Page 49 of Daddy's Little Christmas

Sweet boy:Should I be nervous that I don’t know what that means?

Me:Nah. Just trust me.

His reply came with a tiny snowman emoji.

I slid the phone back into my pocket and grabbed my coat, already moving, the rest of the afternoon suddenly full of possibility.

*****

Frostbite Pond sat at the edge of town, ringed by bare trees wearing halos of frost. The parking lot was half full when we pulled in, little clusters of people moving toward the rental booth in bright coats and knit hats.

Rudy shifted in the passenger seat as I turned off the engine.

He’d bundled himself up in an oversized charcoal sweater, layered under a navy coat. His knit hat was slightly crooked over his red hair, curls poking out over his ears. A scarf he told me he’d picked up at the inn gift shop wrapped twice around his throat, making him look somehow younger and softer.

He glanced at the pond, eyes widening a fraction.

“That’s… bigger than I thought it would be,” he said.

“You’ll be fine.” I reached behind the seat and lifted the so-called emergency package: a thick fleece blanket. “Worst-case scenario, we sit on the sidelines, insult everyone else’s form, and drink cocoa.”

That earned me a quick, real smile.

“Okay,” he said. “That, I can handle.”

Inside the rental shack, the air smelled like damp wool. We got skates. I clumsily laced his up at a bench and then my own, and we stepped out onto the ice near the edge where it was quietest.

He made it two steps before his ankles wobbled.

“Whoa.” His hand shot out, landing on my forearm with a grip that could’ve dented steel. “Okay. Um. I hate this. I change my mind.”

“Too late,” I said, fighting a smile. “You’re already out here. That’s the hardest part done.”

He shot me a look that was half glare, half plea.

“Graeme…”

There it was—that tiny shift in his voice. Not all the way into little space, but close. Softer. Rounder at the edges.

“Hey.” I slid in closer. “Don’t look at the ice. Look at me.”

His gaze flicked up, meeting mine. Big blue eyes, lashes damp from the cold.

“You’re not going to fall,” I said. “I’ve got you.”

His fingers tightened on my arm.

“Promise?” he asked before he could swallow the word.

Something in my chest tugged.

“I promise,” I said. “Turn around.”

He frowned, confused, but did as I asked. I moved in behind him, my skates cutting careful lines in the ice as I bracketed his with my own and set my hands at his waist.

He sucked in a breath.

“Okay,” he said, a little shaky. “Okay. This is… closer than I expected.”