Page 18 of My Rival for Christmas

It’s a question I don’t expect an answer to.

So imagine the heart attack I have when a voice behind me says, “You’re wrapping your triple toe.”

I jump, feeling my heart kick up in a frantic frenzy. But the shock quickly wears off as the familiar deep, highly amused voice sinks in.

My head wipes around with a glare, one that could melt the ice from this rink, already knowing who is going to be on the receiving end of its wrath.

Unbothered by the hatred and annoyance pouring out of my eyes, Nate stands just outside the rink, looking as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as a kid on Christmas morning, never mind the holiday is still a handful of days away. He holds up two paper to-go cups, wearing that shit-eating half-smile that drives me wild. “Princess. Fancy running into you here.”

Nathan Ford has never been good at knowing when he isn’t wanted. It’s like he sees a hostile environment and thinks,Huh,that looks like fun, let’s go there.

Someone should talk to him about his self-preservation skills because I am not feeling particularly friendly toward him at this moment. Or any moment, really.

And I am technically sporting two weapons on my feet.

You look horrible in orange,a small, sane voice in the back of my head reminds me as I glower at my rival, who doesn’t look particularly worried.

“What are the chances?” he asks, while I’m still staring at him, frozen not from the cold but indignation.

Dressed in black athletic joggers, a slate gray long sleeve that peeks through the collar of his black Charmed Athletic hoodie, and a beanie with the Sugar Peak Resort logo stitched across the front, Nate looks relaxed and effortlessly cool. Maybe even a little badass as I spot his double pierced ears in the soft light.

It’s annoying.

“Hmm. I don’t know, Nate. Maybe you could tell me. Whatareyou doing here?”

He’s never been an early riser if he doesn’t have to be. The amount of times I had to bribe him with the breakfast of his choosing, no cash limit, just to get him to show up for an earlier practice is impossible to count.

And he never looked as peppy and vibrant as he does now. I eye his two cups of coffee warily.

He sips from one. “Oh, you know, just in the neighborhood.”

“At five-something in the morning?” My brows raise in skepticism.

“Technically, it’s eight-something in the morning back home.” He makes an arch with the coffees in front of him. “The magic of time differences.”

“And you just thought a walk in the dark on resort property was what you needed to start your day?”

Kylie tried to rationalize with me at dinner that Nate isn’t staying at the resort. Since he’s from here, he’s got to have his own place and was only checking out the resort like other locals since it’s finally open.

Apparently, this place used to be the town’s heartbeat back in the day.

But to Kylie’s argument, I sayclearly not.

There is no way he isn’t staying here and showing up this early in the morning, time difference or not.

And that just irritates me further. If he’s from here, why can’t he stay somewhere else? You know, somewhere I amnot.

Nate, oblivious to my inner plight, takes a deep inhale, his broad, muscular chest puffing up as he does. “There’s nothing like the crisp mountain air to get yourself going in the morning.”

My glower only deepens. The man can never be serious.

“I’m sure double-fisting coffee helps.”

“Oh,” he says like he remembers he’s holding them in the first place. “This one is for you.”

“Looks like I’m not the only forgetful person here.” I skate closer to him, only because my throat is getting scratchy from keeping my voice raised, thanks to us being on opposite ends of the rink. “I don’t drink coffee.”

“I know.” He turns one cup toward me as I near, showing HOT CHOC scribbled in quick, almost illegible letters.

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