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When they’d drained their cups and wiped the remnants of cream from their lips, they returned to the rink.

Frances watched as Lucie pushed off from the barrier, her blades carving through the ice. There was something so graceful about her — the easy bend of her knees, the way her hair caught the floodlight. She was beguiling, a breath of fresh air in what had become a life of routines and managed emotions. The urge to chase her down, to grab her and feel close to her, was overwhelming.

Lucie turned and skated back towards her at speed. The confidence in her face seemed to waver as she drew closer, so Frances reached out and caught her before she hit the barrier. Their bodies collided, their arms wrapping around each other.

“Thanks.” Lucie let out a breath. “I forgot how to slow down for a minute there.”

A large bang echoed around the courtyard as coloured lights filled the darkness above them. Lucie tipped her head back, eyes wide, neither of them acknowledging that they were holding each other as they watched the explosions above.

“I thought there weren’t any fireworks tonight,” Lucie said, looking back down with a confused frown.

“I said we don’t have an event,” Frances corrected her. “One of the gardeners who lives onsite lets a few off.”

“Well.” Lucie gave a small shrug, her gaze pinned on Frances’s as her expression shifted from surprise and faded into something more serious. “Happy New Year.”

Lucie’s grip around Frances’s waist tightened, drawing them closer.

“Happy New Year,” Frances replied, a fluttering swirling deep inside her.

A strand of hair fell across Lucie’s cheek. Without thinking, Frances brushed it away, her fingers lingering a moment too long against Lucie’s cool cheek.

Fireworks cracked overhead, but the sound felt distant. All Frances could hear was the rush of her own pulse as she became acutely aware of how close Lucie was. She slipped her hand to the curve of her jaw and lightly brushed her skin. Something tightened in Lucie’s expression as she leaned into it, her eyes closing for a fraction of a second. Lucie’s hand rose, covering hers, their fingers threading.

Frances drew their hands down to the side of Lucie’s neck, the warmth penetrating her glove and her heart as their eyes met. Lucie’s hand fell away, wrapping tightly around her again and drawing the space between them to almost nothing but warm breath.

“Is that you, Miss Delaney?” a deep voice called out.

They sprang apart as though the ice had cracked beneath them, their attention immediately pulled toward the door.

“Bloody Bob,” Frances muttered.

Lucie stifled a laugh. “Efficient as always.”

“Yes, only me, Bob,” Frances called. “Just enjoying the fireworks,” she added as casually as possible, praying he hadn’t seen anything untoward.

What was she thinking? Nothing had happened. They hadn’t had the chance. They’d just drifted close again. Too close.

Bob eyed them, one hand held up to block the glare from the lights. “I’m just on my rounds. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Thanks, Bob,” Frances said, forcing a polite smile until he disappeared.

Another firework burst overhead, but the real spark had already landed. Neither of them could pretend they hadn’t felt it. But where could it lead?

With Lucie likely heading for new pastures, her life would stretch beyond the boundary of Winterbourne whilst Frances’s remained tethered within them. She belonged to it, to the weight of the roof that needed replacing, to its acres and hedgerows, even to the hundreds of people who worked there. She was knotted into the estate like an old oak, with her roots sunk deep, immovable without tearing something up within her.

The cold crept in, making Frances shiver.

Lucie shifted beside her, near but not touching. “One more lap?” she suggested.

Frances nodded, not wanting their time together to end. How much more time would they have, and how much of it would be alone? Moments in the hallway only seemed to hold goodbyes, and she was tired of them.

They pushed off from the side, not quite together and yet not apart. She was going to savour this. It was going to be replaying often in her head, though definitely with a more satisfying ending than their near kiss.

After the last lap turned into three, Frances insisted on walking Lucie to the north door, unsure whether Bob had locked it. Lucie had walked her home enough times; she could at least see her on her way. Stood on the wide stone doorstep beneath turrets and tons of stone, she watched as Lucie backed away, a softness to her face.

“Night, Frances,” she called. “Thank you for an unforgettable start to the new year.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for joining me at such short notice.”