Twenty-Seven. Ice, Ice, Baby
Twenty-Seven
ICE, ICE, BABY
Corey and I head down Ninety-Fifth Street, toward the town green. I’ve gotten used to Sweetville’s double-exclamation-point version of Christmas, but today being Christmas Eve, all the hubbub feels more warranted and much more welcome.
It’s a holiday scene right out of a movie—a theatrical release, not one made for TV.
The windows of every shop reveal people trying to choose last-minute gifts.
Inside the toy store, a young mom in furry boots claps her hands when the shopkeeper emerges from the back of the store with what is apparently the exact giant teddy bear she wanted.
Next door to it, two women sniff scented candles at Gaggles of Gifts.
“Hot cocoa?” Corey says.
I’ve had more hot cocoa in the last few days than I have in my entire life, even if you count the winter of my Swiss Miss obsession (age eleven). What’s one more? “Sure.”
We’re walking side by side, and Corey’s arm brushes against mine. He stumbles ever so slightly, which is not like him at all. Is he nervous?
“How about Lotta Love Pub?” Corey asks as we approach the restaurant.
“Perfect,” I say, trying hard to stay focused on the moment. Grant and I are done. This is right , I remind myself.
Corey holds the door for me, and we slip inside to find the restaurant is packed. A group of coworkers has four tables pushed together as they trade Secret Santa gifts, and every booth is occupied by a family or a couple.
“There are no seats,” Corey says fretfully.
Millie delivers two club sandwiches decorated with tinseled Christmas toothpicks to a pair of young women.
She spots us and waves from the back, jogging up.
Her twists are pulled up into a bun, and she’s dusted glittery highlighter on her cheeks.
“Do you need a table, Jill? I can make David move. He’s just waiting for my shift to end before we head to my family’s party. ”
David, per usual—I guess he now spends every spare moment at her family’s restaurant—is waiting at a booth, working on his laptop. He’s dressed up for the party in a navy sport coat, and I’m glad he seems eager to impress Millie’s family.
“No, I think we can figure something else out,” I say, looking at Corey for approval.
He bites his lower lip, thinking, and I don’t know whether to be delighted or worried that he seems stressed.
Is he trying to make this impromptu date flawless, or is he wishing he didn’t ask me out at all?
“You’re right; we’ve been cooped up awhile.
” His eyes entreat me as he asks, “What do you think of ice-skating?”
“Yes! That’s perfect,” I say. Corey beams, clearly pleased to have thought of it, and some of the gloom lifts from my heart.
Not only because Corey seems happy to be here with me, but also because I haven’t ice-skated in forever.
When I was about ten, I was a full-blown Sasha Cohen fan and took skating lessons to learn to ice dance like her.
I never quite got good at tricks, but I’m pretty steady on skates.
“Great.” Now Corey offers me the crook of his elbow, and we link arms. I wish Millie a wonderful Christmas, and she says, “I don’t think that will be a problem.” She throws David a sparkling look.
As we exit the pub and turn toward the center of town, I can see from here that the tree on the green appears more majestic than ever, especially with the addition of the skating rink to the area.
We walk toward the rink, watching as skaters in pouf-topped hats and gem-colored scarves glide past us on the ice.
Families and couples meander on the snow-topped green, buying hot cocoa—what does Sweetville drink when it’s not Christmas?
—and roasted almonds from vendors. I can almost taste the sugar-scented air.
The whole scene feels like I’ve finally been invited to the party and it’s actually living up to the hype.
“Silver Bells… Silver Bells…” Dean Martin croons from speakers above us.
“Shall we get some skates?” Corey asks. He notices me staring in breathless awe at the live snow globe scene in front of me. “Or would you rather walk around?”
I take a beat to appreciate the sight of Corey against the holiday backdrop.
He’s every bit the Heartfelt leading man in his hunter green puffer vest worn open over a plaid flannel that picks up the emerald sparkle of his eyes.
Cute smile, broad shoulders, strong chest, those quarterback hips, and the perfect butt I know is just out of my view.
The word “yummy” comes to mind. Much as it’s been hard to give Corey my full attention with Grant lurking around, I tell myself not to blow this.
Not only because it will get me out of Sweetville but also because Corey’s the whole package.
The Heartfelt leading man who’s specially for me.
Getting over Grant has been so hard, but maybe this is why I’m here: to remember there are guys like Corey in the world who might be exactly right for me if I give them a chance.
Maybe I’ll pay SweetHart’s in Powell Park another visit before I leave.
If this happy ending works, that is, and I get out of here.
“Let’s get skates,” I say as we approach a shed decorated with lights where people are lined up to rent skates from a man in a green stocking hat.
“Size eight for me.” Corey gives me a chipper nod and waits at the counter before returning with two pairs of ice skates that have none of that rented-footwear funk. A Sweetville Christmas miracle.
We stow our shoes in cubbies and change into the skates on a bench. Before putting his on, Corey helps me into mine like a literal Prince Charming. “They feel okay?” he asks, turning his pretty eyes up at me.
“Everything feels great,” I say. This is not strictly true.
A dusting of guilt coats my insides. True, Corey and I were not exclusive and not really anything at all when I slept with Grant, but I didn’t even consider how Corey had feelings for me when it all happened.
Lesson learned, though. And what happens in Sweetville with your ex stays in Sweetville with your ex.
Forging ahead with Corey now is how I’m going to put my real life back together.
Corey puts his own skates on and stands, holding out a hand to help me up from the bench. As I rise, I spot Santa over his shoulder. When he sees us, he pauses in ringing his bell and gives me a nod of endorsement. Okay, I’m on the right track.
Corey and I totter along a brick path to the ice. He wobbles out ahead of me and reaches back to take my hand. But I glide out past him first and turn backward, flashing my best show-off smile.
Corey laughs heartily. “Ah, you didn’t say you’re an expert at this!”
I skate back toward him, enjoying that I have one athletic gift that he doesn’t. “I would hardly say ‘expert.’ But I can help you.” I come up to his side, and he takes my hand in his. He holds tight, but I don’t think it’s for balance.
“I don’t want a lot for Christmas; there is just one thing I need…” Mariah Carey’s voice dances over us, and, caught up in the moment and forgetting my voice isn’t as good as my skating, I sing along.
“I don’t care about the presents… I just want you for my own.” I sing from my stomach. My voice is mercifully muffled by the commotion around us, but then Corey’s voice lends itself to my song.
“More than you could ever know…” His baritone rumbles beside me, and there’s a seriousness to the lyrics as they hang in the air between us.
We slow down, hands still clasped, and glide together past two little girls who are twirling in tights and tulle skirts. “You’re pretty,” one says to me.
“She really is,” Corey agrees, looking sideways at me. “Also pretty impressive in every way imaginable. She writes movies, girls.”
“Okay, mister,” one of the girls says, pulling a face at her friend.
“You forgot to tell them to stay in school,” I tease.
Corey blushes. “What? I’m proud of you! You should be, too.”
Now, I decide, is not the time to tell him that I am very unemployed and haven’t written so much as an Instagram caption in months.
“But do you want to sit down?” Corey asks. “I forgot how bad I am at this.”
To punctuate his admission, he falters on the ice and almost pulls me down with him but reaches out for the wall just in time to avoid disaster.
“Next athletic activity, I promise you’ll be better at it than me. Whatever it is.” As soon as the words exit my mouth, I realize they sound like I could be talking about sex and also saying that I’m not good at it. Yikes. Quickly, I point to an open bench.
Our seats are a bit away from the rink beneath a smaller pine tree than the decorated one.
It’s quieter here even though we can still hear the music floating over from the rink.
The green part of the town green is covered in snow, and a family has rolled dozens of snowballs and stacked them into pyramids at either side of the space.
“That’s going to be some snowball fight,” I say. I nudge Corey as one of the little boys tests out his arm and launches a snowball that airballs over his little sister. She yelps, “Missed me!” and darts to the pile of snowballs closest to her, grabbing one and sprinting to catch up to her brother.
“Maybe you should go show those kids how to hit a target, star quarterback,” I say.
Corey shakes his head and closes the space on the bench between us. “My target is right here.”
I stumble to find a joke to make. Everything about Corey is direct.
He’s so concentrated on me that I stop moving as I soak in the attentiveness of his eyes tracing my face.
“Thanks for giving me another chance,” he says.
Now he lightly puts his hand on mine. “I realized I was pushing you away because I wasn’t ready to feel everything you had me feeling.
It hit all at once, that I liked you, and I haven’t felt that way since Christina.
But I’m ready to feel that way again. I’m ready to be in love again. ”
Is he saying… “In love?”
“I think I knew that first day when I caught you on the street.” He reaches out and brushes a snowflake from my cheek. His thumb trails down my face, warm against my cool skin.
“Can I kiss you?”
This. This is what all of this was for. Kissing Corey isn’t just my way out of this Heartfelt existence.
It’s something much bigger. I’m going to kiss Corey, and it’s going to be the moment when I start making better decisions.
Corey is who I liked when I was fifteen, and while I got some things wrong back then, I knew what I wanted.
I wanted to find love and to be a writer.
It wasn’t until Grant that I let things get so complicated.
That was when I really got in my own way, just like Allie said.
Maybe what’s happening right now isn’t entirely real, but the me who’s making the decisions is real. And that me has learned her lesson.
I nod slowly. He leans toward me, pulling my face closer to his. His lips meet mine, softly at first, and then his fingers curl into my chin as he takes the kiss deeper. I’m matching his urgency, grabbing the back of his head and letting my fingertips graze his strong neck.
It’s a perfect kiss in a perfect setting.
But as he pulls reluctantly out of it, blinking his eyes open to meet mine, connecting our gazes as if he’s reading the future on my face, I feel nothing but panic.
Panic not because he’s paused the kiss. Panic because something is missing.
I lean forward to kiss him again, folding his bottom lip between both of mine, tugging gently.
I push my hand flat against his chest, running my palm along the solid muscles beneath his shirt.
He weaves his fingers into my hair, and when his tongue slips into my mouth, he gives a little tug on the strands.
The sweet baker surprising me with spice.
But no sensation shoots from my lips down my spine. Even as Corey gets hungrier for me, nibbling my lower lip and gripping me with clear want, I have no urge to jump him right here on the bench.
I hear those Heartfelt noises: sleigh bells, sigh, “Open your heart.” But my heart is open, and right now it’s telling me that something is amiss.
I drop my hands to my sides and slowly pull away, sinking a bit onto the bench. Corey asks, “Is everything okay?” just as a kid’s voice behind me shouts, “Look out!”
An icy, solidly packed snowball thwacks against my temple, splattering frosty chunks of snow across my face. Corey yelps, “Jill!” And I black out.