point.”

I drop onto the stool as I book the next three possible options that’ll get me to Denver if the airport opens back up.

“Maybe you’ll get a Christmas miracle,” Cara says .

Our gazes lock and linger. The question that’s been between us remains, but this time it’s answered quickly.

I say, “Perhaps I already did.”

Cara shifts toward me, angling her head and lengthening her neck. Her eyes are soft. Mine drop to her lips. I move in for a peck that stretches much like our looks of longing before drawing back again.

She smiles like a mischievous Elf on the Shelf and then leans in, pressing her lips to mine and we remain that way until I get dizzy and lose all sense of time.

When she breaks the kiss, we exchange smiles so big I’m certain they can be seen from space along with the shrapnel from the fireworks that went off at ground zero. No seriously. If there’s a frozen planet out there, it’s melted along with all the ice on ours, which is a shame because I love hockey, but this girl . . . she means even more.

Cara’s head dips again, and our noses brush. She inhales and I breathe into her neck, making her shiver with a tickle.

Then her lips sweep mine and I capture them. My fingers sink into her hair. Hers grip the back of my neck, and everything dissolves as the kiss deepens.

It’s like we can’t get enough, and we realize maybe we should stop, then second guess that and keep going.

When we part, breathless, Cara asks, “Did that count as Kiss Class #4?”

“No. Didn’t I tell you? You passed with flying colors.”

“Then I’ll take that as extra credit.”

“Hmm. I like that idea. Professor Arsenault has a new policy. Unlimited extra credit opportunities for his favorite student.”

“Your favorite?”

“My one and only.” Saying that out loud fills me up.

She nibbles her lip as if nervous.

I want to set her at ease. Be a good listener like yesterday and be present today.

“With my family in Canada, yours split between Colorado and the Caribbean, and us stranded here, it looks like it’s up to us to wrap up Christmas.”

“I didn’t get you a gift.”

“We could brave the weather on foot and go to the Christmas Market. Get each other something.”

“I didn’t receive a Secret Santa surprise this year and I do want to visit the market one last time.”

While we bundle up in an outrageous amount of cold weather clothing, including balaclavas and gloves that rival Hammer’s goalie gear, Cara tells me how this is the final Christmas Market.

“You mean for good?”

“They’re having a funding issue.” While we walk along the snow-quiet street that’s barely plowed, I learn about the Cobbiton Community Activities Commission and how their main donor passed away.

“That’s a shame. The market is amazing.” The charming small town with its quaint shops reminds me of Avignon near my family farm.

I hear about Cobbiton’s seasonal events, including 4 th on 4 th and the Cornament.

Cara says, “Cobbiton has a lot of character. When I’m in Los Angeles, I miss it.”

“When you’re here, do you miss LA?” I ask.

She pauses a beat. “No, I don’t.”

“In that case, I hope to get you back here next Christmas so we can do something to help out the CAC.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, voice muffled from under her scarf.

With a laugh, I answer, “I know a few locals who’re on a professional hockey team. Maybe you’ve heard of them? I bet we could raise some money to support the market if you help us get the word out.”

Cara pauses our trudge through the snow. “How would I do that? You have more of a social media presence than me.”

“You enrolled in Kiss Class, and now I’m thinking of attending Life School. As in living more for moments like these than online.”

As the snow drives and drifts in the wind, our gazes meet. I’d kiss Cara right here, right now, but our mouths are hidden and we’d probably freeze on the spot. In the spring, we’d thaw. Badaszek would find us, and I’d no longer be a resident of Nebraska or planet Earth.

“You’re not the guy I assumed you were,” she says.

“I don’t want to know who that was. Wouldn’t want you to know him either.”

In a mere twelve days, this woman has changed me. But I’m afraid she’ll forget all about me when she returns to Los Angeles, or she’ll leave everything she’s worked for and her father will blame me.

We resume our walk into town. The Christmas Market glows softly in the distance.

“They don’t open until after noontime, so everyone can go to church and spend time with their families. Then they come in droves. It’s a tradition and a nice way for people who spend Christmas alone to get out. I’ve never seen it so sparse, though.” Sadness laces Cara’s voice like she’s reached the end of an era.

Only a few people mill around, braced against the wind and snow. But the big tree glows brightly, flocked in white, and the church bells ding in the distance.

“There are a few stalls open,” I say.

She brightens. “Let’s grab some supplies. I’m thinking glitter, sprinkles, chocolate, and felt. Just to start. ”

“We’ll make our own Christmas tradition.”

“This is a year of firsts,” Cara says, voice muffled.

After shopping and with bags in hand, the going is slow as we head back to Golden Bantam Lane. The snow is deep and heavy, even on the road. I stop and gesture for Cara to hop on my back.

“I can’t have you carry me in this.”

“Your father would insist. Plus, he’d tell me that it’s a payback workout for missing the one with the team tonight.”

“He’d make you practice on Christmas?”

“That’s what the schedule said.”

“No wonder you guys are so good.”

“Your father is tough, but he’s an amazing coach.” I just wish I’d shown him my nice side and not naughty Pierre.

Cara clings to me as we brace against the wind until we’re finally back at her house. I make a fire, and it takes us a full hour to thaw out while we plan the first official Cara and Pierre Christmas, complete with the construction of a gingerbread house for my Elf on the Shelf, who we consider renaming Chard. But we decided that we don’t want to remember that loser next year, so we stick with Puck. The elf came with me on what ended up being the road trip from Omaha to Cobbiton. We also make a Christmas carol playlist, watch It’s a Wonderful Life , and read aloud the Christmas story from Matthew in the Bible.

Cuddled up in front of the tree, Cara says, “This has been the best Christmas in recent memory.”

“Do you consider it a date?”

“Our third one?”

In a terrible voice, I sing, “On the first date of Christmas . . . we hugged.”

She giggles and joins me for the next round. “On the second date of Christmas, I gave you a kiss on the cheek . . . ”

“On the third date of Christmas,” I start, knowing how I want this round to end.

She glances up. “We’re under the mistletoe, so with my dating rules in mind, this could mean we kiss.”

“This time without an audience.” I side-eye Puck, the elf perched on the banister, and turn him to face away.

Cara says, “I’d like that.”

I gaze into her hazel eyes, glimpsing the future. They’re the first thing I want to see when I wake up and the last when I go to sleep.

When our mouths meet, Cara’s lips on mine cause an instant head rush that drops down into my heart with a tinkle of bells.