Unwrapping Her Perfect Match

Chapter Thirteen

The ice skating rink was located just outside the Tower's yellow stone fortifications. John sat on a bench that was much too short for him, watching Gwen and Agnes laugh together as they held each other's mittened hands and stumbled around the rink. Neither was graceful, but he wouldn't mention that when they came off the ice.

His concussion had come in handy. Not only did his injury mean that Gwen would stay with him for two days—in his bed—but it had saved him from humiliating himself on the ice. He would've taken to the ice if Agnes wanted him to, but it would've been like strapping skates onto a bear. Not pretty, and it would've probably ended in bloodshed.

His mobile vibrated against his thigh a second before the ringtone reached his ears. His agent. "Hey, Steve."

"Shelly! How's the head?"

John cringed. Steve was a short American guy with a voice disproportionate to his height. John pulled the phone away from his ear long enough to turn down the volume. "Not bad. I've got an appointment with the team doctor on Boxing Day to go over the plan for getting me back on the pitch. Happy Christmas, by the way."

"What? Oh." Steve laughed. "Fuck me, I forgot it was Christmas Eve. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

John found his girls on the ice. Gwen's legs had scissored apart, and she was clinging to the side while Agnes laughed at her. "I'm in the middle of something important, but I've got a few minutes. Why?"

"I just got off the phone with Toulon. They want you."

John's gut clenched. He gripped the phone tighter. "Toulon? Seriously?"

"I shit you not. I know it's bad form to make any announcements until January, but you need to think about this. I'll send you over what they're offering. Let's meet on the twenty-sixth after your appointment with the doc. Toulon will want reassurances that the injury's not too serious. Oh, and merry Christmas. I know this is what you've been asking Santa for. Ho ho ho."

John hung up and watched Gwen pull herself hand-over-hand along the rink's wall toward the exit, her good humor still intact even if her dignity wasn't. She and Agnes both had rosy cheeks and eyes that sparkled with delight.

A heavy feeling weighed John's shoulders down. He barely knew Gwen, but from the beginning he'd had a sense of a special connection. It was more than their outward similarities. Sure, they were both tall, big and fairly graceless. And it was more than the fact that she was beautiful.

She made him smile. She made him ache. She made him want to be better, to try harder-for her and for his daughter.

But trying harder for his daughter meant taking the opportunity to move to France and playing for the club that Agnes's uncle played for. It meant living close to his girl and being a real part of her life. Learning her language and sharing more than a few broken words during a few broken visits each year. Being a real part of her life, every single day. Leaving the UK and the club he'd played for his whole career—and the woman he suspected he could fall in love with.

Fuck.

"We're going to browse in the gift shop. Would you like to come with us?"

John rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms against his thighs. "No, that's all right. I'll wait for you here."

A little line of concern formed between Gwen's brows, and John marveled that she could already see behind his bullshit. "Should I stay here with you?"

"No, no. Just don't fancy battling the crowds right now. Go on. Have fun."

Gwen lightly cleared her throat and tilted her head toward Agnes without breaking eye contact with John. "Do you, uh, have everything you need for tomorrow?"