“Hello, Max,” Pancakes called, as she and the rest of the Japanese team passed by on their way to the wedding tent.
She waved back, wondering what percentage of the world’s top twenty curlers had convened for what appeared to be the social event of the season. She also marveled at how well they intermingled. Throughout the course of the day, she’d seen teams from all over the world joining in a variety of winter activities together, and everyone seemed to genuinely like one another. There were no butting heads or dominant personalities or one-upmanship on display, as far as she’d seen—another rarity for a gathering of this many top athletes in the same field.
“Psst.”
She turned toward the sound.
“Max,” Callie whispered, “turn toward the Winnebago.”
She laughed at the phrase she’d never expected to have directed toward her, but followed the direction to see Callie’s head poking out the door of the behemoth monstrosity on wheels.
She didn’t even have time to crack a joke before Callie said, “We’ve got a hair emergency.”
“What, is there a shortage of White Rain aerosol cans?”
Callie rolled her eyes. “Actually, you’re not far off. The bride’s updo is starting to resemble the Leaning Tower of Pisa.”
“I heard that,” Ella called, a frantic tinge to her voice.
“Sounds serious.” Max stepped closer.
“We’re like, T-minus four minutes from a bridezilla-style massacre in here,” Callie whispered.
“Need me to help you escape?”
“No, I’m not one to shrink from a fight.”
“Which is how I ended up here,” Max pointed out, despite the fact that no one had seemed too scandalized by her presence. “But, carry on. What’s your plan?”
“I need you to run back to our cabin and get whatever magic potion you possess that makes this”—Callie made a sweeping gesture toward Max’s hair—“stay perfectly coiffed at all times.”
“What?”
“Don’t hold out on me, Laurens. I know you sports reporters all have some secret brotherhood of the hair.”
“You know no such thing. I’m the only sports reporter who has this hair.”
“Not true,” Callie shot back. “I’ve seen Bob Costas interviews, and you’ll never convince me you don’t have a black-market connection for hair shellac. Don’t be stingy.”
Max laughed. “I’m not being stingy. I just think you’re over-estimating my hair-sticking abilities here. I mean, you’ve found a way to muss mine up several times in the last few weeks.”
Callie’s smile turned satisfied. “Well, yeah. First of all, I’m amazing.”
She had no urge to disagree as a myriad of memories flashed through her mind.
“Second of all, Ella won’t be taking part in that particular activity until after the ceremony,” Callie continued, “and now we’re T-minus three minutes from a meltdown, so make it snappy.”
“On it.” She turned and walked back toward a circle of cabins on the outer rim of an open field with the makings of a bonfire being assembled in the middle.
“I said snappy,” Callie called after her.
She picked up her pace to something closer to a jog, but she wasn’t going to run flat out across several inches of snow. She’d already pushed her fashion limits by wearing boots with slacks. The last thing she needed was to end up wet and shivering or having to change into jeans for a social event. Again, she wondered who the hell had an outdoor wedding in Buffalo this time of year, but as she swung open the door to their one-room abode, she couldn’t actually summon any frustration.
The past forty-eight hours had been glorious in ways she couldn’t have imagined before. Despite having a couple of weeks off from curling, Callie had still worked and practiced virtually every day, and while they’d shared dinner a few times, and a bed more than a few times, they hadn’t had much more than that until they’d left the city two days ago. They’d driven only a short way, but the pressures that had burdened them had begun to slip as soon as the Buffalo skyline faded behind them.
She rummaged through her toiletries bag as she flipped through a mental scrapbook of the memories they’d made since they’d arrived. She had to give credit to Ella and Finn. They may have dragged half the curling world out to the middle of nowhere on a weekend most people usually headed for cities or their families, but they made sure no one was bored. Sledding, tubing, ice fishing, snowshoeing, a sauna, and plenty of booze assured there was something for everyone, and Callie had insisted they make use of it all.
Max grinned and snatched a small spray bottle out of her bag, then headed back toward the Winnebago dressing room. Callie apparently had no “low” setting and didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word “vacation.” She charged into every activity, from snow sports to bridesmaiding to building bonfires to having sex, with the same gusto she applied to curling—another thing Max was learning to love about her.
Her footsteps faltered, and she nearly tumbled down the stairs to their cabin. She hadn’t actually said the L-word, but she’d thought it, and that was enough to make her blood run as cold as the air around her. She took a deep, steadying breath and blew out another cloud before starting off again. Yes, she loved Callie’s gusto, her intensity, the way she threw herself headlong into whatever the day set before her, but that didn’t mean she was falling in love with her. Because that would be bad, so very bad. Well, maybe not bad, but risky and complicated and so many other things she couldn’t deal with right now. No, she could be attracted to Callie physically, and admire her, and have great sex with her, share some major world views, and even love some of her nonphysical attributes, too, but that didn’t mean she had to lose her head for this woman. They had both been very clear about what their long-term goals were, and how a relationship would be incompatible with them.
And then they’d gone on a date to a very public event with all of Callie’s friends and many of her colleagues—totally normal behavior for people who didn’t intend to get serious.
She shook her head as she knocked on the door to the Winnebago.
“Thank God you’re here.” Callie’s arm shot out of the door, caught hold of her shirt, and hauled her inside. “Did you bring the stuff?”
She nodded and extended the bottle in her hand. It was all she could manage as her brain had stopped working at the first sight of Callie in her full wedding attire. Stunning was an understatement. She wore a burgundy dress with thin straps that flared into a V-neck. A subtle ribbon of the same color cinched an hourglass waist before chiffon flowed freely down to her ankles. Elegant and classic would’ve been a profound understatement for the beauty it showcased.
Layla laughed from somewhere behind Callie. “I think Pencil Pusher is finally at a loss for words.”
Her face flushed so hot she was certain everyone could see it, but she couldn’t manage to dispute the charge, and the sweet smile caressing Callie’s glossed lips did little to unscramble her brain.
“Remind me to come back to this moment later,” Callie whispered, “but for now we have a job to do.”
Max nodded again and followed her through a living area to a large bedroom.
“I brought reinforcements, and she brought a bottle of reinforcers.”
Brooke and a woman who, judging by the resemblance, had to be the sister of the bride both stepped aside as Ella looked up from the mirror in front of her. When she turned her head, all the curls piled on top jiggled like Jell-O.
“Whoa, easy there,” Max said, springing back into action. “I take it you’ve already tried pins?”
“So many of them I’m not sure I’ll ever get through an airport metal detector again.” Ella’s voice shook with barely controlled panic. “The core is solid, but everything wrapped around the outside keeps shifting.”
She nodded. “You’ve got fine hair. It’s a challenge I’m familiar with. The trick is to give it enough texture to grip onto itself without plastering it
down.”
“Can you fix it?” Callie asked.
“I will admit I’ve never done anything this structurally advanced, but I’m kind of a pro at feathering and layering, which seems like a similar skill set.”
“I don’t care what techniques you use as long as they work.”
Max extended her hand back and Callie placed the bottle in her palm. She set to work. A light touch, a fine mist, a couple of adjustments, a few more pumps around the other side, and she stepped back to survey her handiwork.
“It smells good,” Brooke said hopefully.
“Yeah, but does it hold?” Layla called from up front.
Ella slowly tilted her head from side to side, then tentatively began to nod. When nothing terrible happened, she started to bounce. “Holy crud, I think it worked.”
A collective sigh of relief whooshed through the vehicle.
Ella turned and grasped Max’s hand. “Are you a flipping wizard?”
“I couldn’t tell you if I were,” Max shot back, but she smiled.
“What’s that stuff called?” the sister asked, grabbing for the bottle.
“It’s a homemade blend,” Max explained. “Lemons, sugar, essential oils, and a touch of vodka.”
“You make your own alcoholic hair spray?” Layla asked, sheer glee filling her voice. “You are never going to live this down.”
“Ignore her,” the sister said. “As soon as the groom kisses the bride you’re going to have to tell me about this witchcraft.”
A small girl popped up from the other side of the bed wearing a long-sleeved white dress with little lace daises all over it. “So, she really is a flipping wizard?”
“Whoa.” Max jumped back in surprise.
“That’s Emmie,” Callie explained, taking her arm. “And that’s the reason Ella says ‘flipping’ instead of a different word that starts with an f.”
“Ella’s going to be my new mom,” Emmie said, and began to hop about. “I’m going to throw flowers, and she’s going to kiss my dad, and then she’ll always read me a story every night no matter where she is because we are going to be a family forever.”
The sentiment of the bubbly statement hit Max in the chest, and suddenly she liked Ella more than she ever had. All those late nights of practice and driving to Buffalo and traveling to competitions and working in between matches, and she still found the energy to watch her language and pick out flower girl dresses and read bedtime stories to future daughters.
Max looked around the room for the first time, taking in the entire scene. Ella and Emmie wore white, Brooke and the sister of the bride wore navy, Layla and Callie’s dresses were burgundy. It all came together to form a tastefully done Team USA color scheme. “I know this isn’t an official curling event, but you all look so lovely. Would you mind if I took a few pictures to share on our network social media pages? I wouldn’t post them until after the wedding, of course.”
Ella’s eyes lit up. “My wedding photos would make national sports news? Heck yeah!”
She hopped up and grabbed her bouquet, motioning for the others to gather around her. “Get one of just the girls, please.”
Max pulled out her phone as the bridesmaids parted to let Emmie come stand up front. “Count of three, say ‘wedding.’ One. Two. Three.”
“Wedding,” they all said in unison. Well, almost unison, as Emmie sang out a little longer and louder than the rest.
Max snapped several shots in rapid succession before giving them the nod.
“Let me see.” Ella sprang forward.
Everyone gathered closely around Max as she flipped through the various shots.
“Aww, they’re perfect,” Ella finally said. “And my hair is on point. Thank you!”
“Glad to help,” she said, with a shrug, but she found that she was actually pretty happy to have been a small part of this event, in this moment, with these women. “I’ll let you get back to the very important wedding prep.”
With a wave, she backed toward the door, but halfway down the center hallway, she bumped into someone. Before she could turn around, firm hands clasped her hips, and a flutter of warm breath caressed her cheek as a familiar body pressed close.
“You just saved me from an epic meltdown,” Callie whispered close to her ear. “I’ll show my thanks properly when we get back to the cabin tonight, but for now this will have to do.”
Then she turned Max around just enough to kiss her, full and quick on the mouth.
Somewhere behind them she heard a collective gasp, then a short whistle undoubtedly from Layla, but she didn’t have time to process, much less react, before Callie nudged her out of the Winnebago and shut the door.
She stood there in the snow, fingers to her freshly kissed lips for several minutes. Callie had kissed her in front of her friends, in front of her team, in front of the people who mattered most to her. If anyone had harbored any remaining doubts about the nature of their relationship, Callie had just erased them.
Chapter Nineteen
“Yeah, so the Giants were down at this point,” Max said to the group of guys standing around her by the keg. “Third and five on their own forty-yard line with virtually no time left for another drive if they didn’t convert, so I’m thinking the odds are good this Super Bowl is about over.”
“Oh man, this was one of the best nights of my life,” one of the men muttered.
“Mine, too,” Max agreed, with a little grin. “Probably for different reasons, though.”
Callie shook her head. She’d never seen Max quite like this. Sure, she’d witnessed her way with words, her passion for sports, her attention to detail, but she’d never gotten to watch her in front of a crowd, and she was greatly enjoying the experience.
“So, I’m supposed to be on the Giants’ sideline, but I figure the party is going to start on the Patriots’ side in about one minute, and I’m young and dumb and just a college intern at this point. I’m not sure I’ll ever get to another Super Bowl, so I say ‘screw it,’ and start sneaking behind this huge line of people just behind the end zone.”
“I might actually kill someone to get to the end zone of a Super Bowl,” someone else muttered.
“Yeah, and it gets better, because no sooner do I get to the other side when David Tyree makes this epic catch and the crowd goes wild, and I’m almost apoplectic because now they have four more downs to score this touchdown. Maybe I need to get back to the New York side, but then again, the Pats have been leading all night, so maybe I should just stay put.”
“What did you do?”
“I just froze right there in the Patriots’ corner of the end zone, and who just happens to come running up but Plax Burress with the game-winning touchdown. He ran right at me, caught the ball, and kept coming. Everyone else jumped out of the way, but I was still frozen.”
“Did he hit you when he stepped out of bounds?”
“Damn near knocked me flat, but then he dropped to one knee, and his back foot was on top of mine with his spikes in my shin.”
“What did you do?”
She laughed. “I yelped, but he stood up, looked right at me, smiled this huge grin and said, ‘Sorry.’”
“I mean, it is kind of an honor to get spiked by a Super Bowl winner,” one man said, and several others nodded.
“Totally. I think they should’ve given me a ring, but I did get an interview with him after the game, and I was the only lowly peon he spoke to, so it made a huge difference in my career.”
“It would make a huge difference in my whole life,” the first guy said, sounding thoroughly starstruck. “I would never stop telling that story.”
Max slapped him on the back. “And obviously I never have.”
Just then a tiny ball of miniature tuxedo came hurtling by. Before Callie could even process what it was, Max shot out a hand and scooped the ring bearer up, mere centimeters before he flattened himself against the bar.
“Whoa,” Max said. “Easy there, sport.”
&
nbsp; “Emmie tried to kiss me.” The little boy practically spat.
Max made a big show of looking around, her gray eyes dancing with a conspiratorial glint. “I think you’re safe now. No need to endanger yourself again.”
The little boy sagged in her arms. “Whew.”
She set him down and started to turn back toward her crowd of admirers, but Callie caught her hand. “Nope.”
“Nope?” Max raised her eyebrows.
“You’ve helped fix the bride’s hair, took more pictures than the actual photographer, helped shore up the bonfire, regaled the guests with fascinating sports stories, and rescued a small child from imminent danger. Everyone is duly impressed except for your date.”
“What? You’re not impressed? I’m killing it tonight.”
She couldn’t actually disagree. Max had been more than anyone could ever hope for in a wedding guest, and the easy way she smiled now made Callie’s heart do a little tap dance against her ribcage, which was all the more reason she wanted to get her out of this tent and all to herself. “I’d be more impressed if you came ice skating with me, unless skating is the one thing you aren’t awesome at.”
“Oooh.” One of the guys elbowed her lightly in the ribs. “I think you just got challenged.”
“I think I did,” Max agreed, without taking her eyes off Callie. “And I accept.”
“If you’re going to fall on your ass, we’ll come watch.”
“She doesn’t need an audience,” Callie said at the same moment Max said, “I’m not going to fall on my ass.”
The men looked mildly disappointed but stayed put as she interlaced Max’s fingers with her own and tugged her out of the tent.
“Sorry if I wasn’t giving you enough attention in there,” Max said, as they strolled through the snow toward a small, frozen pond.
“No, you were fine.” Callie sighed. “Actually, you were so much more than fine. You’ve been amazing this whole weekend.”
Max’s chest puffed up a little with pride.
“Don’t get a big head. I didn’t really know what to expect when I invited you to this wedding. I sort of leapt before I looked, and I don’t regret that.”
Fire & Ice Page 24
