Page 38 of Miami Ice (Miami Sports #2)

I stare down at the plate of food in my lap and a huge lump swells in my throat. I work hard to blink back tears.

“What’s wrong? Do you feel okay, Georgie?” A look of panic filters across Beckham’s face. He quickly puts down the plate of food he’s holding on the coffee table and drops down beside me, taking one of my hands in his. “Are you nauseous, baby? Does your head hurt?”

I look into his coffee-colored eyes, which have quickly filled with worry for me.

“No, nothing is wrong,” I say, smiling at him. “Everything is right.”

Beckham stares at me in confusion. I squeeze his hand in mine.

“This isn’t the Christmas Eve I had planned. I wanted it to be all about you,” I say, my voice wobbling. “But you’ve made it absolutely perfect, and I love you so much for it.”

I was released from the hospital this afternoon, and Beckham has done everything in his power to not only take care of me, but make sure today still had all the magic of Christmas Eve. He’s put on a holiday playlist from Spotify. On the TV in the living room, there’s a YouTube video of a fire crackling in the fireplace. When it’s time for me to rest, he’s right there, taking the boot off my ankle and draping me in cozy Pinkmas throw blankets.

He was in the kitchen for a while, watching a video on how to prepare lobster tails with linguini, and now? He’s brought me a beautiful plate of food he’s prepared himself—all to make Christmas Eve special for me.

Beckham slides his other hand to the back of my head, cradling it gently. “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me about the slippers?” he asks, a playful smile beginning to form at the corners of his mouth.

I bite down on my lip to keep from laughing. When we were checking out of the hospital, they brought me my belongings in a clear plastic bag. Because they cut my pajamas off me in the ER, the only thing I had was the gingerbread woman slippers.

The second Beckham saw them, he took the bag from my hand and immediately threw them in the trash, telling me they were a danger to me, and he would never let me wear slippers again. My garland suffered the same fate—Beckham pulled it down as soon as we were home. I was informed I’m never to have anything blocking the handrail ever again. If I insist on it, Beckham said he will insist on installing an elevator in his new house and I will be required to use it.

“There was never anything to forgive about the slippers,” I say. “You’re right. They were slippery on the bottom. They are the reason I fell.”

“I’ll never forgive the gingerbread lady.”

“She’s more maniacal than the nutcracker, you know,” I tease.

“Nothing is more maniacal than that,” he insists, nodding his head in the direction of the nutcracker.

“Come on, let’s eat,” Beckham says, leaning over and brushing a kiss upon my mouth. He picks up his food and takes a seat next to me on the sofa. Winston quickly comes over, wagging his tail and staring up at Beckham.

“I don’t think lobster is on your meal plan,” Beckham teases him.

I pick up my knife and fork. “He thinks he can play you like he does my mom.”

“Or like you did the media,” Beckham says slyly.

I grin happily. My social media strategy worked. Yes, there were some fans and trolls who thought Beckham should have played, but most of the reaction was positive in support of him. Loads of Connectivity Story Shares and TikToks were made about our “love story” and how Beckham is the kind of man you want by your side.

It ended up going viral.

So even if the Manatees wanted to punish Beckham, they didn’t do it. Beckham talked to Coach Rivershon late last night, explaining why he didn’t seek permission first, and Coach accepted his reasoning and said there would be no consequences forthcoming from the team.

I also know Scarlett let her voice be heard, because I got a text from her saying she made her opinion very clear—both as a person and as a social media professional—on how Beckham’s absence should be handled.

I owe a lot to her, I think. Hopefully someday I’ll be able to repay her for everything she did for Beckham last night.

“Your situation turned out exactly the way it should have,” I say, taking some lobster and pasta and winding it around my fork. I take a bite, and my eyes widen. It’s buttery and lemony. Decadent.

And oh-so-good.

“Beckham, this is delicious,” I say, smiling at him.

He takes a bite and appears to be considering my feedback as he tastes it. “Damn. I did do good, didn’t I?”

“You did excellent. This is so yum,” I declare, going in for another bite.

Beckham takes a piece of warm, crusty sourdough bread and dips it into the sauce, and I follow suit. I could easily eat my weight in sourdough if I can dip it in this sauce, it’s so addicting.

It’s the perfect meal for a Christmas Eve dinner for two.

Which I feel lucky to still have after my parents found out about the accident.

They freaked out about the fall and the hospital stay, and poor Ella had to bear the brunt of my decision to not have them come over until tomorrow, but my sister stood firm, giving me time to rest.

And have the Christmas Eve alone I wanted with Beckham in the first place.

We finish dinner, and then I tell him it’s time for presents.

“Sofia said this is how your family does it. A very nice dinner, then open presents, and then dessert and coffee.”

“Wait. You asked Sofia about our Christmas traditions?” Beckham asks, looking surprised.

I nod. “I remembered you saying you hadn’t had a lot of Christmas Eve celebrations because your parents run their inn and Sofia and Aaron usually spend Christmas in Atlanta with his family.”

Sofia confirmed this for me. The family will get together after Christmas, usually during the first home series Beckham has, and then spend an extended period of time with him. Like this year, Beckham’s parents are closing their inn the second week of January and spending the whole week down in Miami. Sofia and Aaron will come back with the girls, too.

But normally Beckham spends Christmas alone.

“I wanted to give you a special Christmas Eve,” I say. “At least that’s what I had planned before I fell down the stairs.”

“Georgie,” he says, “you’re here . You’re going to be okay . This is already going to be the best Christmas I ever could have asked for.”

A silence falls between us, and love for this man fills my heart.

“But it means everything to me that you wanted to do this for me,” Beckham continues, his voice low.

“I wanted you to feel the magic of Christmas.”

Beckham swallows hard before speaking. “I do feel it, Georgie. Now more than ever. I love you so much.”

I smile softly at him. “You deserve that kind of Christmas Eve every year. And I’ll make sure you have it because I love you so much.”

Beckham leans over and kisses me, and I put my hand to his face. “Except next year, we’ll have dessert. Originally, I had planned to make chocolate peppermint mousse this morning. Obviously being in the hospital kind of messed up those plans.”

“I might have taken care of dessert when Jordan and Ella were over here earlier,” Beckham says slyly.

“Oh, did you?” I ask eagerly.

“I did.”

“What did you get?”

“No, that’s going to be a surprise after presents,” Beckham says. “Shall I go get them?”

“Yes, please.”

I watch as he brings the presents over, putting mine next to me and a pile next to where he is sitting.

“Oh, before we start, please get a trash bag from the kitchen so we can dump all of this into recycling when we’re finished,” I say.

“You got it.” He goes into the kitchen, and Winston, seeing that Beckham is going to his favorite place, follows him. “Can I give Winston a treat?”

“Yes. It’s Christmas Eve. He can have an extra treat tonight.”

“Come on, Winston! Would you like a treat?” Beckham says.

Suddenly, Minnie, who has been curled up in a chair in the room, perks up. She jumps off the chair and heads into the kitchen, meowing loudly at Beckham.

“Oh, you know that word,” he says cheerfully. “You can have a treat, too.”

I watch as Beckham gives both of them treats, then retrieves a trash bag. He comes back into the den and sits beside me.

“I understand your family all opens gifts at the same time,” I say.

Beckham quirks a brow at me. “Did you give Sofia a twenty-page form to fill out? You know everything.”

“Don’t make me laugh!” I remind him. “It hurts!”

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I really didn’t mean to do that.”

“I know, it’s okay,” I reassure him. “But you should know with Christmas I am very thorough.”

“Of course.”

“Now, in my family, we go from youngest to oldest. Ella is older than me by two minutes, so I always get to go first.”

“I’m agreeable to this change in tradition,” Beckham says. “Go first.”

“Thank you. I’m very excited to see what you got me,” I say. “Do you want me to open in any particular order?”

Beckham reaches over and hands me a package. I glance down at it. It’s a thin box, wrapped in shiny red paper with a crisp white bow. In fact, as I look at the stack of presents he has for me, they are all exquisitely wrapped.

“I did not wrap that,” he confesses. “A very nice lady at the boutique did.”

I untie the ribbon and unwrap the paper. Then I lift off the lid, and to my surprise, I find a pair of gingerbread socks. But when I lift them up, I realize they are slipper socks.

“This was a late addition to the present pile,” Beckham says. “They’re slipper socks. With grips on the bottom.”

“Beckham! This is so thoughtful,” I say happily.

“You aren’t mad I got you safety slippers as one of your presents?”

“I’m not mad at it,” I say, teasing him. “In fact, I love them. Thank you.”

And I do love them. I love the sentiment behind them and the fact that he found these today when he went out to get stuff for dinner tonight.

I open a larger box, and I find a Miami Manatees jersey with “BAILEY” embroidered across the back, which makes my heart skip a beat.

“I want to wear this right now. Will you help me?” I ask.

Beckham carefully slips the jersey over my head. I wince a bit as I lift my arms because of my ribs and sore back, but as soon as I feel the jersey fall over me, my heart swells.

I’m wearing his name on my back.

And I will forever.

“I like the way that looks on you,” Beckham says softly.

“Does it make you feral?” I tease.

He smirks. “All feral thoughts are in check until you’re healed. Only then will I go feral.” Beckham hands me another box. “Two more things for you to open. This one is next.”

This box is heavier, and when I unwrap it, I squeal in delight. Because I have received a collection of Jo Malone holiday candles. A dream gift! I look at all the scents: Roasted Chestnut, Frosted Cherry and Clove, and Pomegranate Noir.

“Beckham! This is perfect, I love it!” I say happily.

“I was shopping in Las Vegas when we were on the road, and it looked like you,” Beckham says, smiling at me.

“It’s totally me and I love it. Thank you so much. We’re going to burn these all through January, by the way.”

“I would be disappointed if you didn’t. Okay, final present,” he says, handing me a small, flat box.

I slide of the ribbon and loosen the paper. Once I have that off, I find a velvet box. I open it and gasp at what I find inside.

There are two friendship bracelets—which I know Beckham made—but in the middle is a glittering diamond bracelet with the initials “G&C” in the center.

“Oh, Beckham,” I gasp, my eyes filling with tears.

“The G&C is for Grumpy and Cupcake,” he explains softly.

I swear my heart is going to burst. The first friendship bracelet says, “Love Story.” The other friendship bracelet says, “The Alchemy.”

Two of my favorite love songs by Taylor Swift.

“I love them so much,” I say, touched by how much thought he put into this. “I’m going to put them on now.”

“Go on. I’d love to see how they look on you.”

I slide one friendship bracelet on, then follow it with the glittering diamond bracelet. I suck in a breath. I never ever imagined owning anything like this in my life. “It’s beautiful,” I say, staring down at it.

“I’m glad you like it,” Beckham says.

I slide the last friendship bracelet on, and my heart is so full, I think it’s going to burst.

Beckham opens his presents next, tearing through the paper like a little kid. I gave him a leather wireless charging station where he can put down his headphones, phone, or smart watch and charge them—and it has an area where he can put his sunglasses, bracelets, and things like that as a storage holder. He thinks it’s great and loves it. I also got him a pair of black Lululemon jersey joggers and a white jersey T-shirt for something he can relax in around the house.

“Now it’s time for the last one,” I say eagerly.

Beckham picks up a box and tears off the paper, tossing it aside. Then he opens the box, and I hold my breath while he lifts off the tissue paper and picks up the framed piece of art inside. I watch as he studies it, reading the wording underneath the picture of stars at night.

“It’s a star map of Miami Beach from the night we met,” I say softly.

Underneath the map it says, “Georgie & Beckham. The night the stars aligned,” with the date and time of our first meeting at the Hotel Fredrico.

Beckham is silent for a moment. To my surprise, he swallows hard before speaking. “Georgie, I love this,” he says, his voice a bit rough. “Thank you.”

Then he leans over and kisses me. “I love you,” he murmurs against my lips.

“I love you, too.” Then I lift my head. “So, what’s for dessert?”

“I got the perfect dessert for you.”

“A yule log?” I ask.

Beckham furrows his brow. “No.”

“Gingerbread?”

“No.”

“Something peppermint?”

“Okay, it’s not that perfect,” Beckham concedes.

“Then what is it?” I ask eagerly.

He flashes me a huge smile. “Cupcakes for my Cupcake.”

As he kisses me again, I can’t imagine a more perfect dessert.

Or Christmas Eve.

And it’s all because I have the love of this man.

Which is by far the greatest gift I could ever receive.