BAILEY
Itug my scarf up over the bottom half of my face as I walk several blocks from my apartment to Benton Falls’ park, the sound of laughter and festive music growing louder with each step. The Ice Games are in full swing, and despite my reservations about participating, I find myself drawn to the infectious energy radiating from the event. There are red tents set up all over the park. The ice skate rental trailer is hopping. There’s a line at the cocoa stand—and the food trucks have a few people waiting—but I’m sure they’ll have longer lines as the day goes on.
The air is thick with the aroma of cinnamon and hot cocoa, mingling with the sharp, clean scent of freshly fallen snow. Colorful banners flutter in the breeze, proclaiming “Benton Falls Ice Games” in bold letters. They look a little dirty and have crease marks, like they’ve been in storage for 364 days. The ice rink itself is a spectacle, transformed into a winter playground with obstacles, targets, and even what appears to be a makeshift curling lane.
I pause at the edge of the crowd, taking in the scene before me. Families and friends are gathered in clusters, their cheeks rosy from the cold and excitement. Children dart between adults, their laughter ringing out like bells. It’s a picture-perfect scene of small-town life during the holidays, the kind you’d see on a Christmas card.
The sense that I’m an outsider starts to creep through my chest like water freezing over. I put my gloved hand over my heart and draw in a deep breath.
“Bailey! You made it!”
I turn to see Gladys bounding toward me, her enthusiasm is as palpable as ever. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she continues, linking her arm through mine as if we’ve been friends for years instead of mere days. She did sleep at my house, so there’s that. “Isn’t this exciting?”
I nod, trying to muster up a fraction of her enthusiasm. “It’s certainly... something,” I manage, my eyes scanning the crowd.
I spot Logan standing tall among a group of fellow firefighters, his laughter carrying across the rink. He’s dressed in a form-fitting red sweater that accentuates his broad shoulders, a Santa hat perched jauntily on his head. The firefighters are all dressed the same, and they’re all specimens to behold. “Good heavens,” I mutter. I honestly didn’t know men were that strong outside of a gym. I mean, my life just didn’t cross paths with muscles of that caliber before Logan and this contest, and now I’m staring at a whole herd of beefy men.
As if hearing my drool drop onto the snow, Logan looks up, his green eyes meeting mine. A warm smile spreads across his face, and he raises a hand in greeting.
I quickly look away, my cheeks flushing with heat.
“Oh, look,” Gladys exclaims, oblivious to my discomfort. “The teams are getting ready for their first event. Let’s get closer.”
Before I can protest, she’s pulling me through the crowd toward the rink. We end up near the edge, with a perfect view of the firefighters lining up for what appears to be an ice tug-of-war. Since this is our first event, it makes sense that the firefighters would all stand up for their individual teams. I certainly wouldn’t want to compete against one of them. I’d be dragged across the ice before you could say loser.
Logan stands at the end of one rope, his competitive spirit evident in the determined set of his jaw. Across from him is another firefighter, a tall, lean man with a shock of red hair visible beneath his Santa hat.
“That’s Axel,” an elderly woman next to me whispers conspiratorially. “He and Logan have been rivals since they were boys. This should be interesting.”
I blink at her. “How do you kno–.”
“Shh,” she shushes me as if a tug-of-war needs silence.
The announcer’s voice booms across the rink. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the first event of our annual Ice Games! Our brave firefighters will be kicking things off with the Ice Tug-of-War. On the red team, we have Logan Brown. On the blue team, Axel O’Brien. Let’s give them a big round of applause.”
The crowd erupts in cheers as the two men take their positions, gripping the rope tightly. I find myself holding my breath, caught up in the tension.
“Ready... set... PULL!”
The rink erupts in shouts of encouragement as the two men strain against each other. Logan’s muscles flex visibly under his sweater as he pulls with all his might. Axel slides forward a bit, then digs in his heels, pushing back.
For a moment, it seems like a stalemate. Then, with a mighty heave, Logan begins to gain ground. Inch by inch he pull Axel across the centerline.
“Red team wins!” the announcer shouts, and the crowd goes wild.
Logan’s fellow firefighters crowd around him, slapping him on the back and ruffling his hair. His face is flushed with exertion and triumph as he shakes hands with Axel, their rivalry momentarily set aside in a show of good sportsmanship.
Gladys gushes, her eyes shining.
I nod absently, not hearing what she’s saying, my eyes still on Logan. There’s something captivating about seeing him like this—competitive, yes, but also commanding and playful. I haven’t seen this side of him before.
Gladys pulls me forward. “Come on. They’re about to start the next event and our team needs us.”
I hurry to keep up with her as she weaves through the crowd. The announcer tells everyone to get read for Human Curling, whatever that is.
“You made it,” Logan smiles at Gladys and touches my arm. “Here.” He settles his Santa hat on my head and then adjusts it.
I start to protest. “It’s yours.”
