All too soon Scarlett had navigated the circumference of the Wollman Rink and come back to his side. ‘You can’t spend the entire evening standing here.’
He’d moved about a metre, cautiously, his hands never leaving the sides.
‘I can hold your hand if you like.’
‘Then I’ll make us both fall down.’ But she was holding out her hand, a gesture of closeness he wanted to make the most of. ‘Slowly,’ he urged as they set off, her gliding, him stepping a little like a demented penguin.
They stuck close to the sides of the rink and when he wobbled he reached out to steady himself, and by some minor miracle they eventually made it all the way around.
‘You’re not bad for an old man,’ she smiled. ‘Look out, Dad!’ Scarlett tugged him to the side, out of the way of a family of four who had joined hands and were about to take them out.
His arms whipped around, he dropped her hand and slumped in a heap against the side of the rink. He groaned. ‘I need to hire this place for a private session, there are far too many people.’ But when he tried to get up he kept losing his footing and gradually Scarlett’s giggles became infectious and he couldn’t get off the ice because his laughing made him so weak.
Scarlett did her best to show him the easiest way to get back up again after a fall but once he was up he decided he’d had quite enough of balancing on dicey blades and he left her to go round a few more times. He gladly returned his ice-skates before nabbing a nearby bench with a view of the rink poised to take some pictures.
He watched his daughter, this incredible girl with her rich, caramel-brown hair that hung in naturally round ringlets, brown eyes that danced beneath the twinkly lights sparkling against the night sky. It was hard to reconcile this version of his daughter who was becoming a woman with the kid who’d wanted picking up the second he came through the door, the same girl who’d cried the day someone at school told her there was no Santa Claus, the Scarlett who’d let him curl up beside her for weeks after her mum died. Back then they were on exactly the same wavelength; it was as though neither of them dared shut their eyes in case more of their world fell apart by the time they woke up, but gradually they’d got through it. She’d been a sensible, together girl until the last year of her GCSEs when hormones and boys came to the fore and he only hoped she didn’t make the same mistakes he had done. But he couldn’t tell her that. He couldn’t say it because he never wanted her to think that he resented her existence. He’d been absent enough over the years to give that impression and he was doing his best to make it up to her. Scarlett hadn’t been planned, not by a long shot, but he couldn’t imagine his world without her in it now.
Scarlett waved every time she went past. She was having the time of her life outside in the frosty air that caught him by surprise tonight. It was cold when they’d arrived in the city, but now darkness had fallen, the temperature had dropped too. If this were the movies it would start snowing right now to make things extra perfect, the city backdrop totally spectacular, his arse wouldn’t be cold perched on this bench and he’d have become an Olympic ice dancer after one lap of the rink.
But this was real life, and sometimes it was hard. And parenting a teen was the hardest job he’d ever have to do. Maybe this holiday would work and bring them closer together and he could stop overshadowing Scarlett’s every move trying to make up for the past when he hadn’t been there enough, or worrying about the future to the extent that he was pushing her away more than anything else.
Chapter Four
Amelia
Well rested after an early night at their apartment and relieved of the responsibility of Kyle, at least for tonight while he stayed back after she’d dragged him around Central Park all day in the cold, Amelia negotiated the subway on her own, made a detour to the famous Magnolia Bakery, and found the Inglenook Inn in the heart of Greenwich Village. Dressed for winter in a fawn jumper with a slit up the side, skinny jeans and boots, along with a smart wool-blend coat, she plunged herself into the New York pandemonium. The city was so intoxicating that it was hard not to pick up on the vibe that Manhattan was filled with possibilities.
Armed with Christmas-themed cupcakes, Amelia suspected that even if Kyle had some energy left, he’d be reluctant to spend time with three women who’d likely chat the entire evening away, and she wanted to give him enough space to get his head sorted – not so much he got in trouble but enough that she didn’t smother him.
‘I can’t believe you’re here.’ Cleo hugged her tight the second she stepped inside the beautiful brownstone. ‘It’s so good to see you. It’s been too long.’
‘It really has.’ She hugged her fiercely and when she pulled back said, ‘New York is as amazing as you always told me it was, just like your photos.’
‘You’ve come at the best time of year, in my opinion. Come on, let me introduce you to Darcy.’
Darcy had just finished on the phone and held out a hand in welcome. The professional hotelier, dressed in a navy suit with a crisp white blouse, her lustrous chestnut-brown hair pinned up in a chignon, was all smiles. ‘Welcome to the Inglenook Inn. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’ Despite the immaculate attire and air of capability, she was open and friendly and Amelia instantly warmed to her.
‘This place is gorgeous.’ Amelia looked around her, taking in the interior of the inn, welcoming with its low-lit lounge, the Christmas tree all lit up and visible from the street, the fire in the grate.
‘Thank you,’ Darcy smiled. ‘We’re a boutique hotel but try to make it as homely as possible.’
‘Much nicer than a huge hotel,’ Amelia agreed, removing her coat when Darcy offered to hang it for her and Cleo took a phone call. ‘And thanks so much to you and your husband for the loan of your apartment.’
‘You’re happy with it?’
‘It’s wonderful, so much space for two of us, I’m incredibly grateful.’ She looked around her again, mesmerised by the beauty of the inn. ‘Although, I would’ve been happy coming here too. This place is really special.’
‘You bet it is. Now, can I get you something to drink?’ Darcy moved towards the small bar in the corner.
‘Orange juice for me, please.’
‘Are you sure? I have wine, Baileys, I can make a cocktail.’
‘Maybe another time. I have a teen in tow and I want to set a good example.’
‘Seems to be a theme.’
‘What do you mean?’
