CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Rory

I pull my laces tight, tying them around the tops of my ice skates, then slip the lens cap off my camera and snap some pictures of the rink that sits in the middle of the Empyreal Resort village. Strings of Edison bulbs crisscross above me, casting an amber glow on the shiny ice. Fire pits and Adirondack chairs surround the entirety of the rink for merry-watchers and parents to relax while the skaters move and glide along the ice… or slip and fall.

Breck sidles up close to me at the railing, his solid shoulder pressing against mine. My body responds by leaning into him, even though it shouldn’t. It can’t… not with Willow standing just on his other side. His features are illuminated under the lights, the golden hues in his hair sparking brighter. When a long strand falls in front of his face, I push my hands deep into my pockets to keep from brushing it back.

“Ready?” he asks. Willow stands next to him in a pair of white figure skates that match mine and stand out in contrast to his black hockey skates.

“Yup, let’s go.”

He reaches for Willow’s hand and they walk stiffly on their skates to the opening of the rink. A few skaters have started cutting large ovals around the ice while others cling to the boards, their feet splaying about like baby deer learning to walk. Willow balances precariously on her blades, squeezing the life out of her dad’s hand, but you’d never know from the easy smile on his face.

We made it through our first weekend in the new place as roommates, so tonight we’re celebrating with this little excursion to the skating rink. We’re also celebrating Breck’s new job title—as homeschool dad. He spent much of the past week on the phone with Willow’s school back in Sydney, working out the best way for her to study remotely for the next month. He’ll be working off the same curriculum, keeping pace with her class, to ensure she’s where she needs to be when they get home.

I maneuver around them and turn to skate backward. “So, Bug, are you excited to start school next week?”

“I can’t wait. I get to do school in my pjs every day!”

I chuckle, understanding her glee.

“What about you?” I ask Breck, whose posture is relaxed as he glides along.

“Being a teacher will be a new challenge for me. At least it’ll keep me busy though, and we can take snowboarding breaks, right, Willow Bear?” She nods up at him, a big dimpled grin on her face. Her eyes shine with love for her dad.

“It’s like PE, but better ,” I chime in and Willow giggles, melodic and sweet.

“Just like ice skating,” he says, taking in the rink that is growing busier by the minute.

I lift my camera and the snick of the shutter draws their attention, allowing me to capture their matching smiles. I also capture their crash. Willow leans back too far, pulling them both onto their butts. I let my camera fall into its strap around my neck and surge forward. There’s nothing but the sound of laughter—boisterous and joyful—coming from where they’re sprawled.

“You know? I was just thinking you’re a natural at everything, but maybe I was wrong,” I joke, needling Breck, who grins back at me. He rights himself quickly, then we each grab a hand to get Willow standing again, and neither of us lets go as we resume a slow pace around the rink.

“It’s not my first time on skates,” Breck says, “but it has been a while.”

“When did you go ice-skating Daddy?” Willow asks—always full of questions.

“I used to go every winter when I was your age.”

“With Grandma and Grandpa?” Breck’s face softens at her question. He’s mentioned them a few times, usually in reference to learning to snowboard. I know they passed in a car accident when he was young, but not much else. I like that even though Willow never got to meet them, she still knows who they are.

“Yeah, Willow Bear, with Grandma and Grandpa. Then I went with my aunt and uncle when they took me to the mountains, but it was much less frequent. I think the last time I was on the ice was in college. I went on a date to a local skating rink.”

“With Mommy?” Willow asks. It’s a casual comment, but her face falls a fraction. The moment stands still, and I wonder how best to disappear into the background. It’s a question she likely would’ve asked with ease a couple months ago, but there’s a quiet wetness gathering in her eyes now.

Breck shakes his head and clears his throat. “No, uh—no, it wasn’t.”

“Sorry, Daddy.” Willow’s voice quavers. I want to give them a minute, but I’m afraid she’ll fall if I let go of her hand.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t like talking about her anymore.”

Ugh. This kid is breaking my heart.

“That’s fine, but you can if you want to. Or need to.”

“But you don’t like to talk about her either.” He recoils as if she physically hit him with those words. It’s true. I’ve heard him mention Talia less than a handful of times since he’s been here.

“I don’t, you’re right, but that doesn’t mean we can’t. I’m sorry I haven’t given you a way to do that. I’ll do better, okay?”

She nods and pulls her hand free from mine, swiping it under her eyes.

“You know,” I say, grabbing Willow’s hand again and squeezing it to bring her attention to me. “I have another elopement booked for this weekend, and I need you to be my assistant again… if your dad’s alright with it?”

Her sadness morphs into something brighter, and a quick glance at Breck shows relief in his features at the change in subject. He mouths a silent thank you and I offer him a brief nod in return.

“Do you need me to officiate this one?” he asks.

“Jamie was on board when we booked it, but since you’re here, I’m sure he’d be fine with you doing it.”

Breck nods. “I’m happy to help.” There’s more meaning behind the words than his offer to officiate another wedding. He wants to help me make this—Willow Tree Elopements—a reality, but I’m scared. It still feels like a dream, one I’ve wanted for so long but never dared to believe would come true.

We tug Willow around the rink while I tell her where we’ll be going for the next shoot, what I know about the bride and groom, and what kinds of pictures we might take. She fires back questions and throws out suggestions like she’s a pro.

We finish off the night with dinner at Base Camp Pizza Co., followed by a brisk walk home. Breck carries Willow on his back—her little legs too tired after a solid hour of skating. Her head rests on his far shoulder, her eyes heavy and her breathing slowly evening out. I admire her ability to fall asleep like this, and I admire his ability to carry her for this long.

We walk in companionable silence, but somewhere along the way, Breck’s fingers brush mine. First, it’s just our pinkies, then slowly his gloved fingers twine through mine. His firm hold sends an electric current up my arm, and despite the chill, my whole body feels warm. I want to melt into him, let him wrap an arm around me and hold me close, but we can’t do that. So we finish our walk, hand in hand, and even though I probably should, I don’t pull away.

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