“Well, if it ain’t the lovebirds,” he said. “So what is it with you two?”

Elaine glared up at him. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” He had a seat at their table, unsnapped the top buttons of his coveralls and let his red scarf hang loose. The name Larry was embroidered on his shirt pocket.

She gasped, then pruned up her face into a frown. Probably trying to figure out if he was the same Larry from the carolers, not that he’d care to enlighten her. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

“You’re the Zamboni driver,” Tony said.

“The question is,” Elaine said, “why are you behaving as though you remember us?”

“Because I do.”

She laughed a little nervously. She was even prettier than she’d been years before—more sophisticated, sure of herself. Yet there was something about her, something a little wistful.

“Right,” she said.

“Three years in a row I see the two of you meeting like you invented love at first sight, and then the fourth year—”

“He didn’t show,” Elaine said, and Larry heard the sudden spike of hurt in her voice. Then she looked a little queasy, probably regretting that she’d said exactly what was on her mind. He sometimes had that effect on people. He wasn’t surprised when she left her hot chocolate on the table and headed off to the rental kiosk.

“Sure, he did,” Larry called out after her.

She froze like an ice sculpture, then pivoted slowly back to face him.

He winked at Tony, who shot him a look of fury. “I guess you got some explaining to do.”

Chapter Eight

chapter eight

“Thanks a lot, pal.” Tony glared at the Zamboni driver.

“You don’t have time to thank me.” Larry jerked his thumb at the rental booth. He was compact and spry, a blunt, friendly man of indeterminate age. He had a froth of white hair, but the light in his eyes sparkled with an ageless mingling of wisdom and merriment. “So, what are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?”

Tony followed Elaine, who barely looked at him as she put on her boots, then stood there tapping her toe in impatience. Okay, he thought. Party’s over even before it started. He led her back to the car and held open the door for her, catching a whiff of sweet cold air in her hair as she got in.

“You want to explain that?” asked Elaine, clipping on her seatbelt.

No. He really didn’t.

He slid a glance at her, then concentrated on his driving. The car surged into the string of taxis, limos and private cars. Tony stole another look at her.