Chapter 19

It was after supper when I finally had a moment to myself. I’d just set the kettle on the stove, the rhythmic clinking of mugs calming my mind, when Graham wandered into the kitchen. His skates dangled over one shoulder, and in his other hand, he held a smaller pair of skates like they were a peace offering—or a challenge.

“No,” I said immediately, crossing my arms.

He stopped, smirking like he’d been expecting exactly that response. He set the skates down on the chair with a dramatic thunk. “I didn’t even say anything yet.”

“You didn’t have to.” I glanced pointedly at the skates. “The answer’s no.”

“You don’t even know what I’m asking,” he said, leaning casually against the counter, his grin widening.

“You’re holding skates,” I replied, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not hard to figure out.”

“You’re assuming I’m inviting you,” he teased, his tone light. “Maybe I just needed a place to air them out.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please. Like those could ever fit on your monster feet.”

“Okay, fine,” he said, dragging the words out as he pushed off the counter. “You caught me. I think you should come skating with me.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

I turned back to the kettle, waving a hand vaguely. “Because. I haven’t been in forever, it’s cold, and I’d probably fall on my face.”

“Sounds like a lot of excuses,” he replied, stepping closer. His tone softened, almost coaxing. “C'mon. It'll be fun. The guys are all going—there’s an open skate at the arena in half an hour. Snow’s falling, they’ve got music playing… it’s basically a Hallmark movie waiting to happen.”

My fingers tightened around the kettle handle. Part of me wanted to say yes. But the thought of making a fool of myself in front of him—and everyone else—made my stomach twist.

“I’m really bad at it,” I admitted finally, keeping my eyes fixed on the counter.

“That’s fine,” he said, his voice gentle now. “I’m really good at it. We’ll balance each other out.”

I turned to look at him, and his grin was so annoyingly sincere that I caved with a sigh. “Fine. But if I break something, you’re carrying me home.”

“Deal,” he said, already reaching for his coat.

The arena was quieter than I’d expected, the buzz of activity softened by the falling snow outside. Twinkle lights strung along the edges of the glass cast a soft glow over the ice, and holiday music drifted from the speakers overhead.

Graham had already laced his skates, leaning back on the bench with an ease that made me self-conscious as I stared at the ice.

“Are you planning to get out there sometime tonight?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“I’m working up to it,” I said defensively, sitting on the bench to lace my skates. “This is... not my thing.”

“I figured that out when you needed a five-minute pep talk just to agree,” he said, grinning. “But don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

“Those are famous last words,” I muttered, wobbling to my feet.

He stood with effortless grace, glancing down at me with a lopsided smile. “Ready?”

“Nope.”

“Perfect,” he said, holding out a hand.

I hesitated, then let him lead me toward the rink.

The moment my skates hit the ice, I knew I was in trouble. My balance wobbled, and I clung to the side of the rink like it was a lifeline.

“This was a mistake,” I muttered under my breath.

“You’re doing fine,” Graham said, skating backward in front of me with infuriating ease.

I glared at him. “If by ‘fine,’ you mean ‘barely functional,’ then sure.”

“Better than I expected,” he teased.

I shot him a look, my grip tightening on the wall. “I’m not letting go.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

He skated closer, his expression softening. “Come on. You trust me, don’t you?”

I hesitated, glancing between his hand and the ice stretching out behind him. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my temples, but not because of the skating. Finally, I let out a shaky breath and reached for his hand.

“Don’t let me fall,” I said.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice steady.

We moved slowly, his hand firm in mine as he guided me around the rink. My balance wavered constantly, but he never let go, and never seemed impatient.

“You’re getting it,” he said after a while, his voice warm with encouragement.

“Liar,” I said, gripping his arm when I felt myself wobble.

“I’m serious,” he insisted, his smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’re better than half the people out here.”

“That’s a pretty low bar,” I muttered, "Half the people out here are toddlers." But I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.

Graham grinned, and for a moment, the air between us felt lighter. But then he let go.
“Wait—what are you—”

Before I could finish, he skated backward, his stride easy and confident. “You’ve got this,” he called, his voice teasing.

“Graham Fletcher, I swear—”

I didn’t get to finish. My skate caught on a deep groove in the ice, and I tumbled forward with a yelp.

He reached me in seconds, catching me by the arms before I hit the ice.

“You okay?” he asked, his face close enough that I could see the faint puff of his breath in the cold air.

“Yeah,” I breathed, my heart racing. “Thanks.”

“You’re doing fine,” he said softly, his hands were warm and steady as he helped me straighten up.

For a moment, we didn’t move. The music and the laughter of the other skaters all faded, leaving just the soft glow of the lights and the feel of his hands on my arms.

“You’re good at this,” I said finally, my voice quieter than intended.

“Helping you skate?” he asked, his lips twitching into a faint smile.

“Being nice,” I admitted, laughing softly.

“Don’t get used to it,” he teased, his dark eyes shining with warmth.

But as he let me go and skated backward again, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Graham Fletcher—sarcastic, overconfident, and temporary—wasn’t just being nice.

He was being... something else.

And that terrified me more than falling ever could.