Page 34 of Mistletoe Meet Cute
“Love you, Holls.”
A knock at the front door startles Sophie and me. “Who could that be, sugar plum?”
Madden trots next to me, apparently my protector now too. But when I look through the window, I’m not so sure I need protecting. A woman and a young girl, whose picture hangs on the refrigerator, stand on the other side of the door, both decked out in Kings jerseys. The woman knocks again, and Madden barks as I pull the door open.
“Hi,” the gorgeous woman, who looks like a more feminine version of Camden, smiles at me. “You must be Holly. I’m Emmie, and this is Rosie.” She squeezes the little girl’s shoulder.
Rosie holds up a bag. “We brought allergy-friendly gingerbread houses.”
“Hi,” I offer, a little caught off guard.
“Have you had any peanuts today?” Rosie asks, and I smile, knowing the answer and the reason for the question.
“Well, you know your uncle talks about you a whole lot, and he may have mentioned your allergies, and he may have also mentioned that he keeps this house completely Rosie-friendly, so he never runs a risk of cross contamination. So no, ma’am. No peanuts.” That was one of the first things Camden and I talked about after my first weekend here. Rosie’s allergies are severe, and the consequences can be deadly, so he doesn’t take any chances.
Another thing I like about him . . .
Rosie beams and walks past me into the family room. “Sophie,” she squeals as she runs over to the exersaucer and sits on the floor next to the drooling baby. Something Madden and she now have in common.
“So...” Emmie blushes. “I probably should have called, but we’ve been cooped up in the house for what feels like forever. And now we’re fever-free and germ-free and sanity-free ... Sad, but true. And I thought it would be nice to introduce myself to you and maybe watch the game together?”
“Pregame is already on in the family room,” I tell her and smile. “Sophie and I were just getting ready to watch.”
Emmie looks me up and down. “Nice jersey.”
“Luke Chase is my brother,” I tell her defensively, but Emmie just laughs at my discomfort as we walk into the room.
“It always starts that way,” she murmurs.
I look at the flat screen above the fireplace and watch a zoomed-in moment of Luke and Camden talking during warm-ups, and the heat working its way up my face is absolutely not because ofmybrother. “Yes, it does, doesn’t it?”
CAMDEN
When I get home that night, Madden doesn’t even bother to greet me at the door. Probably too busy snoring at Sophie’s feet. Or maybe snuggled up with my little vixen. Traitor. The house is dark and quiet, and a wave of disappointment hits me before I push it away. It’s not like I expected Holly to stay up for me.
I detect a faint smell of sugar cookies hanging in the air as I make my way inside. I should be relieved Holly’s not waiting up for me. Instead, the sharp sting of disappointment again hits me harder than it should.
Time to find a painkiller and an ice pack before the throbbing in my shoulder turns into something worse.
“Hey.” Her voice slices through the silence, and I stop dead in my tracks. Holly’s curled up on the corner of the couch like a goddamned daydream I don’t deserve. Her bare legs are tucked beneath her, a soft pink sweater slipping off one shoulder, and prim brown glasses sit perched on her nose as her hair falls around her face in pale blonde waves. The sight shouldn’t make my chest ache like this, but it fucking does. “You’re home.”
She closes her e-reader and looks up at me. And Jesus. That voice.
I’ve taken harder hits on the field that didn’t knock the air out of me the way she does.
“Yeah,” I manage, scrubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “Electrical issue with the team jet. We sat on the tarmac for hours before they fixed it. It took longer than the actual flight home did.” I move into the room because apparently, I’ve lost all sense of self-fucking-preservation. “Figured you’d be asleep.”
She shrugs one delicate shoulder, and that damn sweater slides lower, exposing another inch of flawless skin. “I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to see how you’re feeling. That hit in the fourth quarter looked brutal.”
That’s because it was. Late hits are always the worst because you’re not prepared. The fight that happened on the field after, getting Luke and Maverick both fouled, didn’t help either. “You watched?”
Her teeth catch on her pouty lip before she nods. “Your sister and Rosie came over, and we made gingerbread houses while we watched. Sophie supervised from her swing until she passed out. Possibly from a sugar high. Pretty sure I caught Rosie letting her experience her first little taste of icing.” She smiles, and it’s fucking beautiful. “We’ll have to work on her stamina if she’s going to be a proper Kings fan. After all,”—she lowers her voice—“her daddy is kind of a big deal.”
A laugh escapes me. Rough, surprised... real. “Hardly. Just happy to be part of this team.”
Anything else I was going to say fades when she stands. The hem of that damn sweater falls mid-thigh, barely covering the pale-pink, snowflake-embroidered boxer shorts underneath. And the socks—those damn socks that stop just above her knee, leaving a few inches of beautiful skin there for me to stare at. Even if I know I shouldn’t. My blood heats instantly, and I swear to God, I can hear it pounding in my veins.
“Does it hurt?” she asks, stepping closer. Too fucking close. “They said it might be dislocated.”
