chapter 12
[Jude]
I cannot believe we are doing this. Putting our lives at risk, balancing on a thin steel blade against thick ice. I can’t remember the last time I ice-skated. I also don’t think I can remember how to skate, and I was about to make the biggest fool of myself.
I think back to last night when I did that silly trick my great-grandfather taught me.
The one where you walk forward while squatting lower and lower like you’re descending a staircase.
Only I’d perfected the move in a way it looked like I was lowering on an escalator. I hadn’t done that trick in decades.
And when Angelica laughed, the sound was pure glee. Tinkling bells and angels singing. The noise was so playful, so pleasant, I was stunned for a minute. That I’d caused that joyful noise to escape from her was puzzling.
Don’t tell me you have a sense of humor? No one would ever accuse me of such a thing. I was serious and intense. Edgy. Aloof. Standoffish.
Mean.
And I honestly didn’t know where my attitude came from. My mother? My father? My regrets? Their regrets?
“Jude?” Angelica saying my name pulls me from the darkening thoughts, and I blink at the man inside the wood hut.
“What size shoe?” Angelica states like she’s already asked the question.
“Fourteen.”
For some reason, Angelica’s gaze drops to my boot-covered feet and then flits higher. Is she wondering if the shoe size compares to the length of something else? The bigger the feet . . . the bigger the . . . Yeah, she’d never have to worry about me in that department.
But another thought comes just as quickly—would she be curious?
After her earlier activity, I’d say she’s interested. I consider what Walt implied last night. Angelica is after the money. What a dickhead. If he only knew I’m using her, and she isn’t even getting paid. We’ve wagered the old-fashioned way. A fair trade.
However, I didn’t expect that trade to mean slipping my feet into a boot on a blade that probably hasn’t been properly sanitized from the last guy.
I also didn’t expect it to mean I’d open up and tell her how I don’t celebrate the holidays. I’m typically over the season by the time the official date arrives, but that isn’t the real reason for my lack of celebration.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I hitch my thumb toward the path. “We still have that shop to visit.”
Angelica waves her hand. “I don’t need to see the shop.”
“You don’t?”
She straightens, giving a longing glance at the ice rink. “Well, I mean, not unless you need to see it.”
I don’t need to visit the pop-up, I just used the destination as an excuse. But, don’t all women love to shop? Spend, spend, spend. At least, most of the women I’ve encountered do.
Then I consider my sister, who has always been an anomaly in my head.
And Tucker’s new wife, Mae, who’d rather dig in the dirt than scavenge through dress racks.
And clearly, Angelica is different. Not just in her looks but in her attitude. In her nature. She hasn’t complained about the cold. Didn’t decline a walk outdoors. And now, she’d rather ice skate than go shopping.
“No, I don’t need to see the store.” I visit one every day of my life. While that store is essential to my livelihood, being there has become claustrophobic at times. My office is like a solitary cave on a mountain top, high above a village. I’m an outlier of the community. The lone man out.
With that thought, the skate attendant slaps two pairs on his countertop, and Angelica reaches for hers before I can grab both sets.
She practically skips over to a bench where she takes a seat and slips off her boots, easily sliding her feet into the rented skates and lacing them up.
I follow, while not as thrilled as she is about this experience.
“This is going to be so fun,” she says, her voice rising with glee.
“Fun?” I scrunch my nose, leaning down to remove my boots.
“Yeah. This thing people do when they enjoy activities. Or enjoy themselves with simple things like hot chocolate and roasted chestnuts.” She nods toward the carts. “It’s when someone enjoys life.”
I shake my head. “People would never describe me as fun.” In fact, I’m not certain when the last time was that I truly enjoyed myself.
“Then don’t be the thief of joy, Jude. Live in the moment.”
Don’t you leave me, Jude.
I’d promised myself I’d change. Still, I chuckle bitterly. “If you tell me to live, love, laugh, we can no longer be friends.”
“Are we friends?” Her summer sky-colored eyes meet mine and hold a second, warming my insides.
We might be pretending we are boyfriend and girlfriend, but are we becoming friends? I didn’t know. I didn’t have many of those either.
I must scowl or give her a strange look because she quickly looks away from me and stands on her skates.
Eventually, I follow her lead but instantly teeter.
“Whoa,” Angelica says, holding out her hands like she’d catch me if I fall.
“I got it,” I snap, never wanting to look unsteady around her.
She clamps her lips tight and nods once before taking a step back. Then another and another, before spinning toward the icy pond.
Dammit. I’m frozen in place and not just from the cold. I’m afraid to move. Afraid I’ll tip over. Afraid I’ll look incompetent.
“You should waddle.”
I turn my head toward the smart mouth of a young boy.
I am not fucking waddling.
“Like this.” He spreads his arms, widens his legs, and softens his knees, then steps forward. “Waddle.”
Not happen— But the second I start to wobble, my arms stretch outward, and I bend my knees for stability. Then I waddle like a goddamn penguin before dipping my toe against the ice like I’m afraid to get in the water.
“You got this, Jude,” Angelica says as she whizzes past me, her smile wide, and beaming almost as bright as the sunlight overhead.
Why does she have to be a ray of sunshine and as pretty as one with that red hair?
Her head is covered by her knit hat, a ball bouncing on the top, but the long length of her hair is braided and hangs over her scarf and shoulders.
She giggles as my feet slip, and she travels against the flow of the skaters to double back to me.
“Here.” She holds out both her hands.
I’d like to refuse. I’d like to tell her I don’t need her. I’d also like to say I’ll sit this activity out, but she looks so happy standing on those shaky skates.
“I don’t want to hold you back.” She should go off, have her fun, and not wait on me.
“You won’t.” Her voice is strong.
Hesitantly, I hold out my hands, setting my glove-covered ones against her woolen mittens. Slowly, I feel Angelica pulling me forward, my body stretching.
“Move your feet, Jude,” she coaches, her voice calm, encouraging.
At first, my feet shuffle like I don’t have conscious willpower over them.
“Push off to the side a little bit. Like this.” While standing opposite me, Angelica motions with her foot how to work the blade at a slight angle instead of straight on.
I could snap again. I know how to do this. But I’m not certain how to fake ice skating. With Angelica holding onto me, I’m also not certain I want her to let go.
When she tucked her arm into mine earlier, the move had been a shock.
She quickly explained away the touch because of the Marksmans, which strangely caused the pit of my stomach to drop.
She hadn’t touched me voluntarily. Then again, why would she?
Calling out my name meant she only had fantasies of me touching her.
I don’t think Angelica would act on such fantasies.
She doesn’t seem like a woman who would throw herself at a man.
Why would she need to? She’s fucking funny and gorgeous and outgoing.
And she’s giving me a dazzling smile.
So dazzling, my feet shuffle and I tighten my grip, sensing impending failure.
Angelica strengthens her grasp in response.
“Don’t,” I snap. “Don’t let me drag you down.”
“You won’t,” she states again, confident that I wouldn’t pull her down. At least not during ice skating.
With strength in her small arms, she tugs me forward again, and I follow her lead, letting her take the reins and guide me.
Her hips swish from side to side to keep her own balance steady as my wobbly legs gain confidence.
Eventually, she loosens her grip, then removes her hands, holding them only inches above mine.
“You got it, Jude. You’re doing it, baby.” The coo is sweeter than her echo last night. The term is more endearing, special even. Pride fills her voice.
Like I’m a child, not a man.
The thought tosses off my concentration, and my arms begin to flail. Angelica leans toward me. Too fast. Too close. My feet tangle with hers, and I fall backward, taking her down with me. Landing flat on my back, she tumbles against my chest, and I let out a sharp, “Oof.”
“Are you alright?”
With my back on the hard ice, I could snap: Do I look alright?
Instead, the weight of her body blanketing mine does strange things to my head, freezing my retort.
“Just . . . give me a minute,” I grunt, needing a second to catch my breath.
Angelica tries to move off me, roll to the side perhaps, but my hands are on her hips, and I hold tighter, keeping her in place over me. Our legs are entwined.
Hers. Mine. Hers. Mine.
One, two, three . . . I seek that freckle at the corner of her mouth. Four.
Slowly, I nod. “Okay. I’m . . . good.” I’d like to stay here all afternoon despite the solid ice at my back, and the cold suddenly seeping through my jacket, because Angelica is lying on top of me.
However, our position is hardly intimate with skaters racing around us and broad daylight glaring down on us.
Angelica slowly presses off my chest and kneels. “You’re going to need to frog it.”
“Frog it?” I croak as if I am the creature.
“One foot up and one foot out while your hands remain on the ice. Then one hand up and one hand out.” She imitates the motions, sticking her butt in the air a second before she stands upright.
I do as she did, no longer caring what I look like. I look like more of a fool lying on the ice. When I’m finally standing, Angelica takes my hand again, this time skating by my side, and slowly, I copy her movements.
Left. Right. Slide. Glide.
Repeat. Repeat. Until I’m moving in rhythm with her. Our timing is slow, patient even.
And I wonder if she’d be patient with me in other ways.