Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
An earlier thought flashes in my mind. I was thinking how sweet it is that Mom and Dad always shop together, and unintentionally, I did the same thing with Dalton. We did everything online, but still . . . we lay on the couch, with dueling laptops and search engines, to help each other shop for our families. He’s the one who told me Shepherd has been talking about new blades for his skates, and had agreed that the gold-colored blades I found were perfect with the Moose’s green-and-gold color scheme. And Shep did love the blades, calling them foot bling and saying he’d blind the opposition when the arena lights flash off the pretty metal. He’s probably switching them out as we speak, which will give him a little bit of time to break them in before the season starts up again.
So when Dalton mentioned that his sister would love the hard-to-find New Balances I have, of course I helped him find a new-in-box pair on Poshmark in June’s size.
“I’m so glad!” I reply, truly happy about so much more than well-chosen gifts.
I understand why Mom and Dad make it a point to do holiday things together because it was fun to connect with Dalton that way and share our Christmas, even though we’re thousands of miles apart tonight.
“Hey, go look in your bedside drawer for me.”
I raise my eyebrows. There’s only one particular thing in that drawer Dalton would be interested in—Woody. “I don’t know if you getting arrested for indecent exposure in your mom’s driveway is a good idea.”
His lips barely lift, but I can see the hint of humor there as he considers it anyway. “It’d be worth it, but just go look.”
I take him with me, holding my phone awkwardly to open my nightstand drawer, expecting to see Woody. Or maybe he slipped a new toy into the drawer before he left?
Instead, I see . . . socks.
I gasp loudly and then shout, “Dalton!” Grabbing the pack of socks from the drawer, I hold them to my chest and meet his eyes.
These aren’t just any socks. They’re the specific brand and style I like for Pilates, with the extra grippy bottoms, and the entire pack is solid blue, my preferred color for sessions with Rayleigh. It’s not that he bought me socks, which some people might consider a really shitty Christmas gift. It’s that he paid attention and got me The Socks That I Love.
“We said we weren’t doing gifts!” I accuse, but at the same time I’m grinning ear to ear. “I didn’t get you anything.”
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “It’s fine. Your smile is thanks enough,” he says, smiling happily himself.
“I love them! Thank you.” I might not be able to hide the smile on my face, but I try to blink away the tears threatening to fall. I’m not gonna cry over socks. I’m not.
Or at least not until I hang up the phone so he doesn’t see what an absolute weirdo I am because I might be falling in love with this man. Not because of his gift but because of what it means—he pays attention to me, he wants me to be happy, and most of all, he’s willing to do seemingly silly things to make me smile. Like get me socks and burned bacon, do Pilates and watch stupid Hallmark movies, and be patient with me while I peek over the walls I’ve built up and slowly decide to trust him little by little.
Chapter 24
Dalton
December 31, 11:59 p.m.
Half of Maple Creek—including most of the Moose players and of course Joy—is here, and all around me, people are reveling like New Year’s Eve at Chuck’s is the pinnacle of celebration.
Joy and I have been playing it cool, arriving separately and mingling with the crowd, but my eyes have found hers again and again throughout the night. Especially as she and Rayleigh strut their stuff in a bunch of different line dances.
I’m not letting this moment pass though.
“Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . Happy new year!”
Sneaking up behind her, I snake my arm around her waist and spin her so her shoulders are to the wall of a dark corner. I completely block her from sight with the width of my back, ensuring nobody will know it’s the one and only Joy Barlowe pressed against me. She lets out a whoop of surprise that quickly turns to a laugh when she sees that it’s me.
“Dalton! You’re gonna get us busted!” she insists, but she’s smiling playfully.
I love that I’m the one who puts that look on her face and fills her blue eyes with happiness because she does the same damn thing to me. I swear I’ve never smiled so much in my whole life as I have these last couple of months with her. Joy has turned me from a single-minded hockey asshole into . . . well, a man who now thinks of two things: hockey and her. I’m still too much of a jerk in general, but never to Joy.