Free Nickolai's Noel by Alicia Hunter Pace

matching nightgowns and take pictures then. We’ll just pretend it’s Christmas. And yes, I’ll stay until Sunday. Yes, I’ll go to church and leave then. Yes, Mother. That will be fine. Yes. I’ll do that. Goodbye. Yes. I love you, too.”
    So she’d be gone all weekend. He had away games on Friday and Sunday, but maybe he could see her Sunday night. Finally, she hung up.
    “Sorry about that. As you may have gathered, they’re a little dependent on me. They wanted me to go to the after-Christmas sales with them, but I have a sale of my own to worry about.”
    “What do you mother and sister do for work?” he asked.
    She looked up in surprise. “Work? They don’t work.”
    “They don’t work? How do they live? How do they pay for things?”
    “Well, my mother has a small pension from my father. There was some inheritance from him, savings and insurance and such, but she wasn’t very wise with that. My sister has her husband, and he’s an attorney. For the most part, he supports them all.”
    “So they clean the home?” It was clear they didn’t do much cooking.
    “Some. In the summer, they garden a little. But mostly, Shirley cleans and does laundry. When Daddy was alive, she came in every day. Now, she works three times a week.”
    “And these women do no work? How can that be? You work. This Webb, he works.
Everyone
works. Even here on Christmas you’re working.”
    She held up her sewing. “This isn’t work for money. It’s for love—Emory’s gift. But not everyone works.” She tried to sound defensive, but he could tell she didn’t feel it. He could also tell she liked that he was saying these things, because she was trying to hide a smile. “I bet some of your teammates have wives who don’t have jobs.”
    “Some don’t,” he admitted. “Some do. Brian’s wife is a doctor. Jean Luc’s wife paints pictures of people. Mikhail’s wife Sharon, she—what do you call it? Sells houses. She found my condo for me.”
    “Realtor.”
    “Yes. That’s it. Others—most of them care for the children and work for free for good causes.”
    “My sister takes care of Constance and does volunteer work.”
    “Does her husband make the money of a professional hockey player? Is he supporting only his own wife and child?”
    “No.”
    “I worry what I will do for work when I can no longer play hockey.”
    “Will you have to work?”
    “Of course. Everyone must do work. I’m careful so I will not need to worry for money, but people must do things.” He playfully poked at the fabric in her hands with his toe. “Perhaps you will teach me to do this sewing? Or maybe I could help in your shop? Hang quilts on the wall and take money from customers?”
    She laughed that pure, crystal, soul-healing laugh. “Maybe. But I think you have a few years before you have to worry about that.”
    “Could be. If I don’t get hurt. Is never too early to worry.”
    “I know. I’ll hire you to teach my family your work ethic.”
    “I speak my mind too much. That’s what Mikhail says. Sorry.” But he wasn’t. These people wanted too much from Noel—her time, and, he suspected, her money. “But they could use some of their time to learn to make a Christmas turkey, I think.”
    She let her smile come through. “You haven’t said anything I haven’t thought. But in the end, they’re family. I love them.”
    And he wouldn’t know anything about that.
    He held out his arms. “Come here,
zvezda moya.
Put aside your sewing, and let’s watch Ralphie together.” He wasn’t going to make love to her again right now. That would come tonight when they went to bed. He just wanted to feel her warm in his arms.
    She carefully put all her little things in a basket and came to him. With her head on his chest and his arms around her, he owned the world.
    • • •
    Noel catnapped off and on—mostly off. It felt odd to be doing nothing in the middle of the afternoon, even if it was Christmas. If she’d been in