Chapter 8
Mac
Mac had texted Rachel approximately seventeen times in the three days since their coffee date.
Well, sixteen texts and the accidental meme of a cat sitting on a keyboard controlling the world one email at a time, which technically counted, but probably shouldn't.
He was trying to play it cool. He was failing spectacularly.
Rachel: You're thinking very hard about something. I can tell from here.
Mac looked up from his phone to find Rachel watching him from across the ice rink entrance, a small smile playing at her lips. She wore jeans and a soft gray sweater that made her eyes look impossibly warm, her hair loose around her shoulders instead of in her usual librarian bun.
She was beautiful. Mac's brain short-circuited for a solid three seconds.
"I was thinking," Mac said, pocketing his phone and crossing to her, "about how you're going to be terrible at skating and I'm going to have to hold your hand the entire time to keep you from falling."
"That's very presumptuous."
"You told me you've never ice skated."
"I said I haven't skated since I was twelve." Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I'm secretly a figure skating prodigy and I've been hiding it from you."
"Are you?"
"No. I'm going to be terrible and you're absolutely going to have to hold my hand." Rachel's smile widened. "But I wanted to make you work for it."
Mac's heart leaped. Three days. He'd known this woman for less than a week and she was already making him feel things he'd never felt before. Dangerous things and wonderful things.
"Come on," Mac said, offering his hand. "Let's get you some skates before you change your mind and run away."
"I don't run away from things."
"You ran away from the library today."
"That was strategic repositioning for the date, not running." But Rachel took his hand, her fingers cold against his palm.
The Evergreen Cove rink was small, nothing like the professional facilities Mac had trained in on camps when he was younger, but it was home.
The smell of ice and rubber, the sound of blades cutting across the surface, the echo of voices in the cold air.
This was Mac's world, the place where he felt most himself.
"Okay," Mac said, kneeling to help Rachel with her rental skates. "Rule number one: don't lock your knees. Rule number two: lean forward slightly. Rule number three: when you start to fall, which you will, don't try to catch yourself with your hands."
"These rules are very reassuring."
"I'm being realistic." Mac finished lacing her skates and looked up at her. "But I promise I won't let you get hurt."
Something flickered across Rachel's face. Trust, maybe. Or the beginning of it.
They stepped onto the ice together.
Rachel immediately grabbed for the wall, her ankles wobbling like a newborn deer. "Oh God. I'm going to die."
"You're not going to die." Mac skated backward in front of her, moving with the easy grace of someone who'd been on skates since he could walk. "Look at me. Not at your feet. At me."
Rachel looked up, her knuckles white on the boards. "I hate this."
"No you don't. You hate feeling out of control. There's a difference." Mac held out both hands. "Trust me?"
"We've been on one date, Mac. That's not enough time to establish trust."
"Then trust that I really, really don't want to watch you fall on your ass in front of the entire town." Mac nodded toward where several people were skating nearby, definitely watching, definitely eavesdropping. "My reputation is at stake here."
Rachel laughed, and Mac felt that laugh all the way down to his bones.
She took his hands.
"Okay," Mac said, skating backward slowly, pulling her away from the wall. "Push with one foot. Glide with the other. Don't think about it too much."
"Don't think about it? Mac, I'm a librarian. Overthinking is literally my job description."
"Then turn off the librarian brain for five minutes and let the slightly terrified human brain take over."
Rachel pushed off tentatively. Her skates slipped. She squeaked and gripped his hands tighter.
Mac held her steady. "I've got you."
"You better."
They moved slowly across the ice, Mac skating backward with practiced ease while Rachel concentrated so hard her tongue poked out slightly between her lips. It was adorable. Mac was definitely staring.
"You're doing great," Mac said.
"I'm shuffling like a penguin."
"A very graceful penguin."
"That's not a thing."
"It is now. Look, you're skating!" Mac grinned as Rachel managed three consecutive glides without panicking. "See? Natural talent."
"Natural terror is more accurate." But Rachel was smiling now, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.
They skated another lap. Then another. Rachel's grip on Mac's hands gradually loosened as she found her balance, her movements becoming less stiff, more fluid.
"Can I tell you something?" Rachel asked, her eyes still focused on not dying.
"Anything."
"This is the first time in months I've felt... normal."
Mac's chest tightened. He slowed them to a stop near the center of the rink. "Rachel—"
"I'm not trying to make it weird," Rachel said quickly. "I just wanted you to know that this, you, it means something. Even if I'm terrible at showing it."
Mac stepped closer, still holding her hands, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. "You're not terrible at showing it. You're here. That's enough."
"Is it?"
"Yeah,” Mac's thumb traced circles on her palm.
Rachel looked at him for a long moment. Then she started to say something—
And her skates slipped.
Rachel went down hard, pulling Mac with her. They landed in a tangle of limbs and skates, Mac's reflexes kicking in just enough to twist so he took the brunt of the fall.
"Oof." Mac stared up at the ceiling, Rachel sprawled across his chest. "Well. That happened."
"Oh my God. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" Rachel tried to push herself up and immediately slipped again, face-planting into Mac's shoulder.
Mac started laughing. He couldn't help it. Rachel joined in, both of them shaking with laughter on the cold ice while Mrs. Britton and her best friend Fanny, skated past making unhelpful comments.
"Smooth, Ryan," Fanny called.
"Very romantic," Mrs. Britton added.
"Statistically, falls during ice skating dates have a seventy-three percent correlation with relationship failure," Tyler, from his team, observed as he glided past.
"Tyler, shut up!" Mac yelled.
But somehow that just made them laugh harder.
Finally, they managed to untangle themselves and stand up, both still giggling, both flushed from cold and embarrassment and something else.
"So," Rachel said, brushing ice off her jeans. "Still think I'm a graceful penguin?"
"The most graceful penguin who ever lived." Mac pulled her close, steadying her with his hands on her waist. "Want to try again?"
"Can we do the thing where you hold me from behind? Like in basically every ice skating movie ever?"
Mac's brain stuttered. Rachel pressed against his back, his arms around her, guiding her across the ice—
"Yes," Mac managed. "We can definitely do that thing."
Rachel turned in his arms, her back to his chest, and Mac wrapped his arms around her waist from behind. She fit perfectly against him, her head just under his chin.
"Okay," Mac said, his voice slightly rough. "Push off with your right foot. I'll guide you."
They moved together across the ice, slowly, carefully. Mac was acutely aware of every point where their bodies touched. The way Rachel relaxed into him. The way her hair smelled like vanilla and something floral. The way his hands spanned her waist.
"This is nice," Rachel said softly.
"Yeah." Mac's lips were very close to her ear. "It really is."
They skated like that for another twenty minutes, neither wanting to break the moment. And when they finally left the rink, Mac's hand found Rachel's naturally, their fingers interlacing like they'd done this a thousand times before.
"Same time next week?" Mac asked.
Rachel smiled up at him. "I'd like that. But maybe something where I'm less likely to give you a concussion?"
"There's a bookstore in Gandy, the next town over. The Dusty Shelf. You mentioned it last week, and I've been meaning to check it out."
"Mac MacKenzie, are you asking me to take you book shopping?"
"I showed you my world. Seems only fair you show me yours."
Rachel stopped walking. Then she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, quick and sweet and over before Mac could fully process it.
"Next Saturday then?" Rachel said, her cheeks pink. "Two PM. Bring your wallet because I'm going to make you buy way too many books."
"Can't wait."
Mac watched her drive away, his hand pressed to his cheek where she'd kissed him, grinning like an absolute idiot.