Chapter 18
Melody
“Ican’t feel my face,” Finn announces, his voice muffled through a scarf that covers everything but his eyes. “Is it still there? Someone check for me?”
Gabe reaches over and tugs the scarf down just enough to reveal Finn’s nose, which has turned an alarming shade of pink. “Still attached.”
“Small mercies,” Finn mumbles, teeth chattering, immediately re-wrapping himself. “Remind me why we couldn’t drive?”
“Because,” Charlie says, practically skipping ahead of us in just a light jacket like some cold-immune superhero, “the walk into town during tree lighting night is part of the experience. The lights, the snow, the festive spirit…”
“The frostbite,” Finn adds.
Everett laughs, the sound warming me up instantly. He walks slightly behind me, and I’m hyperaware of his presence, as if my body has developed a special Everett radar. The same goes for Gabe, who walks beside Finn, occasionally steadying him when he wobbles in his excessive layering.
I’m also very aware of Finn, though his constant stream of complaints about the cold makes me laugh and distract me from the overwhelming presence of the two alphas.
It’s as if his chatter creates a buffer, something to focus on besides the way my omega instincts keep making me want to turn around and lick them all.
“If I freeze to death, my obituary will read: ‘death by festive walk,’ Finn continues, stumbling slightly on an icy patch.
“There it is!” Charlie points ahead.
The town square is a veritable winter wonderland. A large circular rink dominates the center, surrounded by wooden booths selling everything from hot cocoa to hand-knit mittens. Across from the rink stands an enormous pine tree, still unlit, waiting for its moment of glory.
“That’s one of ours,” Everett says with quiet pride, nodding toward the massive tree. “Cut it just yesterday.”
I look at the tree, then back at him. “It’s beautiful. And huge.”
“That’s what she said,” Charlie whispers, loud enough for everyone to hear.
I smack her arm, my cheeks heating. “Behave.”
“Never,” she grins.
We make our way to the skate-rental booth, where a cheerful man in a Santa hat hands us each a pair of skates. Well, most of us. Finn stands back, arms crossed.
“I can’t wait to watch you all from a safe distance,” Finn declares. “Preferably with something hot and alcoholic in my hands.”
I turn to him with raised eyebrows. “Oh no. If I’m skating, you’re skating.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun!”
“Fun is not the word I’d use for strapping knives to my feet and attempting to balance on frozen water.”
Gabe’s lips twitch.
“I’m terrible at it too, so we can hold each other up.”
“Or drag each other down,” Charlie adds helpfully.
“Come on,” I say, holding out a pair in his size. “For me?”
“Playing the ‘for me’ card already? We’ve known each other for only a few days.”
I bat my eyelashes. “I’m a quick study.”
Finn looks at the skates like they might bite him, then at my face, then back at the skates. Finally, with a dramatic sigh that would put Shakespeare to shame, he accepts them.
“If I break something important, you’re all responsible for my medical bills,” he announces. “And I’ll be milking the sympathy for years.”
“Your boyfriend and I were part of the hockey team growing up; we’ll teach you what to do,” Everett says while Gabe helps Finn lace up his skates with an indulgent smile that makes my heart squeeze.
There’s such tenderness in the way he handles Finn, like he’s both precious and ridiculous, and Gabe wouldn’t have him any other way.
Everett helps me with my own skates, his fingers working deftly at the laces. I try not to notice how good he smells or how warm his hands are when they briefly touch my ankles. I swear the butterflies are having a rave in my stomach.
“Ready?” he asks, looking up at me from where he kneels.
“As I’ll ever be,” I reply, my voice embarrassingly breathy.
Getting onto the ice is our first challenge. Gabe, Everett, and Charlie all glide on the ice effortlessly.
Then there’s Finn and me.
“Oh god.” Finn clutches the railing with a death grip. “The physics of this is all wrong. Humans aren’t meant to balance on blades.”
“One foot at a time,” I encourage, though I’m not doing much better. My ankles keep wanting to turn inward.
“That’s it?” Finn looks at me incredulously. “That’s your expert advice? ‘One foot at a time’? I thought you said you’d done this before.”
“I have, once. I didn’t say I was good at it.”
Charlie zips past us, skating backward with infuriating grace. “You two look like baby giraffes!”
“Gloating is unattractive, Charlie Pine!” I call after her.
Gabe and Everett circle back to us, stopping with a small spray of ice. “Need help?”
“No,” Finn and I say simultaneously, then look at each other and laugh.
“We’re fine,” I add. “This is a memory-making experience.”
“Through shared trauma,” Finn agrees.
We inch forward together, still clinging to the rail. A small child who can’t be more than five zooms past us, executing a perfect turn.
“Show off,” Finn mutters.
“We can do this,” I say confidently. “Let’s try letting go. Just for a second.”
“Are you insane?”
“Maybe a little.” I release one hand from the rail. “Come on, I’ll hold your hand.”
Finn eyes my outstretched hand suspiciously, then, with a muttered prayer, takes it. We stand there, wobbling like newborn colts, one hand each still on the rail.
“On three, we let go completely,” I say. “One… two…”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Finn interrupts.
“Three!” I release the rail and pull him with me.
For one glorious second, we’re skating. Actually skating! Then Finn loses balance, and we go down ungracefully, in a tangle of arms and legs sprawled across the ice.
“I hate you,” Finn groans from somewhere near my elbow.
I can’t respond because I’m laughing too hard, lying flat on my back on the ice.
“Are you okay?” Everett appears above me.
“Never better,” I gasp between laughs. “Just working on my ice angels.”
He offers me a hand up, which I gratefully accept. His grip is firm and sure as he pulls me to my feet, steadying me when I wobble. I see Gabe coming to Finn’s rescue as well.
A small crowd has gathered around us, but they’re not looking at our spectacular failure. They’re gathering around Everett.
“Perfect Pines really came through,” an older woman says, patting his arm. “Our Fraser fir is the most beautiful one we’ve had in years.”
“Mine too,” a man in a puffy jacket agrees. “Don’t know what we would’ve done if you hadn’t stepped up.”
Everett accepts their thanks with a modest nod, but I can see the pride in his eyes. These are his people, his community, and he came through for them when they needed him.
“You know what we really need?” says an older woman, her perfectly coiffed hair undaunted by the frigid temperature. She jabs a finger at Everett’s chest. “We need an alpha like you in the mayor’s office, not that slick-talking Reynolds.”
A chorus of agreement ripples through the small crowd that’s gathered around us on the ice.
“That’s the truth,” another adds. “Reynolds keeps pushing for the merger with the neighboring towns. Nobody wants that except him and his developer buddies.”
“My nephew works in the county planning office,” another woman chimes in. “Says Reynolds has been meeting with some sketchy developers. Something about rezoning if the merger goes through.”
“He’s just after more power and a fatter paycheck,” another one nods vigorously. “Doesn’t give a hoot about what the people actually want.”
“I’m not a politician,” Everett says with an awkward laugh.
“That’s exactly why you’d be perfect,” a tall beta insists. “You’re one of us. You understand what this town needs.”
Everett shifts uncomfortably, his hand still steadying me on the ice. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but Reynolds has been in office for what, twelve years now? Every candidate who’s ever run against him has lost.”
“Maybe they were the wrong candidates.” The first woman says. “Think about it, Everett. “The election’s not until spring. Plenty of time to consider.
Everett nods, then turns to me. “I’d like to introduce you—”
Before he can finish, Charlie appears, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “This is Melody, the twerking omega who told off Mayor Reynolds.”
“Oh, you’re the one who spat on him!” Another one adds.
My face heats instantly. “That’s not exactly… I mean, the llama spat on him, not me, and I didn’t actually twerk… that was a different time.”
The woman laughs delightedly. “Oh, we’ve all heard about it! Best thing that could’ve happened to Reynolds.”
More people join our little circle, each with a story about their perfect Christmas tree from Everett or a question about “the llama incident.” I find myself laughing along, drawn into their easy camaraderie.
Eventually, the crowd disperses, and I realize I’m still holding Everett’s hand. I should let go. That would be the sensible thing to do. But I can feel the heat of his palm through my winter gloves, and when I look up at him, the way he’s gazing at me makes my breath catch.
“Want to try skating again?” he asks softly.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
This time, instead of plunging recklessly forward, I let Everett guide me. He skates backward, holding both my hands, pulling me gently across the ice.
“That’s it,” he encourages as I find my balance. “Just relax and let your body adjust.”
I focus on the feeling of gliding, of Everett’s hands in mine, of the crisp winter air filling my lungs. It’s magical.
“I’m skating!” I shout triumphantly.
“You are,” he agrees, his eyes twinkling.
Across the rink, Gabe is performing the same service for Finn, though with considerably more dramatic commentary from his partner.
We pass each other in the middle of the rink, and Finn gives me a look of exaggerated suffering.
“Traitor,” he mouths at me.
I stick out my tongue in response.
“Children, behave,” Gabe scolds, but he’s fighting a smile.