“Thank you,” she whispered. Barely audible.
“Anytime.” And I meant it. Far more than I should.
For a moment, she didn’t move. Neither did I.
The lights glowed golden above us. Snow drifted softly around us, and the world felt impossibly, terrifyingly small, reduced to the space between her breath and mine.
I forced myself to ease my hands from her waist, slow, steady, careful as if letting go too quickly might break something delicate. Then she exhaled shakily and stepped back, putting a safe distance between us.
“Okay,” she said, clearing her throat. “Let… let’s try that again.”
“Yes,” I said. My voice didn’t sound like my own. “Let’s.”
But even as we began to skate again, carefully, awkwardly, side by side I couldn’t shake the feeling that suddenly came over me as I watched her closely. All I knew was this:
I didn’t want the night to end.
We skated for a few more minutes, carefully, quietly, but something had changed. Not in a bad way. Just… in a way I didn’t know how to name.
Brianna kept a small, polite smile on her face, but every so often her eyes flicked toward me and darted away just as quickly. Her movements were slower now, more deliberate, as if she was trying to keep her balance in more ways than one.
And me? I couldn’t stop replaying the moment her body hit mine. The way she’d clung to my coat. The soft, startled sound she’d made when I caught her. The feel of her, her warmth in my arms. God, I was in trouble.
She finally drifted toward the edge of the rink.
“We should probably… call it a night,” she said, breath puffing in soft white clouds. “The snow’s picking up.”
It wasn’t heavy. Not dangerous. But I understood what she meant.
The night had reached that point where staying any longer meant acknowledging what almost happened between us. And neither of us was ready for that.
I nodded. “Yeah. Good idea.”
We made our way to the benches, unlaced our skates in a silence that felt more charged than awkward. Every time her sleeve brushed mine, a small spark skittered through my chest.
When we slipped our boots back on, she stood and smoothed her coat.
She cleared her throat, offering a small, polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Well… that was eventful.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my tone light even though my pulse hadn’t fully settled. “It sure was.”
Her cheeks flushed a soft pink. “I can walk you back?—”
“I’ll walkyouback,” I cut in gently, before she could finish. “It’s late. And freezing. And… it just makes sense.”
Her eyes flicked up to mine at that, brief, soft, shy before she looked away again, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as if the movement might hide the colour rising in her cheeks.
“All right,” she murmured. Quiet, almost relieved.
And for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely, the simple moment warmed something in me more than the whisky hot chocolate ever could. We walked together through the softly falling snow, leaving the glow of the festival behind us. The crowd thinned, the music faded, and the night grew quieter but not uncomfortably so.
Every few steps, our arms brushed. Every time they did, something warm fluttered through me.
Brianna didn’t talk much, and neither did I. But the silence wasn’t empty, it felt… steady. Full of everything we weren’t saying.
The closer we came to the square, the more the lights softened into a warm haze, reflecting off the snow-dusted rooftops. Pine Hollow looked peaceful at night, almost impossibly so and for a strange moment, I understood why my grandfather loved this place. We reached the bakery, and she turned toward me, brushing a few snowflakes from her hair.
