Page 13 of Touchdown Under the Mistletoe
I twist around to look at her. “I don’t look like a robber.”
“You kind of do. A really well-dressed one who shops at expensive outdoor stores,” she says with a grin.
“I’m trying to be inconspicuous.”
“You’re failing,” Beau and Riley say in unison, then laugh.
I slump back in my seat and roll my eyes, even though I’m biting back a smile. “You two are the worst.”
“We’re the best, and you know it,” Beau says as he pulls into a parking spot near the town square. “Besides, you’re overthinking this. It’s Maplewood Springs, not Times Square. Most peoplehere have known you since you were in diapers. They’re not going to swarm you.”
“You’d be surprised,” I say, but I still unwrap the scarf from my face and wear it around my neck like a normal person.
The Christmas market is in full swing when we arrive. The town square has been transformed into a winter wonderland straight out of a Hallmark movie, with white lights strung between bare trees and wooden stalls selling everything from handmade ornaments to hot cider. A booth from the local visitor center and museum offers bear-carved souvenirs, with a cardboard sign noting that all proceeds go toward trail maintenance. And in the center of it all is the ice rink, packed with people gliding and stumbling across the ice.
We make our way toward the skate rental booth, weaving through clusters of families and couples. Christmas music plays from speakers hidden somewhere in the trees. And the local, giant Christmas tree is filled to the brim with tinsel and shiny baubles.
It’s perfect. Cozy and uncomplicated. And for a brief moment, I experience a pang of resistance about having to leave again in a few days. I love my career as an NFL player. Love working myself to exhaustion during training, then still pushing even further. Love the crowds when our team scores a touchdown on the field. But this… I also love this.
“What can I do for you?” the teenager manning the skate rental book asks without looking up.
“Three pairs of skates, please,” I tell him.
He does a double-take when he looks up at me. “Wait, you’re… you’re… Travis Steelbird!”
Great. So much for being inconspicuous.
“Uh, yeah. Hi.” I give him what I hope is a friendly but please-don’t-make-a-scene smile.
“Dude, I have your jersey! The signed one from the charity auction last year! My mom bid on it for my birthday! Can I get a picture? Please? My friends are never going to believe this!”
“Sure, why not?”
I pull down my sunglasses and lean in for a quick selfie.
“This is so cool,” the kid says, already typing furiously on his phone. “Wait until I post this. Everyone’s going to freak out.”
Perfect. There goes my low-key afternoon. And I still don’t have our skates.
“So, three pairs of skates?” I remind the teenager.
“Right, gladly,” the kid says, almost vibrating with excitement.
We get our skates and find a bench to lace them up. Riley struggles with hers, and without thinking, I kneel in front of her.
“Here, let me.”
“I can do it myself,” she protests, but she doesn’t pull away when I take over.
“I know you can. But I’m faster,” I say as I take her foot in my hands like she’s Cinderella. “Too tight?”
“No, it’s perfect. Thank you, Travis.”
Our eyes hold for a moment longer than necessary, and I’m suddenly very aware of how close we are, of my hands still on her skate, of the way her cheeks are flushed from the cold. Or maybe notjustfrom the cold.
“You two done making googly eyes at each other? Because I’d like to actually skate at some point today,” Beau says, giving us a look.
“We’re not making googly eyes,” Riley says, but her voice is a bit too defensive for it to be true.
