Page 39 of The One Timer

Uncle Walt says, “His name is Walter, but we call him WJ.”

I raise my brows. “Since when?”

Uncle Walt shakes his head and claps me on the back. “Since you started with your NHL career. You’ve been sadly out of touch with the family, Chase.”

I don’t answer him because it’s Christmas, and we don’t see eye-to-eye exactly on my career choice. Instead, I put an arm around Emery. It’s as good a time as any to test where I stand with her. She doesn’t pull away, and I’m not sure if it’s to avoid a scene or Christmas generosity, but she leans in and gives me a half smile like she knows what I’m up to.

Once the guys finish with the autographs, Gran speaks up, “I have something for you, boys. You didn’t think I’d come all the way to Portsmouth and not bring you some Christmas Cheer.”

“You did?” I have no idea what she’s talking about. She’s never met Jason or Link, though I’ve talked about them.

Katherine hands her the dark red velvet bag with the embroidered WW I’d recognize anywhere.

“Don’t drink it all in one place,” she says.

The guys chuckle, and they each give her a hug. Gran hands out bottles of W Whiskey, each in their own signature velvet for Christmas gifts to the three guys. Then she takes out one more bag, like an elegant Mrs. Claus with the same kind of twinkle in her eye, and gives it to Katherine. “This is for Rafe. Why don’t you find him and give it to him?”

Katherine glances at me and pauses a second like she’s wondering if it’s a good idea, but I nod. “Go for it, Kat, but be quick about it because we need to get back to Boston.”

“What’s that all about?” Sabien says as she hurries away.

“She’s a big Rafe Lemaire fan from way back. They met once when she was younger. I think she was devastated when he got married.”

“Oh, you exaggerate,” Gran says.

“Says the woman who set her up to give him the gift,” I say with a wink.

Emery whispers to me, “Maybe that’s why she’s happily married to her job.”

I whisper back, a warm feeling hitting me when a tendril of her hair tickles my nose, “Says the woman who claims independence is the most important thing.”

“Touché.” Her smile is genuine as Kat returns with a satisfied grin, and we head out back to where the limo is picking us up.

The beauty of having a crowded limo is that I get to sit close to Emery with an arm slung over her shoulder without her blinking an eye. The bad part is that the limo is crowded with family members chatting about food, and I’m starving.

“Who are you texting?” I ask Emery quietly.

“I’m letting my Aunt know that I’m running behind, and dinner will be late.” She bites the tortured corner of her lip. “I’m making a turkey dinner, and I hope I’m not too late.”

A selfish, yet brilliant idea comes to me—because I’m always thinking when it comes to figuring ways to spend more time with Emery “I’ll tell you what, if you stay for dinner with us, I’ll have a catered Turkey dinner delivered to your family’s home. It’ll be on the table by six.”

She turns to me with that familiar wide-eyed disbelief, then shakes her head, smirking in dismissal.

“What?”

“You’re ridiculous. That’s not how life works. You can’t just snap your fingers and have caterers appear out of nowhere on a holiday.”

“But what if I can? Will you stay for dinner then?”

She tilts her head as she eyes me. “Is this a bet?”

“Yeah, I like the sound of that.” I try to suppress my grin because my family has a very long-term contract with a very loyal and well-paid catering company. I know they’ll do whatever they need to—even if the owner, Claude, has to cook the dinner himself and deliver it.

“What do I get if I win?” she asks, her playful grin appearing.

“You’re getting into this betting thing, aren’t you? You a secret gambler?”

“No secret about it. I play cards now and then. But we bet with chips, not money. Me and my cousins.” She shrugs. “It’s a cheap form of entertainment.”