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I notice his older sister struggling nearby. While athletic, she lacks the natural grace her brother seems to have found. As she stumbles again, embarrassment flashes across her face.
“Hey, Sarah, why don’t we try this . . .” Keeping one hand gripped in Cameron’s, I skate over and offer the other to his sister. “Skating is easier with a friend by your side.”
She hesitates, then takes my hand, relief smoothing her furrowed brow. I adjust my strides to match their shorter legs as we skate together. “The key is balance,” I explain. “If you start to wobble, just squeeze our hands and we’ll steady you.”
We continue skating laps, the kids’ confidence growing with each one. I may not be able to make this boy’s biggest dreams come true, but I can help give him this moment.
The ice-skating lesson winds down, and the family clusters around me. Their faces are radiant, tinged pink from the cold and their exertions. “This was amazing, Henrik. We’ll definitely be back next winter,” says one of the parents. The rest of the family nod, their eyes sparkling with shared joy.
As they switch their skates for snow boots and leave, I linger for a moment, embracing the hushed stillness surrounding the lake. But this tranquil interlude is abruptly interrupted by the crunching sound of boots on snow. Turning, I notice Paul McFolley approaching, his niece Cassie bouncing alongside him in a bright pink jacket, her skates casually slung over her shoulder. A group of her friends follow.
“Uncle Henrik,” Cassie exclaims, her eyes shining with excitement.
She’s technically Paul’s niece by marriage. I don’t know why she calls me uncle, but somehow knowing that I’m becoming part of the Harris family is nice.
“Hey, Cassie,” I greet her with a smile. “Are you here to show your friends how it’s done?”
She bobs her head, braids swinging, as her friends gather around giggling and chattering, plopping down in the snowbanks to lace up their skates. I can’t help but soak up their contagious, youthful energy.
Paul watches them with a fond smile before turning to me. “So, Henrik, there’s a party at the Harris Orchard tonight. You should come along,” he says.
I hesitate, stomach knotting slightly as I rub the back of my neck. The idea of being stuck in a social gathering, making empty small talk with strangers, feels a bit overwhelming.
“I don’t know, Paul,” I begin, hesitant, scuffing my skate against the ice. “I’m not really feeling like partying these days, you know?”
Paul nods understandingly but doesn’t let up. “Come on, it’ll be good for you to socialize and meet some new people. You can’t just keep to yourself and the ice forever.”
He has a point. Since relocating to Kentbury, my life has been quiet and predictable, safe yet isolating. Paul’s efforts to encourage me out of this self-imposed isolation haven’t gone unnoticed. I know he means well, but I really don’t feel like socializing.
“I’ll consider it,” I respond, managing a small, reluctant smile. Paul looks pleased with my answer, his expression relaxing.
As Cassie and her friends start skating, some more confidently than others, I find myself drawn back into the role of instructor. Once I’m done and approach Paul by the sideline, I ask, “So, what’s new with you? Are you ready to compete on The Great British Bake Off?”
He shrugs. “I think I’m better than those amateurs. But other than helping Grandma with the bakery and mastering how to decorate cakes, there’s nothing much happening.”
I bob my head. Just when I think the conversation is over, he adds, “Well, Louanne’s moving to Kentbury.”
I stumble, almost falling, as he mentions Lou, one of his younger sisters. Memories of her flood my mind—her laughter, the way her eyes lit up when she smiled, and the nights we spent together talking in the McFolleys’ kitchen when I stayed over at their house.
She’s beautiful. No, gorgeous, and I thought that maybe when she was older we could . . . I stop myself because things worked out differently for us. Their father certainly didn’t think I was husband material for his precious daughter. She married some daddy-approved douchebag, and I had a career to pursue.
I straighten up, schooling my expression into one of indifference. “Louanne? Here?” My voice is carefully neutral, but inside, my heart races. My chest tightens at the thought. For her I would probably try to get out of my house and . . . that’s all. She’s taken. But, wait—then why is she moving here?
“Is she moving with her husband and children?” I ask breezily.
He shakes his head and tells me about her divorce and how the husband has custody of the kids and left her almost destitute.
“I convinced her to come here and find herself,” he states.
“Is that the town motto? Come for the maple syrup, stay to find yourself?” I joke.
He shakes his head. “It helped McKay and me.” Then Paul gives me a stern look. “I’m hopeful that someday you’ll eventually see it too.”
It could’ve helped me before now. I’m not sure how to feel about her coming to town. It’ll remind me of the things that I wanted, the dreams that will never happen. Let’s hope this is just temporary. Lou loves the city; her dream was always to live in New York. She’ll go back eventually, and I just need to stay in my cabin while she’s in town.
“Sure,” I manage to say, forcing a smile. “Well, I hope Kentbury is good for Lou.”
Let’s hope she doesn’t fuck with my stay though.
