Chapter Thirteen #4
Tessa’s foot slid forward, her weight shifting away from him. Matvei released her shoulder and caught her before she fell, both hands closing around her hips.
She grabbed his forearms.
For a second, they remained bent awkwardly above the sidewalk.
Then Matvei pulled her upright.
Tessa’s body came directly against his.
His hands stayed on her hips.
Her fingers remained wrapped around his arms.
The air between them disappeared.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
She sounded breathless.
Matvei looked down.
Her face was tilted toward his, the red tip of her nose only inches below his mouth. Snow had caught in the loose strands of hair near her cheek. Her eyes moved across his face and settled on his.
His hands fit around her hips almost as easily as they had enclosed hers.
Tessa did not step back.
Neither did he.
The quiet of the city pressed around them. Matvei could hear her breathing and feel the rise of it where her body touched his.
He wanted to kiss her.
The realization carried no uncertainty.
Not curiosity. Not a moment created only by the cold.
He wanted to lower his head and learn whether her mouth was as soft as it looked. He wanted to pull her closer, though no meaningful space remained between them. He wanted to see whether she would grip his arms harder or move her hands somewhere else.
Tessa’s gaze dropped briefly toward his mouth.
Again.
Matvei moved closer by less than an inch.
Her breath caught.
The credential beneath her coat pressed lightly against his chest.
He remembered what it represented.
The rink behind them. Halifax waiting after the tournament. Her name above stories about his games and his answers preserved inside her recorder.
Tessa seemed to remember at the same moment.
Her fingers loosened around his arms.
“I didn’t fall,” she said quietly.
“No.”
“You caught me.”
“Yes.”
Matvei did not remove his hands.
Tessa’s mouth curved slightly.
“You can let go.”
He looked at her.
“Do you want?”
The question escaped in English rougher than he intended.
Her expression changed.
For one second, he thought she might say no.
Then she stepped back.
Matvei let his hands fall.
Cold filled the space between them.
Tessa looked down at the patch of ice. “Maybe the boots are bad too.”
“Yes.”
She laughed softly, though her face remained warm beneath the winter red.
Matvei offered his hand.
She stared at it.
“For ice,” he said.
“Of course.”
Tessa placed her hand in his.
Even through both pairs of gloves, he felt how much smaller it was.
He closed his fingers around it and guided her across the remaining slick section.
Once the pavement became clear, neither released the other.
The hotels appeared several blocks ahead.
Their joined hands swung slightly between them, visible enough that anyone passing would understand the gesture differently than two people navigating ice.
Nobody passed.
Tessa’s hand remained inside his.
Matvei slowed without intending to.
He did not want to reach the corner where they would separate. The previous night, the hotels had offered relief from the cold and an ending neither needed to name. Now the lights ahead seemed like a deadline.
“What you do rest of Christmas?” he asked.
Tessa looked toward her hotel.
“Work.”
“You finish?”
“I have to get ready for tomorrow’s game.”
“That is later.”
“That does not usually stop me.”
“Anything else?”
She seemed to understand what he was actually asking.
“No.”
“No dinner?”
“The media hotel has a Christmas buffet.”
“You go?”
“Maybe.”
“You do not want.”
Tessa smiled faintly. “I’m sure it’s lovely.”
“It is hotel food.”
“You’re staying at a hotel too.”
“Russia has team dinner.”
“And you’re skipping it?”
“I did not say.”
They reached the final corner.
Across the street, Russia’s hotel rose behind a line of black vehicles. Tessa’s stood opposite it, its lobby windows glowing beneath strands of white lights.
Between them, set slightly back from the street, was a small bar Matvei had noticed during his walks.
The building looked older than everything around it. Dark wood framed the windows, and a painted sign hung above the entrance beneath a layer of snow. Warm amber light filled the glass. Inside, a few people sat at narrow tables beneath old photographs and brass lamps.
Tessa followed his gaze.
“That place is cute.”
Matvei looked at her.
“Cute?”
“Old. Cozy.”
“Then say old.”
“Old does not mean cozy.”
“It is bar.”
“That doesn’t mean it can’t be cute.”
He did not care what word she used.
The important part was that she continued looking at it.
“One drink,” Matvei said.
Tessa turned toward him.
“With you?”
He almost asked who else she thought he meant.
“Yes.”
Her eyes moved toward Russia’s hotel, then to her own.
The professional reasons to refuse passed visibly through her mind.
Matvei waited.
He did not release her hand.
Finally, Tessa looked back toward the bar.
“One,” she said.
Matvei led her across the street.
At the entrance, he opened the heavy wooden door. Warm air, quiet conversation and the scent of spiced wine spilled into the cold.
Tessa stepped inside.
Matvei followed, and the door closed behind them.