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Audrey answers by climbing into the passenger seat and flipping him off through the window.
God, I could marry her.
Before I close her door, I catch her around the waist and kiss her. It starts as a thank-you and turns into something else entirely when she grabs my jacket and drags me between her knees, and by the time we come up for air Hunter is slow-clapping from the porch.
"Thank you. Not just for saving the order." I rest my forehead against hers. "For giving them something they haven't had in a while."
"What's that?"
"Hope."
She waves to my whole family as we pull down the drive, and the sight of Audrey Fields waving goodbye to Stratton's lands somewhere dangerously close to permanent.
Two days disappear and The Wildcards win our next exhibition game.
Somehow, in amongst the chaos of resort life, I play the best hockey of my tournament.
I read the oppositions line change a shift early, swap Nate onto his off-wing, and send Baxter into the exact patch of open ice Aidan clears by standing in the crease looking like a tattooed lighthouse.
The reporters afterward stop asking about a team of leftovers and start using the word contender. Up in the heated lounge, the scouts stop drinking their coffee when I touch the puck.
Every organization that ever released me praised the leadership. Maybe somebody's finally watching it instead of reading about it.
Audrey, meanwhile, has vanished into her own tournament.
She's busy with Wildcard schedules, sponsor demands, and a farm proposal she's building like a legal case.
I see her in fragments throughout each day, with a hallway squeeze of my hand, a stolen kiss behind the equipment room, and one deeply irresponsible visit to her suite that started as 'reviewing the shuttle schedule' and ended forty minutes later in her shower with her legs around my waist and her nails in my shoulders.
The separation should settle me.
Instead I miss her with a force that makes Christmas only sound like the stupidest phrase in the English language.
I find her on the third afternoon at the empty market hut, and I stop short of the counter because she's mid-pitch to the resort owner's daughter, Darcy Madden, and Big Mike.
Audrey's bent forward at the waist, one hand braced on the counter, and I'm immediately distracted by the perfect curve of her ass in those tight black stockings disappearing beneath the hem of her winter skirt.
She straightens as she speaks passionately, tugging at the fitted cream sweater that clings to every curve. It's high-necked, long-sleeved, and probably designed to look innocent, instead, the fabric stretches across her tits, and I can't stop wondering how fast I could peel it off her later.
It must be new, because I've memorized everything currently living on her suite floor, and this sweater hasn't made that collection yet.
She tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, completely unaware that I'm standing here staring at how damn perfect she is.
Sample photos of the farm fan across the wooden counter, and from where I'm standing, I see firs in fresh snow, the bonfire, and Dad's hand-painted sign.
Beside them sits a handwritten package outline, a shuttle schedule, and three jars of Mom's cider mix lined up like my entire childhood is on display.
"The resort gets a premium Christmas experience that's off-property," Audrey says. "The farm gets direct access to guests who are already up this mountain searching for exactly this feeling. I'm proposing a small test tour to check demand, so nobody commits to anything bigger until the numbers say so."
"Guests keep asking what's real around here," Darcy says, tapping a photo. "Something authentic beyond the grounds. This is that."
Big Mike studies the cider jars. Then he looks at Audrey and the photos.
"Ms. Fields, you've kept my most chaotic team organized, protected every sponsor commitment I've packed into the schedule, and solved three launch-week disasters I never even heard about because you fixed them first." He extends his hand. "The hut's yours. One trial tour. You earned this one yourself, Fields. Well done."
Audrey's whole face lights up like the resort tree, and standing outside the stall in the falling snow, I understand something that lands harder than any check I've taken this tournament.
This place isn't where she's hiding anymore.
