The boy wobbled. Shane steadied him with one hand at his back.
The boy tried again, found his balance, and glided just for a second without panicking.
He laughed, bright and free, looking up at Shane for approval, who met him with a wide grin and a high five.
As if he sensed me, Shane glanced up.
Our eyes locked across the ice, and my stomach somersaulted.
For a moment, the noise fell away. There was just the cold air seeping through the glass, my breath fogging the surface, and his gaze holding mine.
His expression softened, a question in his blue-gray eyes.
You okay?
I didn’t know what to answer back.
Someone tugged on my sleeve.
“Um… excuse me?”
I blinked, tearing my gaze away from Shane to look down.
A young boy stood beside me, maybe eight or nine, cheeks pink under a too-big knit hat, Sweet Dreams wristband snug around his arm. His laces were loose, skates practically falling off his feet.
“Hi there,” I said, forcing my smile back into place. “Having fun?”
He nodded so hard his hat slipped over one eye. “Yeah. I wanted to say… thank you.”
“Oh,” I said, thrown. “You’re welcome. For what am I being thanked for?”
“For this,” he said, gesturing out at the ice. “My mom said we couldn’t do stuff like this anymore. But then she said this one was free.” He rocked back on his blades. “I’ve never skated before. It’s the coolest thing ever.”
Warmth flooded my chest, hot enough to burn through everything else for a second.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” I told him. “And I hope you fall a little bit. That means you’re trying something new.”
He laughed. The sound took me back to when Georgie was his age, and my chest squeezed tighter. “I already fell three times.”
“Perfect,” I said. “You’re doing it right, then.”
“Mrs. Black?”
The woman I assumed was his mom approached then, balancing two Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate. She looked tired in a way I recognized, her smile soft.
“Sorry if he’s bothering you,” she said. “He just really wanted to say thank you.”
“He’s not bothering me at all,” I replied quickly. “I’m happy he found me.”
She hesitated, then shifted the cups to one hand so she could touch my arm. “We… um… we’re on the Sweet Dreams list for beds,” she said. “My son’s been sleeping on the floor since we had to move in with my sister. We both have. They said… they said he’d have a bed by Christmas.”
My throat was so tight I couldn’t swallow.
“I know it’s just a bed,” she rushed on, “but—”
“It’s not just a bed,” I cut in gently. “It’s a place to land. A place that’s his. It matters. He matters.”
Her eyes shone in the way of someone being understood. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For this night. For… everything.”
