Chapter Thirteen — Tessa #2
For three full seconds, I moved without clinging to both hands.
Pride rose sharp and immediate.
Rhett saw it.
His smile appeared.
Bright.
Real.
“There she is.”
“Do not make this emotional.”
“You’re skating.”
“Barely.”
“Still counts.”
I tried another push.
Then another.
The cold air rushed past my face.
The rink lights blurred.
Something light opened inside me.
Not confidence exactly.
Freedom.
I laughed.
Rhett laughed too.
We moved faster.
Not fast.
Faster.
Enough that I felt reckless.
Enough that I forgot to be careful.
Then my skate caught.
I tipped forward.
Rhett caught me.
Again.
One arm around my waist.
My hands against his chest.
The position was almost identical to the charity skate.
But everything else was different.
No camera.
No crowd.
No rules written for public use.
His breath moved against my cheek.
My body recognized him before my mind finished catching up.
“Hi,” he said softly.
I should have stepped back.
Instead, I looked at his mouth.
“Hi.”
His arm stayed around me.
Steady.
Waiting.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
His eyes darkened.
The honesty surprised both of us.
I became aware of every point of contact.
His hand at my back.
My fingers curled into his jacket.
My chest against his.
The cold everywhere except between us.
“This is the part where you make a joke,” I said.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want you to think I don’t mean it.”
My pulse stumbled.
“Mean what?”
His gaze held mine.
“This.”
No smile.
No performance.
Just him.
My fear shifted.
Not gone.
Changed.
Because I believed him.
Rhett lowered his head slowly.
Giving me time.
I closed the last inch.
The kiss was not like the porch.
That had been cautious.
A test.
This was an answer.
His mouth moved against mine with careful pressure.
Warm.
Certain.
His hand tightened slightly at my waist.
I leaned closer.
Not thinking.
Not planning.
Choosing.
That realization moved through me at the same moment Rhett pulled back.
Barely.
His forehead rested against mine.
“You’re smiling,” he whispered.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“So are you.”
“Obviously.”
I opened my eyes.
He looked happy.
Not triumphant.
Not amused.
Happy.
Because of me.
The thought landed deeper than it should have.
“Again?” he asked.
A question.
Always a question.
I nodded.
“Yes.”
The second kiss was slower.
Less careful.
Still gentle.
But no longer uncertain.
My hands moved to the back of his neck.
His breath caught.
That tiny reaction gave me more confidence than it should have.
I kissed him again.
Rhett made a low sound that went through me.
Then one of our skates shifted.
We both lost balance.
The world tilted.
We hit the ice in a tangled heap.
For one shocked second, neither of us moved.
Then Rhett started laughing.
I stared up at the lights.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“My hip hurts.”
“I caught most of you.”
“You fell too.”
“Supportively.”
I turned my head.
He lay beside me, still laughing.
His hair had fallen over his forehead.
His cheeks were red from the cold.
He looked younger like this.
Less polished.
Entirely mine for one private moment.
That thought frightened me.
So I said, “This date is poorly managed.”
He rolled onto one elbow.
“You kissed me twice.”
“Three times.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“You counted?”
“I document outcomes.”
He smiled.
“Strong results.”
I tried to sit up.
My skates slid.
Rhett grabbed my hand.
We both laughed.
Again.
It took three attempts to stand.
By the time we reached the bench, my hair was falling loose and his jeans were wet at one knee.
He opened the thermos.
Hot chocolate.
Of course.
He handed me the first cup.
“You planned all this.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Since you said Monday.”
“That was less than twenty-four hours.”
“I’m efficient under pressure.”
“You put foil in a toaster.”
“A man contains contradictions.”
I took a sip.
The chocolate was too hot and too sweet.
Perfect.
Rhett sat beside me.
Our shoulders touched.
The rink remained empty.
Quiet.
I looked out across the ice.
“Thank you.”
“For making you fall?”
“For bringing me here.”
He was silent for a moment.
Then said, “I wanted you to see it.”
“Why?”
“Because this place mattered before hockey became something everyone else cared about.”
I turned toward him.
He looked at the rink.
Not me.
“My mom worked nights when I was little,” he continued. “She’d bring me here before her shift. I had used skates two sizes too big and socks stuffed into the toes.”
“The charity program.”
He nodded.
“I wasn’t good at first.”
“That is difficult to imagine.”
“I was terrible.”
“You?”
“Uncoordinated. Loud. Dramatic.”
“So little has changed.”
He smiled.
“Exactly.”
Then the smile faded.
“People started noticing once I got good. Coaches. Scouts. Everyone had opinions.”
“And flirting became easier than letting them know you.”
His gaze moved to mine.
“You really did identify the pattern.”
“I told you.”
He looked down at his cup.
“My dad left before any of that.”
I went still.
Rhett had never mentioned his father.
Not once.
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged.
Too quickly.
“He wasn’t built for responsibility.”
The sentence sounded borrowed.
Something someone had said often enough that Rhett had accepted it as fact.
“Is that why you hate being seen as unreliable?” I asked.
His jaw shifted.
“I don’t hate it.”
“That was unconvincing.”
He looked at me.
Then laughed once.
Quietly.
“Maybe.”
The truth sat between us.
Tender.
Unprotected.
I wanted to fix it.
That was my instinct.
Plan.
Organize.
Solve.
Instead, I reached for his hand.
He looked down at our fingers.
Then closed his around mine.
No performance.
Just contact.
“You show up,” I said.
His expression changed.
The phrase had become ours.
“I’m trying.”
“I know.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then lifted our joined hands.
Pressed his mouth lightly to my knuckles.
The gesture was so unexpectedly gentle that my throat tightened.
I looked away.
Not because I disliked it.
Because I liked it too much.
Rhett noticed.
Of course.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You disappear when something gets too real.”
I looked back at him.
“You remember everything I say.”
“Only the dangerous parts.”
The rink lights reflected in his eyes.
I wanted to kiss him again.
That was becoming a pattern.
Instead, I asked, “Why me?”
His expression went still.
“What?”
“You flirt with everyone.”
“I used to.”
“That is not an answer.”
He took his time.
For once, I let him.
“Because you didn’t believe the version of me everyone else liked.”
My chest tightened.
“You made me earn every laugh.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It was.”
“But?”
“But every time you gave me one, I knew it was real.”
He shifted closer.
“You see me.”
The words landed hard.
Not dramatic.
Not polished.
Honest.
“And that scares you,” I said.
“Completely.”
That made me smile.
“Good.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“How is that good?”
“Because I’m scared too.”
He leaned in.
“So we’re equally doomed.”
“I prefer mutually informed.”
“Romantic.”
“Accurate.”
He kissed me again.
Softly this time.
A promise more than a question.
When he pulled back, I stayed close.
“One date,” I reminded him.
His mouth curved.
“Under review.”
“Potentially renewable.”
“Strong results so far.”
I should have corrected him.
Instead, I rested my head against his shoulder.
For the first time in a long time, I let a moment exist without deciding what it had to become.
No plan.
No outcome.
No safe answer.
Just the cold rink.
His hand around mine.
And the terrifying possibility that choosing Rhett might be the first decision I had made entirely for myself.