“Peace offering,” she announces, handing one over.
I eye her warily. “I’m fine.”
“You keep saying that. It keeps being a lie.” She drops onto the window seat beside me, tucking her legs under her. “So. My brother. You. Sex. Details.”
Heat floods my face. “Ellie.”
“Come on. I’ve been waiting for this since we were fifteen and you cried because he had a girlfriend at Dartmouth.”
“I never cried.”
She raises one perfect eyebrow and stares me down.
I groan and pull a pillow over my head.
Ellie tugs it away. “Look, I’m not mad. I’m ecstatic. He’s been a miserable bastard since Halloween, and you look like you’re one deep breath away from a nervous breakdown. Talk to me.”
I stare into the whipped cream mountain. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Liar.” She softens. “He’s crazy about you, you know. Like, can’t-function, pacing-the-porch-at-dawn, growling-at-everyone crazy. I’ve never seen him like this.”
My heart does a stupid, painful flip. “He left, El. The morning after. No note. Just a text that said sorry and disappeared for ten weeks.”
She winces. “He’s an idiot, an emotionally constipated idiot. But he’s here now, and he’s trying. Give him a chance.”
I shake my head. “It’s not that simple.”
There’s a tiny human who makes everything complicated.
Ellie studies me for a long second, then shrugs like she’s letting it go for now. “Fine. Be mysterious. But you’re not spending the rest of the day hiding in here like a Victorian heroine with consumption. Pond’s frozen solid. We’re skating.”
My whole body lights up before my brain can object. Ice-skating on the Adams pond has been my favorite thing since we were kids. There are string lights in the trees, a bonfire crackling, and Ellie’s dad playing oldies on a portable speaker. It feels normal. Safe.
I’m lacing up my skates on the bench by the back door ten minutes later, cheeks already stinging from the cold, Ellie chattering about how she’s going to do a triple axel and definitely not fall on her ass this year.
The pond sparkles under the afternoon sun, smooth as glass. A dozen cousins and family friends are already out there, weaving figure-eights and shouting insults at each other. Someone’s set up a Bluetooth speaker blasting Christmas music, and the air smells like pine and chimney smoke.
I push off, and the world falls away.
For the first time in weeks, I’m not thinking about nausea or secrets or the way Oliver looked at me this morning like he wanted to devour me and save me at the same time. There’s just the scrape of blades, the wind in my hair, the burn in my thighs as I pick up speed.
Ellie whoops past me, arms windmilling. “Eat my ice dust, Banks!”
I laugh and chase her.
We race the entire length of the pond, collapsing against each other at the far end, breathless and giggling like we’re twelve again. She loops an arm around my shoulders and squeezes.
“See? Better than brooding.”
I open my mouth to agree, and that’s when I see him.
Oliver stands at the edge of the pond, hands in the pockets of a black parka, watching me like the rest of the world just ceased to exist.
My stomach flips, and it's not because of morning sickness. He’s shaved since this morning, the sharp line of his jaw making my knees weak even from fifty yards away. He hasn’t put skates on yet, but the way he’s staring says he’s debating crossing the ice in his boots to get to me faster.
Ellie follows my gaze and smirks. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.”
“Ellie—”
