Chapter 6
Chapter six
Sadie
Charity Skate Event
The first sign that today is going to be a problem arrives before sunrise.
The second arrives when Jillie puts on two different gloves because she's too excited to stand still long enough to find the matching pair.
And the third arrives when Mrs. Bellamy spots me unloading pastry boxes outside the community rink and immediately asks:
"Where's Colby?"
Not hello. Not good morning. Not how many cinnamon rolls did you bring.
Just, “Where's Colby?”
I set a box onto the folding table and force a smile.
"Good morning to you too."
Mrs. Bellamy beams. "Good morning, dear. Now answer the question."
I should have stayed in bed.
Unfortunately, Sweet Seasons Bakery is providing refreshments for the annual Winter Charity Skate, and small-town obligations are apparently legally binding.
"He's volunteering," I say, and Mrs. Bellamy's smile grows.
Which should not be physically possible.
"How wonderful."
I immediately regret giving her information.
Beside me, Jillie bounces on her skates.
"Mom, can I go on the ice?"
"Not until the volunteers finish setting up."
She sighs dramatically.
It’s the sigh of a child suffering unimaginable hardship.
"That's forever."
"It's ten minutes."
"Basically forever."
Mrs. Bellamy pats her shoulder.
"I remember when your mother was that impatient."
"I am not impatient."
Both Mrs. Bellamy and I stare at her. Jillie grins.
"Okay. Maybe a little."
The rink is already filling with families.
Children race across the snow-covered sidewalks.
Parents carry helmets.
Teenagers cluster near the entrance.
Music drifts from outdoor speakers.
The whole town seems to have decided that winter isn't quite finished with us yet.
Which is fitting.
Briar Cove treats seasonal events like national holidays, and the Winter Charity Skate is no exception.
I finish arranging cups beside the hot chocolate dispensers and glance toward the parking lot.
That is when I see him.
Colby isn't arriving like a hockey star.
No dramatic entrance. No crowd gathering. No attention-seeking.
He's carrying three folding tables across one shoulder while helping an elderly volunteer navigate an icy patch.
The woman says something and he laughs, a genuine laugh.
The kind I hear more often now.
The kind that keeps surprising me.
Something in my chest shifts. Then I immediately ignore it, because that seems healthier.
Jillie spots him half a second later.
"COLBY!"
Every head within fifty feet turns.
Jillie launches herself across the snow.
I open my mouth.
Too late.
Colby barely has time to set down the tables before she crashes into him.
He catches her automatically like he's done it a hundred times. Which is ridiculous.
Because he hasn't. Not really.
Still, the motion looks practiced, comfortable, natural.
Dangerously natural.
"Good morning, Sprinkle Manager," he says.
Jillie giggles.
"You remembered."
"Important position."
"The most important."
"That's what I heard."
I shouldn't enjoy watching them.
I definitely shouldn't enjoy it when Colby glances up and catches me smiling.
Yet here we are.
He walks over with Jillie still attached to his side.
"Morning."
"Morning."
His gaze flicks toward the pastry table.
"You've brought enough food to feed an army."
"I've met this town."
"Fair."
For one ridiculous second it feels exactly like yesterday in Peterson's Market.
Ordinary, comfortable, easy.
That realization makes me instantly suspicious. Nothing about this arrangement is supposed to feel easy.
Before I can remind myself of that, the event coordinator appears.
"Colby! Thank goodness."
He turns.
"Need something?"
"We've got a little situation."
The coordinator points toward the beginner skating area.
A young girl stands near the entrance.
Maybe six years old.
Tiny.
Pink helmet.
Streaming tears.
Her parents look exhausted.
The coordinator sighs.
"She's terrified."
Colby looks over.
"So?"
"So, she recognizes you."
He blinks.
"And?"
The coordinator stares.
I stare.
Everyone stares.
Apparently professional athletes are not supposed to be this oblivious.
"Could you maybe talk to her?"
Understanding finally dawns.
"Oh."
Five minutes later, I find myself pretending to rearrange napkins while secretly watching.
Not because I'm interested, obviously.
The little girl refuses to leave the rubber mat near the entrance.
Every time someone suggests the ice, she shakes her head.
More tears. More panic.
Then Colby crouches beside her.
There is no audience. No cameras, no performance.
Just patience.
They talk quietly.
The girl nods.
Shakes her head.
Nods again.
Eventually he steps onto the ice.
Then offers his hand.
The girl hesitates.
The entire rink seems to hold its breath.
Finally, she takes it.
One step.
Then another.
Then another.
Twenty minutes later she's skating slowly around the beginner section wearing the proudest smile I've ever seen.
Her parents look like they might cry.
The coordinator looks relieved.
The crowd loves it.
Colby acts like nothing extraordinary happened.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Beside me, Mrs. Bellamy appears out of nowhere…again. I'm beginning to suspect she can teleport.
"He's good with children."
I refuse to look at her.
"Lots of people are good with children."
"Hmm."
Dangerous sound.
"I always thought he'd make an excellent father."
I nearly choke on my own breath. "Mrs. Bellamy."
"What?"
"You cannot just say things like that."
"Why not?"
Because my heart apparently has enough problems.
That's why.
But I don't say that.
Instead, I focus very hard on the pastry display.
Unfortunately, several other women nearby have overheard.
Which means the conversation is now multiplying.
Like rabbits.
"He does seem natural."
"Very patient."
"Jillie certainly adores him."
"Oh, everyone can see that."
I seriously consider hiding inside a commercial freezer.
Then Jillie skates by.
"Mom! Did you see me?"
"Yes."
"I didn't fall."
"Excellent."
"Only because Colby tightened my skate laces."
Wonderful. Just wonderful.
The women smile even harder. Somewhere nearby, Mrs. Bellamy makes a satisfied noise.
The entire town has lost its mind. The truly terrifying part? I'm starting to lose mine too.
Because every time I look at Colby today, I keep seeing things I shouldn't.
Patience.
Kindness.
Reliability.
The sort of qualities a woman notices when she's trying very hard not to notice anything at all.
And that realization follows me all the way to the edge of the rink.
Where trouble is already skating toward us.
The trouble turns out to be Jillie, which should not surprise me. My daughter has never met an activity she couldn't somehow improve with a little extra enthusiasm.
She flies past the pastry booth with two friends trailing behind her.
"Watch this!"
Those four words should be illegal.
I barely have time to wince.
Jillie attempts a sharp turn.
The turn attempts a different plan.
One skate slips.
Her arms pinwheel.
Then she lands squarely on her backside.
Not hard. Not even dramatic. A perfectly ordinary childhood fall.
I am already moving toward the rink when someone reaches her first.
Colby.
One second he's helping carry a stack of rental skates.
The next he's kneeling beside Jillie.
Not panicked. Not overreacting. Just there, ready.
Jillie looks stunned for approximately half a second.
Then she starts laughing. "That was not how I imagined that."
Relief immediately loosens something inside me.
Colby shakes his head. "You planning on skating or auditioning for a stunt show?"
"I almost landed it."
"You landed something."
"I knew you were going to say that."
He helps her stand. Checks her helmet. Checks her gloves. Makes sure she's actually okay.
Then he sends her back onto the ice with a gentle shove.
The entire interaction takes less than thirty seconds, yet somehow it settles into my chest and stays there.
Because he never hesitates, never waits to see if someone else will handle it, and never acts like Jillie is somebody else's responsibility.
And that is becoming a problem. A very large problem. One I absolutely do not intend to think about.
Unfortunately, the universe appears to have other ideas.
Around noon, Jennie, the fundraiser organizer, reappears.
This time she’s carrying a camera.
I know that look. I dislike that look.
"Sadie."
"No."
"You don't even know what I'm asking."
"Experience says I do."
The organizer ignores me. Come on we need promotional photos.
"No."
"Please."
"Still no."
"Come on."
Beside me, Jillie immediately perks up.
"I like pictures."
Traitor.
The organizer beams. "See? Someone understands teamwork."
I’m surrounded by enemies.
And for the next twenty minutes, photos happen everywhere.
Families.
Volunteers.
Sponsors.
Children.
Groups of skaters.
People holding giant donation checks.
The entire town appears determined to document every moment.
I manage to stay out of most of them, but then Jennie spots me again. This time she has reinforcements, namely Jillie. And unfortunately, Colby.
"Perfect," she announces.
Nothing good ever follows that word.
"Come over here."
I already know where this is heading.
Jillie takes my hand as Colby gets trapped on the other side.
And suddenly we're standing in front of the rink's giant Winter Charity Skate banner.
Jennie adjusts her camera.
"Great."
I force a smile.
"Just one photo."
"Several photos."
Of course.
"Everybody look this way."
Flash. Another flash. Another.
Jillie grins through every single one.
Then the photographer lowers the camera and looks at us.
And says the words that immediately stop my heart.
"Okay. Family photo next."
Silence. Not a dramatic silence. Not a shocking silence. Just a tiny pause. Small enough that most people probably miss it.
I don't.
Because I feel every second of it.
Nobody moves.
Nobody corrects her .
Colby doesn't.
I don't.
Jillie certainly doesn't.
Then Jillie reaches out, grabs one of my hands, then grabs one of Colby's.
And pulls.
"Come closer."
The photographer laughs.
"Exactly."
My pulse does something strange.
Colby steps nearer.
Not enough to touch, but near enough that I'm suddenly very aware of how close he is.
The camera flashes again.
And again.
And again.
The photographer finally seems satisfied. "Perfect."
I am absolutely certain it is not perfect. The problem is that part of me wants to see the pictures anyway, which feels dangerous.
The afternoon rush arrives soon after.
The pastry table gets busy.
Children demand hot chocolate.
Parents buy cookies.
Volunteers rest their skates and warm their hands around paper cups.
Normal.
Ordinary.
Comfortable.
And somehow that's the thing that unsettles me most.
Because ordinary is becoming easier around Colby.
Hours pass.
The event slowly winds down, and the crowd begins to thin.
Families head home. Volunteers start packing equipment.
Jillie helps collect stray cups, mostly because Colby convinces her that she's now Assistant Cleanup Manager.
She takes the promotion very seriously.
By sunset, the sky has turned shades of pink and gold. The rink glows beneath strings of lights, and for a few minutes everything feels strangely peaceful.
Then the photographer appears again. "Want to see something?"
I should say no. I know I should. Instead, I follow her.
Mistake, a huge mistake.
She scrolls through the day's images.
Children skating.
Volunteers laughing.
Fundraiser moments.
Community moments.
Then he stops.
The photo. That photo. The family photo.
Jillie stands between us. Her smile is enormous. Mine isn't much better.
Colby is looking toward the camera.
Relaxed. Happy. Like he belongs there. Like none of it feels forced. Like standing beside us is the most natural thing in the world.
For one terrifying second, I forget every reason this arrangement exists.
The publicity.
The fake dating.
The rules.
All of it.
Because the photograph doesn't look fake.
It looks real. Painfully real, the kind of real that comes with consequences.
It’s the kind of real that can break hearts, especially mine.
The photographer smiles.
"Cute family."
I should correct her.
Instead, I stare at the screen.
At Jillie.
At Colby.
At the impossible picture that somehow looks exactly right.
And that's when I finally understand what scares me.
It isn't the town gossip.
It isn't the rumors.
It isn't even the possibility of getting hurt.
It's that somewhere along the way, pretending started feeling a little too easy.
And looking at that photograph, I realize I'm not the only one who forgot some of the rules.