Chapter 9 Bill #2
We pose together. It feels natural, like we must show the world our favorite chunk of ice. It’s exactly the kind of things I would have done when I was that kid who used to run around this riverbank. She’s laughing when she playfully frowns and scolds, “Bill, you need to smile.”
I look at the screen, but then glance sideways at her instead.
Her cheeks are flushed from the cold. I grin, more for her than for me, because I don’t care how the photo turns out.
A niggling in my gut tells me this is a memory I want to keep.
“Say, ‘icicle’ on two,” she says as she moves the phone into a better position. “And smile!”
“How about icicle made for two?” I cut my gaze toward her right as she clicks, perfectly capturing the look of shock and wonder on her face.
She drops the phone and playfully looks at me, “What do you mean for two?”
“It sounds fun.” I smirk and gesture toward the path again. “What do you think? Should we walk across the bridge one final time?”
Her gaze grows more thoughtful as I set the ice on the ground, and we step onto the wooden planks together. She squeals as the bridge creaks beneath us like it is counting every step. “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” she rushes out as she halts on her heel and nervously scans the worn planks.
“It’s fine.” Without thinking, I reach out. “Here, give me your hand.”
She doesn’t flinch as her fingers wrap around mine with quiet trust. We don’t say anything as we step forward. The silence between us deepens as we slowly creep over the bridge. After we’ve made it about halfway across, her free hand points forward, and she whispers, “Look at that.”
I turn my head to see a small deer family standing near the other side of the bridge. Three of them. The biggest one, clearly a buck with large antlers, turns to watch us. Ruth and I halt.
Neither of us dares to speak. She lowers into a crouch, and I follow instinctively. Our shoulders brush as we huddle together, trying not to disturb the fragile moment. Hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, we hold our breath.
The deer don’t run. They stand there, watching the bridge while we watch them. It almost feels like they came out to say goodbye to the bridge too.
After a few moments, the wind seems to switch directions right as the sun slips lower. “It’s getting dark soon,” she whispers. “I hate to scare them away, but I should get back.”
I feel her turn toward me, and I meet her gaze.
Those stunning ice-blue eyes are wide, lit by that fading sunlight.
I didn’t plan for a moment like this when I invited her up here.
I certainly thought we’d share a laugh or two, but unexpectedly the air between us tightens.
Our faces are so close to each other’s, and her breath mingles with mine.
Tension builds slowly, curling around my ribs, making it hard to breathe in that steady, normal way.
I don’t even fight it, as my instincts take over.
My gaze drops to her lips. They’re slightly parted, the dark pink stands out against her wind-flushed skin.
I swear, for a second, the world narrows to only that space between us.
Just her mouth, her breath, the glint of sunlight catching in her lashes.
I could kiss her.
We are that close.
It would be so easy to lean in and wrap my mouth around hers. I certainly got away with doing that to other women, but as I raise my gaze back to her eyes, I find something in them.
It’s a vulnerability.
An unmistakable hesitation. That’s what I listen to when I turn my head away. If I ever do get the chance to kiss her, I don’t want to see any hesitation. I’ve turned my head with enough time to see the deer darting off, gracefully disappearing back into the trees. I whisper, “There they go.”
“Yep,” she whispers. “Goodbye, deer family.” She exhales slowly as she straightens up, brushing off her coat, and her smile straightens into something unreadable.
“Shall we go head back?” I stand beside her with a heart rate that’s louder than it should be.
Automatically, I shove my hands back in my coat pockets, and we start trudging back the way we came.
We don’t say anything, but the air between us is soft and dreamlike, filling my chest full of quiet encouragement.
So much so that I take a risk. My heart’s hammering, not from the cold or the walk or even the almost-kiss we didn’t have, but from the sheer weight of what I’m about to do.
I hold my breath.
Slowly, I pull my hand out of my coat pocket, fingers stiff from the cold, and from the hundred what-ifs rushing through my mind. The air bites at my skin, but I barely feel it as I extend my hand toward her and open it in offering.
For a second, she doesn’t notice.
She’s focused on something ahead, and I don’t want to interrupt. When her foot creaks on a rotten plank, she glances down and sees my hand, just waiting for a reaction.
There’s a flicker in her expression, and I start to take my hand back, but she slips her hand into mine, again. This time, it feels less like she’s holding it for safety, and more like she’s gripping on to something inside of me.
Like she’s saying a very quiet yes.
We don’t look at each other.
We walk the rest of the way across the bridge and all the way back up the trail to my SUV. When we reach the passenger door, I open it for her and smile. She exhales, which I can’t tell if it’s in disappointment or relief.
Maybe both?
“We made it,” I say as I stand back for her to climb into my car.
“We did,” she says, adding, “It’s stupid, but I’m a little sad, knowing this is the last memory I will have of this place.”
I glance at her with the fading light touching the side of her face, and the weight of what she said settles in my chest. “It’s not stupid,” I say quietly. “I feel it too.”
I wait for her to get in, and I shut her door for her and hustle back to my side, get in, and crank the engine.
She shifts in her seat, turning slightly toward me, her eyes cutting at me with a bit of an angled slant.
There’s a glint in her expression that twists something low in my chest. “I wasn’t sure why you exactly asked me to come, but I’m glad you did.
Thank you. This was a wonderful way to spend the evening.
I didn’t even realize I needed to say goodbye to a bridge. It was so oddly healing.”
“I’m glad you came. It felt more special to make this trip with someone else who also had fond memories, and now we have a memory of the bridge together.”
“Right.” She lets out an airy laugh. “We will always have our icicle for two.”
I laugh too, as I shift the SUV into reverse. The tires crunch softly over the snow as I back away from the bridge, carefully cranking the wheel to turn us around. The sun’s dropped below the trees now, casting everything in a rich honeyed gold that makes winter feel warmer than it is.
My hands move through the motions of driving us back to the main road, but my mind is far from automatic.
I hadn’t planned for today to be a date.
That wasn’t the point. I told myself this was about the bridge.
It was supposed to be a casual trip with a touch of nostalgia, as we both shared memories
But now.
Now my heart is thudding like it missed the memo.
There’s a pulse at the base of my throat I can’t seem to calm. My palm still tingles from the weight of her hand in mine. And even though I’m focusing on the road ahead, my thoughts are still back there to what I swear was an almost-kiss.
I sneak a glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s relaxed in the seat beside me, and her lips are curved in that quiet smile again. Is she thinking about that moment too?
“Who would’ve thought that would happen,” I say, almost to myself, as I ease us onto the main road. “But it’s kind of the perfect way to remember the day and our…”
I trail off, the sentence breaking apart in my throat.
And our what?
Our new friendship?
I don’t know how to explain it, so I stop talking before I say too much.
She doesn’t press me to finish the sentence.
But she’s still smiling.
And somehow, that tells me she understands.
After a beat she says, “Yeah, it was the perfect day. To be honest, I was nervous. I didn’t know if you were concerned about the bridge or if this was a… date,” she admits, letting out a soft, uncertain laugh. “Or like… some sort of hockey loyalty test.”
The sound of her laugh lingers, and I can feel her gaze on the side of my face.
I honestly forgot about hockey. That’s strange because I never forget about hockey or all the work I have waiting for me.
My fingers tighten slightly on the wheel.
I want to look at her fully. Instead, my eyes sweep to her for the briefest second before I force them back to the road and risk a weighty question.
“Did you want it to be a date?” My voice is lower than I would have liked.
She exhales slowly. Then takes another full breath, before saying, “I haven’t dated in years. It’s not part of my life.” She pauses for a beat before adding, “But I’m so deeply flattered you didn’t cringe at the mere suggestion that this might have been a date.”
I chuckle softly, but there’s a tightness behind it, like I’m trying to keep something in check.
I don’t know why her reaction is affecting me this way.
I go on dates a lot, actually. Nothing has ever been serious, as I swore off anything serious after Lacy tore out my heart in high school.
Ruth is stunning though, she’s certainly not even my usual “type” of woman as she has a son.
She also appears to have some emotional baggage, but who doesn’t at this age?
I lock my eyes on hers. My voice rasps when I ask, “So, is that a no or a yes?”
She blows out another breath and looks at me. “Maybe it’s that I'm confused why you’d bother.”
My heart picks up speed. “What’s there to be confused about?
” I say, my voice is rougher now, more honest than I meant it to be.
“You’re gorgeous, you’re funny, you know a lot about hockey, which is my favorite thing ever.
” The words hang between us, as if I also need to hear them.
Saying them out loud makes something shift inside me.
A quiet, undeniable thrum. Maybe I missed it earlier because at first glance she wasn’t my type, but after spending the afternoon with her, I can see many things we have in common, including chemistry I didn’t expect but can’t deny.
“Look, I don’t want to mess things up for Noah,” she speaks gently. “As flattered as I am, I’m not looking to date someone who has a say in his future. And I’m definitely not looking to help him get places.”
“That’s fair,” I say, my voice lower. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t think about Noah once since we talked about him earlier. This wasn’t about him or my team.”
She is quiet again before echoing her last statement, “I just don’t want to interfere with what Noah has going on.”
“That’s what you don’t want.” I pull on the wheel again, taking a curve in the road, but use the slow down to sneak a fast glance in her direction. “What do you want?”
“No one’s ever asked me that.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
My jaw is tight as I keep my gaze forward, making sure the road is clear because I glance at her again. This time slower, because I don’t want to miss her reaction. “I’m asking you now.”
The glow from the dashboard light paints her features in muted amber, enough that I notice the way her lashes flicker. Eventually she parts her lips. A word might’ve started to form, but she holds everything in.
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, understanding exactly what she doesn’t say…