Lights drape across Central Park, and carriages roll past, wrapped in garland. The air smells like roasted nuts and cinnamon.
Tonight, we brought Seraphina to Wollman Rink to ice skate. She looks adorable in her tiny white coat and pink knit hat, cheeks flushed from the cold air.
We lace up inside the warming tent. Liam helps Sera with her tiny skates like he’s handling fragile glass. He’s so gentle and careful with her. And there’s an undercurrent of awe in everything they do together. Like he still can’t believe she’s real.
The rink glows under white lights strung around the perimeter. The skyline glitters behind it.
We step on the ice slowly, Sera gripping both of our hands.
“Mommy, twirl,” she demands, tugging on my hand.
Liam lets go of her other hand, and I take her hands in mine and spin us slowly in a circle.
Liam stands beside us, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, watching the rink like he’s memorizing the moment. He looks calm. Almost … too calm.
“You sure you want to be doing this?” I tease. “We’re in the playoffs, and you can’t get injured.”
He smirks. “Baby, I’m an elite athlete.”
“You’re a football player.”
“Exactly. Elite.” He winks.
Sera tugs on his hand. “Daddy skate!”
He looks down at her like she’s his world. Because she is. We both are.
“Okay, but if I fall, don’t laugh.” He looks at her with a brow raised.
She covers her mouth with her hand, giggling.
“No laugh, Daddy.” But she shrieks when he pretends to wobble dramatically.
“Daddy fall!”
“I’m not falling.” He laughs, steadying her.
I watch them for a moment. Seeing the way he bends slightly. The way she trusts him without hesitation. It makes my chest tighten.
Just six months ago, this was fragile at best.
But now … it feels solid. We’re solid.
We skate together in a slow circle around the rink, Sera insisting on trying to glide on her own. But she only makes it three seconds before Liam scoops her up mid-wobble.
“I got you,” he says softly, kissing her cheek.
After a while—two laps—Sera gets tired and wants hot chocolate. We find a bench. Liam comes back with our hot chocolate and sits with Sera between us. Just like the scene on a postcard, snow starts to fall. It’s big, soft, puffy flakes. Sera leans forward and catches snow on her tongue and giggles when she gets one, then takes a drink of cocoa.
Liam brushes some of the snow off her hat.
“You having fun, sweetheart?” he asks her.
She nods excitedly, whipped cream mustache on her lip.
Liam isn’t teasing Sera about the whipped cream mustache. He isn’t cracking one of his usual jokes. He just keeps looking at me like he’s memorizing something.
“You cold?” he asks me.
