“Gotcha,” I say into her ear, slowing us both to a stop.
She's breathless, cheeks flushed from the cold and exertion, but her eyes are bright with excitement. “Took you long enough.”
“You're full of surprises,” I say, setting her back down but keeping my hands on her waist. “Why didn't you tell me you could skate?”
She shrugs, her smile turning coy. “You didn't ask. Besides, I like watching you underestimate me. Makes proving you wrong that much sweeter.”
I shake my head, unable to keep the smile off my face. “Race you to the other side?” I challenge.
“You're on.”
We take off across the ice, our skates cutting parallel lines into the pristine surface. She's quick, lighter on her feet than me, but I've got power in my stride. For a moment we're neck and neck, our breath fogging in the cold air, the sound of metal on ice the only noise in this secluded winter paradise.
Then she pulls ahead, and I let her. I want to watch her move.
When she reaches the far side of the lake, she doesn't stop. Instead, she turns sharply, picking up speed before launching into the air. Her body twists, making a full rotation before she lands perfectly on one foot, arms extended like some Olympic-level shit.
My heart stops. Literally, it fucking stops in my chest.
She transitions into a spin, her body a blur of motion as she pulls her arms in tight, rotating faster and faster until she's nothing but a silhouette against the white landscape. When she finally slows, she extends one leg behind her, arching her back in a move that looks impossible.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, coming to a stop several feet away.
She straightens up, chest heaving slightly from exertion, a proud smile on her face. “Impressed?”
I can't even speak. Something's happening in my chest—something massive and terrifying and inevitable. I've never seen anything so perfect in my life.
Fuck, I'm so in love with her.
The realization hits me like a blindside check, knocking the wind out of me. It feels too soon. Way too fucking soon to feel this much. But I remember my grandfather's voice, clear as day, from when I was just a kid sitting on the dock of this very lake.
“When you know, Beckham, you know,” he said, watching my grandmother hang laundry on the line. “Kingstons always fucking know. Met your grandma on a Monday, and by Friday, I asked her to marry me. We know.”
I'd thought it was bullshit then. Some romantic old-man talk that had no place in the real world.
But watching Hennessy glide toward me, her hair catching the sunlight, her eyes bright with the joy of showing off for me—I get it now. I fucking get it.
“Earth to Beckham?” She waves her hand in front of my face. “Did I break you?”
I grab her wrist, pulling her against me. “Where the fuck did you learn to do that?”
She laughs, her breath warm against my cold face. “Figure skating lessons from age four to fifteen. I was pretty good, but I quit when I realized I liked the attention more than the competition.”
“Pretty good?” I shake my head. “You're fucking incredible.”
Her smile softens at the genuine awe in my voice. “Thanks, Coach.”
I cup her face in my gloved hands, suddenly desperate to kiss her. When our lips meet, it's different somehow. Deeper. More significant. Like I'm marking this moment.
This is the moment when I decide I’m going to marry her, have babies with her, make a life with her.
This is the future Mrs. Kingston.
Chapter 25
Hennessy
My food sits untouched while I stab it repeatedly with my fork, like it personally called me fat on Christmas. The festive lights strung around my parents' dining room mock me with their cheery twinkle. Everyone else is chattering about my cousin's new baby, but all I can think about is Beckham's hands on my body this morning and how fucking empty I feel sitting here without him.
