Page 30 of Yule Know It When You See It
I’m actually thankful for the interruption this time. I am. Because I’d been seconds away from kissing her in theoffice. Talk about bad ideas.
“Let me, uh—” Theo slips past me where I still stand numbly and out of sorts from what the hell just happened between us. “Let me grab my coat.”
“Sounds good.” I force the words out, but they fall from my lips raspy and my tone drops an octave. “I’ll meet you by the door.”
I catch Rupert and Desiree eavesdropping, their spines zipping straight when I glance at them. Desiree waves, a mischievous one with wiggling fingers. Rupert pantomimes two walking fingers and peers at me over the rim of his glasses.
Well, if Theo had no interest inus, these two certainly did.
Theo appears at my side, a messenger bag slung over her pea coat. She’s already wearing her hat, gloves, and scarf, and pats the bag with a bright smile. “All set? I packed a few extra pens just in case and an extra notebook if things get really crazy.”
“Plan on taking that many notes?” I grin at the adorable way she does a hitch step toward the door, beating me to hold it open forme.
She gestures for me to walk through like a snazzy hotel doorman. I oblige her, genuinely curious how long she’ll remain mum about admitting wedidalmost kiss. But, it’s far more entertaining this way. I can only hope that my silence over it too will have her insides in a twisted knotty mess.
“You never know, Ax. You never know,” she answers, and we move to the elevators.
* * *
We make it to the train station and to the Hawks stadium, only engaging in small talk. The weather is surprisingly colder than previous years but hasn’t snowed as much as we’d like. Auto gas prices have sky-rocketed, and we’re thankful we don’t own cars. At one point, she gets so desperate for conversation to avoid the gigantic elephant on the train that she asks about my favorite color, food, and animal—royal blue, pickled herring, and polar bear. I then have to explain what makes a herring pickled. She doesn’t shy away from my proximity and only avoids eye contact once.
And as we walk into the arena after securing our press passes, it begs two questions: When do I do this? And how?
She heads to the restroom, and I buy us a tub of popcorn to share, remembering how much she indulged in the white cheddar powder they douse it in. Her smile when she returns is glorious and broadens when her gaze falls on the popcorn tub in my hand.
“You read my mind.” Theo dances on the balls of her feet as she plucks several pieces in her mouth.
If only I had that ability.
It’s difficult not to watch this woman eating, even if it is only popcorn. White residue from the cheddar power gathers on her bottom lip, and she licks it away, using the tip of her thumb to ensure there are no remnants in the corners. The center of her cheeks dimple as she chews, and she keeps the dirty hand raised like a surgeon. It’s adorable and sexy as hell all at once.
We make our way to the seats, and she gasps at how close to the glass we are—directly behind and to the left of the Hawks bench.
“Well, we’ll certainly be able to observe this close to the action,” I mumble and plop into my seat, grimacing once my hip bumps the armrest.
Theo sits but swivels, her eyes beaming at the seas of people in bright red and white jerseys surrounding us. “Wow. This is triple the size of the crowd from the last game.”
“Welcome to the big leagues, Romance.” Grinning, I toss popcorn in my mouth.
The announcers ask everyone to rise for the national anthem—both theStar-Spangled BannerandO Canadagiven Chicago plays against a Canadian team. We stand with our hands over our chests, Theo tearing up when the giant American flag passes over the hands of hundreds of hockey fans in the seats on the other side of the ice. We clap when the singer ends with the word “brave,” and Theo wipes the remaining tears from her eyes.
The first period soon begins, and Theo is on the edge of her seat, eyes following the puck’s every move. Occasionally, she moves her gaze to the fans instead, pausing particularly on couples within the crowd and taking notes.
She leans closer to me, igniting my skin, and points to the box seats positioned up high and behind the goals. “Are those VIP seats or something?”
“They’re more expensive, sure. And some of those people might be the players’ families. Going to be hard to see them this far away, though.”
Theo pulls the messenger bag to her lap and opens it with a flourish. “Good thing I came prepared.” She pulls out a pair of binoculars and grins.
“Well played.” I bump her arm with an elbow.
She raises the binoculars but pauses at this sudden and brief contact. The buzzing timer blares through the stadium, signifying the end of the first period, and neither team has scored a goal yet.
Unsurprisingly, the team mascot, a hawk, bustles through the stadium seating, entertaining everyone waiting by tossing t-shirts and dancing. When the songKiss Meby Sixpence None the Richer starts blaring over the loudspeakers however, I’m frozen to my seat like a tongue to a metal pole in the dead of winter. The words “Kiss Cam” blaze on the jumbotron, an older couple with silvering hair staring oblivious, appearing first. They jump in their seats and quickly peck each other on the lips.
The next couple is younger, college-age and their cheeks turn beet red. The woman vigorously shakes her head, holds up her beer, and kisses the plastic cup before chugging it down and smiling. But who they show next on the jumbotron has my insides melting into my shoes. Me. And. Theo.
The binoculars fall from her grasp, landing in a plastic clatter on the concrete floor. Everyone around us is cheering, whooping, and yelling for us to kiss. I turn in my seat, gauging her reaction, and she’s already halfway toward me, giving me the same fluttering gaze as before—darting between my mouth and eyes, lips, and beard.
