22. Thane #2
For a moment, he simply looked at me. Then he stepped forward. The movement was awkward and cautious, but he stayed upright.
"See?" I said.
"I moved three feet."
"Three more than five minutes ago."
His mouth twitched. "You're going to keep saying things like that, aren't you?"
"Probably."
He rolled his eyes but took another step. Then another. I moved backward slowly, matching his pace while keeping hold of both his hands. Kieran nearly lost his balance. I tightened my grip immediately.
His gaze snapped back to mine. "You got me," he said.
The words were simple. Matter-of-fact. But something about hearing them landed squarely in my chest. "Always," I said before I could think better of it.
Then Kieran pushed off again. This time, he made it several yards before wobbling. Progress.
Ten minutes later, he wasn't clinging to me anymore. Twenty minutes later, one of his hands had slipped from mine. Thirty minutes later, he was moving on his own. Not gracefully or fast… but he was moving.
The grin that spread across his face when he completed an entire stretch of the rink without grabbing me was worth every minute we'd spent getting there.
"Did you see that?"
"I did."
"I actually skated."
"You did."
"I think I might be amazing at this."
I barked out a laugh. "Let's not get carried away."
His laughter joined mine as he pushed off again, a little more confident this time.
The longer we stayed on the ice, the more he relaxed.
Not completely. Every now and then, his arms pinwheeled unexpectedly, and he'd shoot me an accusing look as though the ice had personally betrayed him.
But the death grip he'd started the evening with had disappeared, replaced by cautious confidence.
We made another slow lap around the rink.
A young kid wobbled alarmingly near the boards before recovering at the last second with the help of the older man skating beside him.
A group of teenagers occupied one corner of the rink, spending more time taking photos than actually skating.
Everywhere I looked, people seemed determined to squeeze every last drop out of Christmas Day before it ended.
After another lap, Kieran slowed near the gate leading off the ice. "My legs are starting to file complaints."
I laughed. "Already?"
"I used muscles tonight that I didn't know existed."
"Want hot chocolate?"
His answer was immediate. "Obviously."
As we carefully made our way off the ice and toward the concession stand, a teenager near the boards lifted a hand. "Good game last week, Mr. Hale."
"Thanks, man. Appreciate it."
The kid grinned and pushed off, and I watched him go. A few minutes later, we were sitting at one of the outdoor tables with paper cups warming our hands. The scent of hot chocolate and cinnamon drifted through the cold air.
Kieran took a sip and sighed. "Okay. This might be the best part."
"You just spent an hour learning a new skill."
"Exactly."
I shook my head and reached for my own cup. Movement near the edge of my vision caught my attention. I glanced up and found an older man approaching our table. He was probably in his sixties, bundled in a heavy winter coat and a navy knit cap with the rink's logo embroidered across the front.
He smiled. "Never thought I'd see Thane Hale sitting at my rink on Christmas Day."
I smiled back. "Sorry to disappoint."
The man laughed. "Oh, I don't know. It's a pretty good thing."
His gaze shifted to Kieran. "You teaching him?"
"Trying."
The man's attention settled fully on Kieran. "First time?"
Kieran nodded. "Was it that obvious?"
The man chuckled. "A little."
Kieran groaned. "I knew it."
"You're still smiling. That's a good sign."
Kieran glanced at me. “Give me ten minutes."
"If you haven't fallen by now, you'll be fine."
The man extended a hand. "Arthur Griffin."
We introduced ourselves, and within seconds, the conversation had shifted away from professional hockey and onto the rink itself. Arthur talked about the outdoor ice, the indoor facility, and the endless battle of keeping everything maintained during the winter months.
Listening to him, I recognized the look in his eyes.
I'd seen it in coaches, equipment managers, and volunteers at community rinks all over North America.
People like Arthur didn't keep places like this running because it made them rich.
They did it because they loved what the rink meant to the people who used it.
"My daughter moved to Oregon years ago," Arthur said. "My son wants absolutely nothing to do with ice rinks."
"Really?" Kieran asked.
Arthur snorted. "He says he's spent enough winters freezing already."
I laughed into my cup. "Fair."
Arthur pointed at me. "See? Somebody understands."
He took a sip of his coffee before glancing out toward the ice.
"Truth is, I can't blame him. Running a place like this is rewarding, but it's a lot of work. The older I get, the more I notice that part."
"So what's going to happen to the rink?" Kieran asked.
Arthur shrugged. "It wouldn’t be tomorrow or next year. But probably sooner rather than later." His gaze swept across the rink. "I've been doing this a long time."
"You thinking about retiring?" Kieran asked.
Arthur's expression softened. "That's the question, isn't it?" The answer came easily enough, but something in his face suggested he'd spent more than a few nights thinking about it. "I'd like to keep it in the community somehow. This place means a lot to people around here."
"You've built something pretty special here," I said.
A pleased smile crossed his face. "Thank you." His gaze shifted toward Kieran again. Then back to me. "You know, you were pretty patient out there."
"With him?"
"With beginners."
Kieran pointed at me. "To be fair, he spent half the lesson pretending I wasn't one fall away from breaking my neck."
"I did no such thing."
"You absolutely did."
Arthur laughed. "Maybe that's why you're good at it. You let people figure things out without making them feel foolish."
I wasn't sure what to say to that.
Arthur nodded toward the ice. "A lot of former players end up coaching. Running clinics. Working with kids. Keeping people connected to the game."
"Somebody has to."
"Exactly." Arthur grinned. "When I'm ready to retire, maybe I'll give you a call."
I nearly choked on my hot chocolate. "Pretty sure I'm not qualified."
"Neither was I when I started." The grin lingered for another second. "Besides, anybody who can convince a first-timer to leave the ice smiling can't be completely hopeless."
Mr. Griffin's comment lingered longer than I wanted to admit before the conversation drifted toward weather, holiday crowds, and the best bakery in town, which was ran by Mrs. Ruiz.
Eventually, Arthur excused himself to check on something inside the rink, leaving Kieran and me alone again. By then, the crowd had thinned out. I got up and went to get us some more hot chocolate.
When I returned, Kieran received his with a grateful smile.
Kieran leaned back in his chair and wrapped both hands around his cup.
His cheeks were pink from the cold. A few strands of dark hair had escaped from beneath his beanie and curled across his forehead.
The tip of his nose was red, and he looked thoroughly pleased with himself.
"I still can't believe I did that."
"You skated."
"I skated." His grin returned immediately. "Nobody can ever take that away from me now."
I laughed. "That seems dramatic."
"It is not." He pointed his cup at me. "This morning I could not skate."
"True."
"Tonight I can skate."
"Also true."
He nodded as if he'd just delivered an airtight legal argument.
I smiled into my hot chocolate. The thing was, I understood exactly what he meant. It wasn't really about skating. It was about the excitement in his voice. The pride. The simple happiness of trying something new and discovering he could do it.
I found myself watching him while he talked. Watching his hands move when he got animated. Watching his smile appear and disappear. Watching his eyes light up whenever he got excited about something.
At some point, I'd stopped looking for reasons to spend time with him. Now I looked for reasons not to. So far, I haven't found any.
When the rink lights dimmed slightly, signaling the end of the evening session, Kieran let out a disappointed sigh. "Guess that's our cue."
We tossed our empty cups, returned our skates, and stepped back out into the cold. The temperature had dropped since we'd arrived.
Snow crunched beneath our boots as we crossed the parking lot toward the SUV. Kieran shoved one hand into his coat pocket and rubbed the other against his jeans.
"Cold?"
"A little."
I slipped my arm around his shoulders. The movement felt as natural as breathing. Kieran immediately moved closer.
We reached the truck, but neither of us hurried to open the doors.
Instead, we stood there for a second, looking back toward the rink.
Christmas Day was almost over. The trip would continue for a little while longer.
Then eventually we'd have to go home. Back to reality. The thought sat heavily with me.
Kieran turned toward me. "What?"
I hadn't realized I'd been staring. "Nothing."
"Liar."
“Maybe.” I smiled.
The truth had been sitting there all day. Maybe longer than that.
I looked at the man standing beside me, cheeks pink from the cold, hair a mess beneath his beanie, eyes bright from an evening spent learning how to skate.
Then I looked at the smile that appeared.
The smile I was already becoming a little addicted to.
It wasn't dramatic or shocking. The realization settled into place so naturally that it felt less like a discovery and more like finally admitting something I'd known for a while.
I was falling in love with him.