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“Time for the couples’ skate!” she announces. “Grab a partner, folks! Doesn’t matter if you’re married, dating, or still pretending you’re ‘just friends’—get out there and show us your moves!”

Wes turns to me, one eyebrow raised. “Still pretending?”

I laugh. “We’re not really a couple.”

“Yet,” he says, holding out his hand. “Come on. Let’s make the town gossip mill spin.”

I let him pull me onto the ice. Music swells—some oldies track from Mrs. O’Hara’s vinyl collection—and we fall into a slow, easy rhythm. Wes skates backward, guiding me with confident hands on my waist.

People cheer as we glide past. Jake wolf-whistles. Griff gives a mock swoon. Even Mayor Holt claps approvingly.

“You’re good at this,” I say.

“At what? Ice dancing?”

“At making me forget to be scared.”

He squeezes my hands gently. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

We skate for a while, the world narrowing to just the two of us. It doesn’t feel like a performance. It feels like a beginning.

As the sun dips behind the trees and the sky fades into lavender, the community gathers for the final ceremony. The fundraising total is revealed—enough to support youth hockey scholarships and equipment for the entire year. The crowd erupts in applause.

Mrs. O’Hara corners Wes afterward. “You keep this up, young man, and we’ll never let you leave.”

Wes smiles. “I think I’m okay with that.”

And I believe him.

Later, the town square transforms for the evening dance. Strings of lights crisscross overhead, and the local band sets up in front of the gazebo. Kids twirl in circles near the edge of the stage, and couples gather near the firepits sipping cider.

Wes and I grab two mugs of cider and settle on a bench just outside the main crowd. The night air is brisk, but the kind of crisp that makes you feel alive. I glance at him, this man who has shown up not just for me, but for the people I love. For this whole town.

“Tell me something real,” I say.

He turns to face me fully. “I’ve never wanted a future with someone more than I want it with you.”

I let the words sink in. There’s no fear anymore. No walls. Just us.

I reach over and brush a flake of something sweet off his jaw. “I think Mrs. Randall’s lemon bars got the last word.”

He grins. “I’d kiss you right now, but there’s powdered sugar involved.”

I lean in anyway. “I’ll risk it.”

And then he kisses me.

It’s gentle and warm, but there's fire in it too—like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as I have. The crowd fades. The lights blur. The music softens.

When we pull apart, we’re both smiling.

Back at the face-painting station, Jake wakes up groggy and blinking from a nap on a nearby bench. His face is painted not like an animal, but striped in the colors of the youth hockey league. Abby and Beckett return with Violet, who’s fast asleep against Beckett’s shoulder.

“We’re heading out,” Abby says softly. “Come on Jake.”

Jake yawns. “Coach Wes?”

“Yeah, buddy?”