The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(76)

I blink a few times, snapping my attention back to reality. “Right, presents.”

He chuckles. “And here I thought you were the one doing all the reminding.”

“I can only be strong for so long. You wore me down.”

He goes to his backpack and pulls out a present wrapped in protective paper. “This, Hazel Allen, is for you.” He holds out it to me and says, “Merry Christmas.”

Butterflies fly around in my stomach. In all the years I’ve known Crew, he’s never gotten me a gift. Not for Christmas, not for my birthday, and I’ve done the same. We didn’t have to get each other anything. All we needed was letters. Lots and lots of letters.

So, right now, it almost feels odd receiving a gift from him, but I push that feeling away quickly as happiness envelops me.

Carefully, I unwrap the long butcher paper until I reveal a miniature carved figurine, no bigger than my hand. It takes me a second to realize what it is, but once I do, tears hit me and I’m a blubbering mess.

Crew somehow in the midst of the mass Christmas market found me a carved farmer with angel wings.

“It’s so you have a little piece of Pops with you. When I saw it, I thought it was meant to be, especially because when I was waiting for you, someone bumped into me rather hard, sending me into a woodcarving booth. I was about to yell at the person for being so goddamn rude, but that’s when I spotted this guy. I knew I had to get it for you. And I know you enjoy carpentry and woodwork, so I knew you’d appreciate the craftsmanship.”

I hold it close to my chest. “I love it so much, Crew.” I wipe at my tears. “Thank you. This means a lot to me.” I reach up and grip his jaw, bringing his mouth to mine. “Thank you, Crew.”

“Of course.” He gives me another kiss and all I want to do now is get lost in these lips, in this man. “Now, where’s my gift?”

Oh yeah.

“Uh, mine isn’t as thoughtful as this. I thought maybe you got me something creepy like one of the cherubs, even though I know you said you didn’t.”

He laughs. “I would cherish one of those cherubs. I’m sure whatever you got me, I’ll love.”

Standing from the bed, I walk over to my backpack, pull out the souvenir bag, and hand it to him.

“It’s actually pretty stupid now that I think about it.”

“Stop.” He pulls me onto his lap and wraps his arms around me. He takes the inexpensive keychain I got him out of the bag. It’s a metal replica of a tiny beer stein with “The Romantic Road” written across it in script. Really simple, but I thought it was something that could remind him of these past few days while he’s doing whatever happens in his future.

“It’s so that you’ll always remember this trip. Remember me.”

“Hazel.” He turns me toward him so I catch the crease in his brow. “I’m not going to forget about you. Or this trip, for that matter.”

“Just in case. Whenever you drive around, you can think about how we drove around Germany that one time during Christmas and almost got caught in a snowstorm.”

He smiles and rests his hand on my thigh. “Thank you, Hazel. I love it.”





“You’re really testing my manhood, aren’t you?” Crew asks, zipping up his coat.

“You act as if you’ve never seen snow before.” I walk next to him, putting my hat on my head.

“I’ve been in snow before, but I’ve never enjoyed it.”

“Then you haven’t been doing it right,” I say as we reach the hotel doors. I reach over and take his gloved hand in mine and lead him outside, and man, does the cold hit us.

“Fuck.” He turns to walk back into the hotel, but I tug on his hand and gesture toward the empty town.

“Stop it. Come on, when can we ever say we had an entire German town to ourselves?”

After another round of sex, because that was the deal after all, we watched A Christmas Story, both of us drifting in and out of sleep. Once we’d shared a small lunch, because we were still full from breakfast, I told Crew we had to go outside and enjoy the white Christmas we’d been blessed with.

It took a lot of convincing, and I mean a lot—my boobs were involved at one point—but here we are. We borrowed some snow boots from the hotel, though they didn’t have any big enough for Crew’s freakishly large American feet, and we set off to explore.

“There’s a foot of snow on the ground and you’re making me traipse around in boots that are too small. My feet are getting wet.”

I pause and look back at him. “Are you going to complain the whole time? Because if so, I’m going to explore on my own.”

“Hey, sass,” he teases. “Just give me a second to adjust my Californian bones.” He shakes out his limbs and then plasters on a large smile. “Okay, ready.”

“Good.”

Together, hand in hand, we walk down the road, admiring the particular characteristics of Germany. The houses that look like something out of Snow White, the signature red-orange roofs, the stone architecture—it’s all so charming, like walking through a real-life fairy tale.

“While you were getting ready, I read about the town,” Crew says. “I was curious since N?rdlingen has a wall around it, and I wanted to read up on it.”