Page 106 of Brewer Family Collection, Part 1

“I don’t think I can do this.” My movements are short and jerky as I step onto the ice. “I’m going to fall.”

“I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

His words light a cord that burns into my core. I want to believe him. I really, really do. But Actor Ripley doesn’t mean it. It’s all for the show. Real Ripley would probably let me fall … and most definitely laugh at me.

Still, it’s hard not to let his words make me feel good. It’s nice to hear a man give you assurance. It’s usually the other way around.

Which is partly why I might die alone.

“Try to keep your feet under your hips,” he says, skating in front of me. He holds my hand and skates backward effortlessly, pulling me along slowly. “Do you feel your blade and how it touches the ice?”

“I can imagine how the ice will feel against my face when I fall.”

He laughs. “I told you I won’t let you fall. Have a little faith in me, won’t you?”

“I haven’t known you long enough to have that kind of faith in you.”

“Is there a length of time you must know someone before you have faith in them?” he asks.

“Thirteen years.”

“So specific,” he says, pulling me around the ice. His eyes twinkle. “Doing some quick math, but I’m guessing that’s about your senior year of high school.”

“Junior year. My senior year was pretty shit.”

His twinkle fades, and our speed slows. I start to wobble at the change of pace. Ripley helps me get my balance but follows through on his promise—I don’t fall.

“Don’t lock your knees,” he says, his voice gentle. “Stay loose.”

“No woman ever wants to be loose.”

He smiles at me. “You’re doing great.”

“I’m holding on to you like a child.”

“You know, there are a lot of women who would pay big money to get the chance to hold on to me for a couple of hours.”

“I— fuck !” I lose my balance and begin to flail. “Ripley!”

He slides an arm around me and pulls me against him. I’m afraid I’ll knock him over with my bullshit, but he doesn’t budge. Not even an inch.

His body is warm against mine, delivering a level of safety and reliability that I didn’t expect. That I didn’t want.

That I don’t want to like.

He stares into my eyes like there’s something he wants to say. This is the moment on television where the audience oohs and aahs , sensing the actors’ chemistry.

Well done, Ripley.

“Try letting yourself glide a little bit,” he says after steadying me yet again. “Don’t fight it so much.”

“Okay— ah !” I yell, grabbing at him again as my knees start to go one way and my ass starts to go the opposite direction. “How do people do this and live?”

He snickers. “Most people are more coordinated than you.”

“Hey!” I try to be annoyed but laugh—because he’s right.

“I think I’d like this if I could actually get moving.

I’m just waddling here like a ninety-year-old woman needing a hip replacement.

” I pause. “Come to think of it, if I do get moving, I’ll probably be a thirty-year-old woman needing a hip replacement. ”

“If you start to fall, squat like you’re going to sit in a chair with your arms in front of you.”

I look at him over my shoulder. “There’s no way in hell I’m squatting on skates. But thanks for the tip.”

“Just hold on to me and trust me. You can just glide along with me to feel the motion.”

“Sounds like something you’d hear in a porno.”

He laughs, his cheeks now pink, too. “You’re the one with porn in your search history, so you tell me.”

“Don’t act like you don’t look at porn.”

“Don’t act like you have to justify watching it by accusing me of the same. It’s perfectly fine for you to watch whatever the hell you want to watch. How about that?”

I nod approvingly. “Okay, I like that take. You earn a bonus point.” I pull my attention away from him and to my skates. Then I look up. Our pace has picked up, and my skates are moving like a skater and not a toddler. “Look! I’m skating!”

We’re moving smoothly across the rink as the cold breeze tickles my face. The sound of the blades scratching into the ice fills the air, and the sensation feels freeing.

It’s everything I hoped it would be.

“Well, technically, you’re skating and dragging me along, but semantics, right?” I ask, my legs starting to wobble. “My thighs are screaming right now. How is this so hard? It just creeps up on you.”

“Are you ready to call it a day?”

“Yeah, at least for now. I’m afraid I’ll wind up flat on my back if we go too much longer.”

His smirk hits me right between the legs.

“Not like that.” I roll my eyes. “I don’t know how to stop in these things, by the way.”

We skate to the bench, and Ripley brings us to a stop. He holds my hand while stepping off the ice and then faces me.

We’re nearly chest to chest, still joined by our gloved fingers, and our breaths come out in little puffs. The rink is quiet, save for the hum of a machine doing something somewhere.

It’s just us.

And I don’t have anything snarky to say to disarm the situation.

Although I thought it was ridiculous, I’ve always understood that Ripley charmed women. But standing on the ice, my hands in his, and without the pressure of having to come up with something to keep my guard up, I get it on a different level than ever before.

There’s something attractive about him that transcends his jawline and cheekbones. There’s a reliability, a sturdiness—a masculine energy that makes me feel protected that’s seductive … or it would be if I let it.

The fact that I can see this, feel this , is terrifying. Life was easier when I looked at him and wanted to hit him in the face with a pie. Because now, after knowing this part of him exists, I’m afraid it might be harder to get back to where we once were.

We were there for a reason.

As if he can read my thoughts, his smile is soft yet timid. It’s not the arrogant, self-absorbed man who drives me crazy. It’s a man who might be reevaluating himself … and the woman he’s with—just like he was hired to do.

It’ll make damn good television.