In a movement so swift I think I must imagine it, he kisses the tips of his fingers and lightly taps my mittened one before skating past us while mouthing, “Merry Christmas.” Releasing Grey, I bring my mittened hand to my mouth, the sensation of connection unfamiliar. I stare after him. Already, the back of his inky hair is breezing away as he makes his way off the ice.
Within minutes, I’ve caught Grey up on the events of running into the stranger and the inexplicable way I wish it hadn’t been goodbye before we ever truly met.
Her eyes sparkle with glee. I know what she’s thinking. “I think you should find out this man’s name. At least find out who he is. It’s a small town; you might see each other again,” she advises. “Besides, I’ve never seen you look at anyone like you just looked at him.”
I laugh and shake my head, a blush rising on my cheeks. “No, what would be the point? I’m going back to New York soon.”
But then my eyes lift again to find the stranger looking at me from across the makeshift rink as he leans against the barrier. Reluctantly, I turn away and pull Grey to glide with me over the ice.
After we’ve made at least a dozen rotations around the rink, Grey pulls me to a stop. “I should get going,” she says over her cat-eye glasses. “I just wanted to see you tonight. I know we usually skate until our legs are worn out and then get hotchocolate, but I need to get back to the bookshop early. Dad’s doing inventory, and you know how that can go.” She snaps her fingers. “Why don’t you come by after I’m done and stay the night?”
I laugh because I do know. Grey’s dad, Luke, will have sci-fi mixed with cookbooks if she doesn’t get back soon.
“Snow check on the rest of our skating date?” she says, utilizing the phrase instead of “rain check.”
“Yes, of course.” Subtly, I glance around to find the stranger, but he’s already gone. My heart sinks, but I stand a little taller, quieting my mind from wondering again about a man I may never see again.
∞∞∞
The cold, fresh air feels good in my lungs as I make my way to Four Leaf Cookies, cutting down a side street to reach the steps that lead down to the bottom of what once was a gallery and is now a cookie shop. It’s open later when there are special events in town, and, of course, Christmas rules them all.
Grey isn’t with me, but I’ve decided to still walk to the cookie shop. The shop itself is a novelty. They have cozy chairs and delicious cookies and decadent hot cocoa, and the space is filled with bookshelves that remind me of Grey’s bookstore.
Their hot chocolate calls my name. It’s a tradition, and I don’t think I could go to sleep without it tonight. I open the door, the tiny bell jingling as the golden interior welcomes me, and my heart instantly begins to race. The music-loving mystery man sits at a table directly in front of me. I freeze, taking in the single curl falling over his forehead and the ceramic cup sitting in front of him. Ever so slowly, his eyes lift to meet mine, and my lungs expand with hope.
“You’re here.” His rich voice cuts through the smell of warm cookies and hot chocolate.Softly, he smiles, and that devastating dimple makes an appearance again. He stands, moving around the table and pulling out the chair across from him. “Would you like to sit with me for a bit?”
The invitation is the last thing I expect, but as a smile forms across my face, I think it may be exactly what I’ve needed. A pulling feeling in the center of my ribs warns that I’ll regret it if I don’t accept his invitation. There’s no stage to hide behind or opportunities to overthink. I just know I want to spend more time with this man, and time seems to be on our side with this fated meeting. His gaze lingers heavily on mine, a hint of playfulness around the edges.
“Who do you belong to?” My mittened hands wrap together behind my back like a Degas painting, the press of my palms together preparing my heart for however long we’re together this evening.
“Belong to?”
“Mm-hmm. Everyone here belongs to someone. They must. Are you a friend, a family member . . . How did you end up here? I’ve lived here my whole life, and we’ve never met before . . . Well, I do live in New York City now.”
A wide smile spreads across his face, making my breath catch. “I live a few towns over. My sister has been looking for a place to put a storefront. She’s a great baker. Just thought I’d come and see what all the charm was about.”
“The charm?” I step closer to him.
He nods. “Everyone within a hundred-mile radius surely must know about the town of Birch Borough. Its events and people are legendary. And apparently, it’s also home to a woman I’d rescue from an unpleasant encounter with an ice-skating rink. The last part is a new, but welcome, addition.”
His eyes scan my face as he says the words, starting at the corner of one of my brows and slowly roving over until they land on my lips. The blush rises to my cheeks as his eyes shift sharply to mine.
“Noted,” I say breathlessly.
At this, a full grin pulls at his moody mouth, and my knees nearly give out. This man is saying everything so visually, but it’s so effective. Never in my life have I ever been this moved by so few words. I’m getting the intense feeling that he’ll never say more than he means, that he only says what he means, and a haven of comfort wraps around me at the thought.
“As for sitting with you, I would love to,” I admit, circling to his original question.
The way he tilts his chin down farther makes me sway toward him as he extends his hand. “I’m Jace,” he says.
Jace. His name creates a pattern of hope in my mind. I pull off my mittens, and when our palms connect, every nerve ending in my palm feels like it’s being awakened. I sink into the chair across from him.
“You okay?”
A lilt to his voice catalogs my senses, and I lean back, looking up, up, up into his eyes. I’m not sure what I’ll find there, but it feels like there may be an answer for me somewhere within their amber depths. A sudden hesitation grips me.
“I—well, I—how do I know that I can trust you?” I release his hand and cross my arms, willing the throbbing of my heart to quiet enough for me to hear what it wants me to do next. He won’t stay. The thought creeps in. And then I hear another whisper within. Maybe he’ll keep surprising you.
