Page 17 of A Very Titan Christmas (Titan #14)

“Turn down Main Street and park anywhere.” Rachel pointed to an open parking spot along the top of the block. “Right there.”

Bryce maneuvered into the parking spot and turned off the vehicle. His gaze roamed the street. “Not much has changed, has it?”

“Some has. There’s a dry cleaners a block behind us, and there’s an artist co-op in the old McGregor space. There’s a textile weaver that I’m dying to go check out.”

His eyebrows arched. “You took me to look at fabric?”

“Nope.” She opened her door. “I took you for research and a good time.”

Silverberry Ridge’s town hall resided on Main Street. During December, its parking lot was used for everything from the Christmas marketplace to staging the town’s Christmas tree. It stood ahead of them in all its glory in front of the idyllic government building run by volunteers.

The mayor waved to them. She raised her hand.

“Is the mayor married?” Bryce asked.

“Why?”

“Eloise was having a serious conversation with him.” He scrutinized the volunteer who ran Silverberry Ridge. “But even he looks older than a man your mom might set you up with.”

Rachel laughed. “He’s been married since we were in high school.”

“Ah, guess you weren’t the topic of conversation.”

She hummed. “Guess not.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

She ignored his question and threaded through the crowd toward the skating rink in front of the Christmas tree. “I want to check the rink out. Get some pictures. Check the pricing.”

He nodded. “Research. Got it.”

They stopped at the little storefront that rented ice skates and gave wristbands to skaters. She took out her phone and jotted the prices in her notes app. “This place is busy for a weekday.”

“Tourists.”

“Silverberry Ridge is a hidden gem.” She bit her bottom lip. More tourists would help the local economy and enable the small town to keep all of its holiday fun. “We still have to develop a theme for the cookie-decorating contest.”

“Action figures?”

“No.”

“Trolls?”

“No.”

“Norse mythology?”

“Oh, closer.” She gave that some thought and removed her camera from its pack.

Rachel scanned the scene and snapped pictures that she hoped would resonate with Kimberly and their readers.

Couples and families strapped on ice skates.

Parents let little ones tug them around the tiny rink.

Some with far less experience wore smiles of nervous exhilaration.

A teenage girl skated quickly, threading her way through the crowds, hopping and turning, crossing skate over skate, gliding over the ice with her scarf and ponytail trailing.

Rachel tried to frame her photographs to get the ice rink and the town’s Christmas tree. If only it were later in the afternoon. Nighttime would have been better. The lights on the tree would pop, and the rink would have its overhead lamps on. They could come back, or… “We should go ice skating.”

Bryce balked. “Ha. Oh, you’re serious?” He scowled. “I thought this was purely research for your article.”

“Skating is research.”

“I’ll let you research that on your own.”

She tugged his elbow toward the rental desk. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t ice skate, Rach.”

“You used to,” she pointed out.

“There are a lot of things a teenage boy will do to impress his girlfriend.”

“Impress?” She remembered his hockey moves. They’d been good, but that wasn’t what had tempted her heart.

“Well, if not impress, then do whatever it took to get in your good graces.” He raised his eyebrows to clarify that the only reason a teenage Bryce had ever donned ice skates was to shore up his chances of them ending up in bed or, instead, the back seat of his car.

Her parents might have owned a bunch of cabins, but neither had been willing to sneak into one of their rentals.

“Oh, come on, Bryce. It would be fun, and we could brainstorm cookie-decorating themes while we skate.”

He cast a hesitant glance at the ice rink. “The only reason I ever skated was—”

“To get me in bed. Yeah, I understood what you meant, but since we both know that’s not an option, maybe we get a little exercise and decide on the cookie-decorating theme.”

Her mind circled back to what she’d just said.

Sleeping with Bryce wasn’t an option. Of course, it wasn’t.

Still, she couldn’t help but wonder if it’d be fun to go down that road for old time’s sake.

The logical part of her brain clamped a hand over the curious part and told it to shut up and sit down.

There was to be no imagining Bryce Richmond in bed.

No wondering about him in bed. Absolutely nothing to do with Bryce and a bed.

Because it was probably a horrible idea to think about him gloriously naked.

Like she was doing now. Her cheeks warmed.

Good God, she needed to get a hold of herself.

What had she been saying again? Oh yeah. “I’m going to go ice skating. Join me, and you’d be one hell of a fake boyfriend.”

He didn’t move a muscle except to cross his arms over his chest.

“Bryce, don’t make me beg.”

“I’m not making you do anything.”

“I’ll force you to hold my purse and camera bag if you don’t skate.”

“I don’t care.”

“It would be fun. And think of it like this: this is my job. It’s research. You can give me a quote, just like you did when I was a reporter for the high school newspaper.”

“I made up most of my quotes.”

That was true. They’d had so much fun pretending then. Why couldn’t he roll with it more now? She pressed her mittened hands together as though begging. He remained unmoved until she batted her eyelashes.

“Rach, don’t do that. You look ridiculous.”

She laid it on thick. People were starting to notice her antics.

He noticed too. “I’ll put on freaking ice skates.”

She squeed and gave a little clap, bouncing up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You’re the best fake boyfriend in all of Vermont.”

“Or the world.”

“And the humblest too.” She dragged him toward the skate rental booth. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

She stowed their shoes and her purse and camera bag in a locker. It didn’t take them long to lace up and hit the ice. His mood slightly improved when the attendant offered him hockey skates. Rachel wished she’d worn longer socks and would note that in her article.

The first thing that became apparent was that Bryce had not lost his skating skills. He glided this way and that, watching her cling to the wall with a train of little kids. He grinned as Rachel shooed him away. She unsteadily tried to recall how to move forward.

Bryce skated backward and lined up in front of her.

“Show off.” She watched her feet as if they weren’t attached to her body. They wouldn’t do anything she ordered them to do.

Bryce extended his hand and curled his fingers, beckoning her forward. “Give me your hand.”

“You’re distracting me.”

“You’re thinking about this too hard.”

The two little kids in front of her figured out how to move their feet and pushed away from the wall to join in the frenzy of speed skaters swirling around the rink.

“Please be quiet. I’m concentrating.”

Bryce stopped in front of her, and with the bit of momentum Rachel had garnered, she slowly crashed into him. His hands caught her waist and held her so that she wouldn’t crumple.

“Line your feet up. Now, slide them back and forth.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Don’t pick them up. Almost.” He waited as she tried and failed. “Back and forth. Back and forth, sorta—just like that. There, perfect.”

“I’m going to fall.”

“You won’t, babe. Now, remember, you don’t need to pick your feet up. You’re just going to move side to side. Slide, slide.” He glided backward effortlessly. “Keep trying.”

“I’m trying.” She caught herself from falling and attempted to move her feet side to side again. She distinctly remembered this being far easier twenty years ago. She did it. “I’m moving.”

His golden smile lit up. “There you go.”

She glided on her right foot and then her left. Rachel wasn’t making significant improvements in speed, but she had forward momentum. Sorta. That was something. “Look at me glide.”

Bryce circled her, casually crossing one foot over the other. He turned and went in the other direction. “Looking good.”

Her arms went out for balance. “Shit.”

“Don’t look at your feet.”

She looked at her feet and saw them slide in a different direction than she wanted. “Eek.”

He grabbed her elbow and forced her upright again. “Do you know how they asked if we wanted helmets, or wrist guards, or knee pads?”

“Yeah.” She wobbled. “I don’t remember that being an option when we were kids.”

“Yeah, you probably should have said yes to all of the above.”

She laughed—and he caught her again.

“Next time, Rach. You need it all.”

Her belly flipped. Next time? That was probably rhetorical.

Bryce linked his arm with hers. She wasn’t sure if that made it easier to skate or not, but she liked it and decided to stay upright on his arm for as long as possible.

“Let’s make a short-term goal,” he suggested.

“An entire loop?”

“That’s a high bar, babe.”

She laughed again and almost took them both down. He caught her around the waist and forced her to get her legs underneath herself again.

“Remind me,” she said, a little out of breath, “to make a note for the article. Ice skating is not as easy as remembering how to ride a bike.”

“Hey, look at you go.”

She was skating. Something clicked. All it took was near wipeouts and a little self-deprecating snark.

He did the heavy lifting of directing them in a straight line as they traversed across the ice without mowing down anyone.

She focused on keeping her skating smooth and her skates underneath her, pushing and gliding and not trying to walk on the ice.

“What are you thinking of for a cookie theme?” he asked as he rounded them through the corners.

Perhaps coming up with a theme while relearning how to skate wasn’t her best course of action. She could barely string together two sentences. “I can’t think right now.”

“What about very simple? Like red and green? Or Christmas trees?”

They approached the spot where skaters got on and off the ice. A fresh sprig of alarm sprouted in her chest. They were going faster than she had realized, and there were lots and lots of skaters. “I’m about to accidentally kill someone.”

Bryce’s grip on her arm remained steadfast as they avoided other skaters. Her heart was beating as though she were alpine skiing. They had only a few more strides before they reached another corner. “Red and green isn’t a theme.”

He pulled her through the corner with ease. “What about an ugly sweater theme?”

“Oh—Woah—”

He maneuvered them around a pileup of kids laughing on the ice, unaware she might mow over them.

“Thanks,” she managed.

“Think about it,” he said without missing a beat. “Ugly sweater theme. If somebody feels particularly artistic or is dead set on winning the contest, they could get creative and detailed.”

She could envision the artwork on the cookies.

“But if someone—a kid, let’s say—is there to have fun, then they make a fuckin’ ugly sweater cookie.”

It was brilliant. “How did you come up with that?”

He dropped his arm from her elbow and gripped her mittened hand, for some reason having enough faith that she wouldn’t fall over now that he didn’t have an iron grip on her arm.

“I was trying to remember what you and I did around the holidays.”

Her heart squeezed.

“Lord knows, there was a ton to choose from, but I remembered that ugly sweater party we went to at Mr. Gleason’s house and how silly everyone got.

The cheerleaders wore theirs short and tight and on-brand.

The sports guys did their favorite teams. Even that goth girl who didn’t talk to anybody got into it.

Ugly sweater parties speak to everybody. ”

He wasn’t wrong. She could even picture the cookie-decorating contest in her article.

That was a top-shelf idea. Rachel tilted her head and leaned against Bryce.

“That’s a great idea. I really love—” One second she was talking, the next second her feet were running in place on the ice, like she was Fred Flintstone trying to jump-start the cavemobile.

Once again, Bryce caught her before she could fall. “All right. You good on research, or want to go another round?”

“Done,” she said, more breathless than she liked to admit, and let him pull her to safety.