Chapter 15

The final buzzer sounded, and the small crowd erupted in cheers, the sharp clapping and muffled shouts echoing off the rink’s walls. Graham’s team had pulled off a win, thanks to some truly spectacular saves on his part, but my focus was on him, and only him, as he skated off the ice, every stride purposeful, his face a mix of triumph and exhaustion.

By the time he emerged from the locker room, his hair was damp, curling slightly at the ends, and his gear bag hung off one shoulder, looking heavier than it had any right to be. The faint scent of soap mingled with the cold metallic tang of the rink, and I was already leaning against the bleachers, waiting for him.

“Good game,” I said, pushing off the glass and stepping into his path.

“Thanks.” He flashed that easy grin that always made my stomach flip. “See? I told you I was fine.”

“For now,” I muttered, crossing my arms.

He laughed, the sound low and warm. “You’re relentless.”

“And you’re reckless,” I shot back. “But that’s not why I’m here.”

His brow arched, and his grin shifted, turning teasing. “What, you’re not here to shower me with compliments? I’m crushed.”

I bit back a smile, keeping my tone steady. “Santa’s sick.”

His smile faltered. “Santa?”

“Howard,” I clarified. “The guy who plays Santa at the tree lighting. He’s out with the flu.”

Graham ran a hand through his damp hair, making it stick up in a way that shouldn’t have been endearing but was. “That’s... not ideal.”

“No kidding,” I said, sighing. “The ceremony is tomorrow night, and Evelyn is one minor inconvenience away from a full meltdown.”

“So what’s the plan?” He casually shifted his bag off his shoulder, leaning on the glass next to us. Too casually.

“That’s what I’m here to figure out,” I said, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in my chest. “Evelyn’s expecting me to pull off a miracle, but I’m fresh out of reindeer.”

Graham tilted his head, studying me. “You’re her go-to for this kind of thing, aren’t you? Town hero. Event saviour.”

I rolled my eyes, though his words sent a little burst of warmth through me. “Hardly.”

He leaned in, his voice dropping just a notch. “So, what do you need from me?”

I blinked at him. “You?”

“Well, yeah.” He grinned again, the kind that meant trouble. "I'm happy to help if I can. Do you need me to make some calls...?"


The idea tumbled out before I could stop it. “You could be Santa.”

He froze, blinking at me like I’d just suggested he shave his head. “Me?”

“You’ve got the height, maybe not the belly... but we can work on that.”

"Ah, Isla I don't know. I'm really busy right now with the tournament and..."His voice trailed off as he obviously searched for more excuses.

“Oh come on. Why not?” I challenged, folding my arms again. “You’re good with kids.”

Graham tilted his head, studying me with that unnervingly perceptive look of his. “You’re really going to stand there and suggest I be Santa?”

“Well, yeah,” I said, trying to sound like I wasn’t already halfway to begging. “I mean, Noah loves you.”

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Noah thinks I’m a jungle gym..”

“Exactly,” I said, pressing the advantage. “You’ve already got the kid cred. And think of how much it’ll mean to them—especially Noah. You’d be saving the day.”

“Uh-huh.” His expression flattened, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him with the faintest twitch of a smirk. “You’re trying to guilt me into this.”

“I’m appealing to your better nature.”

“Emotional blackmail,” he corrected, pointing a finger at me. “You’re pulling the Noah card, and you know it.”

I shrugged, refusing to back down. “If it works…”

He exhaled heavily, like the weight of the world had just been thrust onto his shoulders. “What happened to the ‘naughty list’ version of Santa? Where’s my coal when I need it?”

“You’re stalling,” I said, leaning against the glass with a grin.

“I’m processing,” he countered, pointing at his temple for emphasis. “This is a big decision. Public humiliation, questionable wardrobe choices… what’s in it for me?”

I arched my brow. “The admiration of the entire town? The eternal gratitude of dozens of adorable children?”

“Tempting,” he said dryly. Then his grin turned wicked. “But what else?”

I rolled my eyes, though I could feel a telltale blush creeping up my neck. “Like what?”

“I don’t know.” He pretended to think, his tone deliberately casual. “How about a year’s supply of cookies? Homemade. None of those store-bought knockoffs.”

“I make cookies for everyone at Christmas,” I pointed out.

“Well, you’ll have to up my quota. Santa perks.”

I bit back a laugh, folding my arms. “Fine. But only if you commit to the role. Suit, ho-ho-ho, everything.”

“You’re relentless, you know that?” he said, his grin softening into something warmer, almost fond.

“And you’re avoiding giving me an answer,” I shot back, nudging his arm lightly. “Come on, Graham. Do it for the kids.”

He sighed heavily, as if the weight of this imaginary decision might break him. “You’re lucky I like kids.”

“And me,” I teased, unable to resist.

He didn’t answer, just shouldered his bag with a half-smile and locked eyes with me for a beat. My heart thumped so loudly in my chest that I was sure he could hear it. Finally, he said, “I want the good cookies, Isla. And don’t cheap out on the sprinkles.”

“Deal,” I said happily, shaking my head and trying not to grin too wide.

For a moment, we just stood there, the distant hum of the arena fading into the background. Then he broke the spell with a crooked grin, shouldering his bag again. “You’d better find me a good suit.”

“You’d better fit into it,” I shot back, biting back a laugh.

As he walked away, his stride easy and confident, I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips. Santa, indeed.