Chapter 19 Iris #2
“Mr. Lewis!” Collin calls out, and the tall, gray-haired man turns, his face lighting up with a smile.
“Collin! Great to see you again,” Mr. Lewis responds. Collin’s enthusiasm is contagious, and before I know it, I’m practically hurrying to keep up as he leads me toward the cart, clearly excited to share this with me.
“How are the grandkids? Tanya must be in first grade by now, right?” Mr. Lewis nods proudly.
“She is, and she’s a bright little one. We’re all very proud of her.
And Kate and Josie are doing great too—they’re actually hoping to see you for an autograph one of these days.
” Collin laughs, and it’s the kind that rumbles from his chest. It makes me smile without even thinking. He turns to gesture at me.
“This is Iris,” he says. “She’s a Mackinac newbie. I told her she couldn’t spend time here on the island without trying your famous hot chocolate.” The compliment clearly pleases Mr. Lewis, and his smile widens even more.
“Well, in that case, I’d better make sure it’s the best hot chocolate she’s ever had,” he replies with a wink, turning to start preparing our drinks.
As he works, I watch him pour rich chocolate into two cups, adding a swirl of whipped cream on top and finishing with chocolate shavings.
It smells incredible, and I don’t doubt that it tastes even better.
When he’s done, Collin reaches for his wallet, ready to pay, but Mr. Lewis waves him off firmly.
“Not a chance. This one’s on the house,” he insists, ushering us away from his cart, refusing to take even a penny.
As we step away from Mr. Lewis, Collin turns toward me.
“Careful,” he warns, passing me a cup. “It’s—” Too late.
I take an eager sip and immediately get whipped cream on my nose and upper lip.
The peppermint chocolate is rich and dark, and hot, so hot.
I wince and swallow. Collin presses his lips together, the corners turning upwards as he tries to tamp down a smile.
“I was gonna say, ‘it’s hot.’” When I look up, Collin is watching me with an expression that makes my pulse quicken.
“You’ve got a little...” He gestures to his own face, and I reach for a napkin, but his hand catches mine.
“I got it.” His thumb brushes across my top lip, impossibly gentle.
The touch lasts barely a second, but it sends electricity racing down my spine.
His hand lingers near my face, and for a moment the whole world narrows to this, warm brown eyes fixed on mine, the way neither of us seems to be breathing.
A small body collides with my legs, breaking the spell. Hot chocolate sloshes as I stumble forward, but Collin’s free hand finds my waist, steadying me as a little boy races past with a hasty “Sorry!”
“You okay?” he asks, but he doesn’t immediately let go. His hand is warm through my coat, and I find myself wanting to lean further into him, to see what would happen if I stayed there.
“Yeah,” I manage, my voice embarrassingly breathy.
“Just surprised me.” His hand lingers at my waist like he’s not quite ready to let go.
For a moment, we stand there in our own pocket of quiet, while the crowd flows around us like water around stones.
A strand of Christmas lights above our heads bathes his face in soft gold, and I find myself counting the snowflakes caught in his eyelashes.
His thumb brushes an absent pattern against my coat.
Once, twice, before he steps back. The cold rushes in to fill the space between us, and I have to resist the urge to chase his warmth.
A small commotion draws my attention to a nearby store window, where a young boy is pressing his face against the glass, fogging it up as he points excitedly at something inside. His mother laughs, pulling him back gently to wipe his nose with her sleeve. The familiar gesture makes my chest tight.
“Jamie would love this,” I say without thinking, then feel Collin go still beside me.
It’s the first time I’ve mentioned my son tonight.
The mother catches my eye and smiles, shepherding her boy inside where it’s warm.
While I’m enjoying myself more than I have in as long as I can remember, I can’t ignore the ache that quickly spreads through my heart at the sight. I miss him.
“What would you guys usually be doing right now?” Collin asks.
When I look up, his expression is open, interested.
None of the awkward sympathy I usually get when Jamie comes up.
Most guys would see it as their sign to run, but not Collin.
He’s never acted like Jamie was anything other than, well, just Jamie. Just another part of who I am.
“Reading Twas the Night Before Christmas.” I smile at the memory.
“We do it every year, even though he practically knows it by heart now. Then we set out cookies for Santa and carrots for the reindeer. He’s very specific about the carrots—they have to be the fancy organic ones because he thinks they taste better. ” Collin’s laugh is quiet, genuine.
“Smart kid.” He pauses, then adds, “My mom used to read that to me too.” We drift toward the next window display, and I catch sight of us in the darkened glass.
The store’s Christmas lights reflect against it, creating a double image—us layered over ornaments and garland.
Against the black of the glass, I can see how close we’re standing, how he angles toward me.
Here, away from the cameras and the speculation and the pressure of the show, I see a different version of him.
Not the notorious playboy, or even the arrogant partner I first met on the ice. And I have to admit, I like what I see.
“You’re different here,” I say, watching him in the reflection. “More...” I trail off, searching for the right word.
“Real?” he offers, meeting my eyes in the glass. The lights cast shadows across his face, warming his features.
“Yeah.” I turn to look at him directly. “Everyone thinks they know who Collin King is—the headlines, the rumors. But this...” I gesture vaguely at the town around us. “This seems like who you actually are.”
“Not many people look past the headlines,” he says, his voice lower now.
His shoulder brushes mine as he shifts closer.
“It’s nice, someone seeing the rest.” The way he’s looking at me makes my pulse quicken, and I have to glance away.
In the window, I can still see our dark silhouettes against the glow of Christmas lights, the snow falling in the space between us.
Eager to break the silence, I look up at him again.
“Where to now?” He links his arm in mine and we end up walking Main Street.
Our boots crunch in perfect sync against the snow, and I find myself hyperaware of every point of contact between us—his arm linked through mine, his shoulder brushing against me when he moves closer to avoid a patch of ice.
The snow falls slower now, fat flakes that catch in his dark hair and melt on my cheeks.
Each time we pass under a strand of lights, I steal glances at him.
There’s a soft pink flush to his cheeks, his breath clouding in the cold air, and his eyes crinkle at the corners when he catches me looking.
“We should probably head over,” he says, glancing toward the square.
His voice is soft, reluctant, like he’s been enjoying our quiet bubble too.
“If you want to see it up close, which, trust me, you do.” Night falls differently here on the island, thick and velvet-soft, wrapping around the Victorian storefronts like a shawl as soft purples fade into an inky blue sky.
Everywhere I look, people are gathering, drawn to the massive evergreen in the town square like moths to flame.
Their voices rise in clouds of steam against the night sky, children darting between adults’ legs with tinsel in their hair, elderly couples linking arms as they find their places in the crowd.
The last shops are starting to close, their doors open and shut in steady rhythm as the stragglers make their final purchases.
Light spills from every window, painting the snow in watercolor shades of gold and red and green.
Families emerge with packages tucked under their arms, children spinning in the falling snow, their silver buttons catching the light.
Collin gathers our empty cups, fingers brushing mine as he takes them.
When he returns from the nearby bin, he’s wearing that smile, the one that starts in his eyes and works its way down.
The one that makes me forget all the reasons this is complicated.
“Told you,” he murmurs, his breath ghosting across my ear as he leans down to talk to me. “Every year, like clockwork. The whole town, singing carols around a tree like Whos from Whoville.” A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it.
“I honestly thought you were joking,” I whisper back, watching as someone weaves through the crowd ahead of us, passing out sheet music. “This is...”
“Ridiculous?” he offers, eyes bright with amusement.
“Just wait until they hit the high notes in ‘O Holy Night.’” I snort, quickly covering my mouth with my hand, but his grin widens at the sound.
As if on cue, the crowd begins to sing “O Christmas Tree” and the sound swells around us, voices joining together, some off-key, some barely above a whisper, some bold and clear as bells.
Still, I enjoy the song, even if I can’t help the laugh that escapes my lips.
But that quickly catches in my throat as Collin’s hand finds mine in the dark.
His fingers slip between mine like they belong there, like they’ve always belonged there, and suddenly I can’t remember why I thought this was funny.