“I have, once. I didn’t say I was good at it.”
Charlie zips past us, skating backward with infuriating grace. “You two look like baby giraffes!”
“Gloating is unattractive, Charlie Pine!” I call after her.
Gabe and Everett circle back to us, stopping with a small spray of ice. “Need help?”
“No,” Finn and I say simultaneously, then look at each other and laugh.
“We’re fine,” I add. “This is a memory-making experience.”
“Through shared trauma,” Finn agrees.
We inch forward together, still clinging to the rail. A small child who can’t be more than five zooms past us, executing a perfect turn.
“Show off,” Finn mutters.
“We can do this,” I say confidently. “Let’s try letting go. Just for a second.”
“Are you insane?”
“Maybe a little.” I release one hand from the rail. “Come on, I’ll hold your hand.”
Finn eyes my outstretched hand suspiciously, then, with a muttered prayer, takes it. We stand there, wobbling like newborn colts, one hand each still on the rail.
“On three, we let go completely,” I say. “One… two…”
“I’ve changed my mind,” Finn interrupts.
“Three!” I release the rail and pull him with me.
For one glorious second, we’re skating. Actually skating! Then Finn loses balance, and we go down ungracefully, in a tangle of arms and legs sprawled across the ice.
“I hate you,” Finn groans from somewhere near my elbow.
I can’t respond because I’m laughing too hard, lying flat on my back on the ice.
“Are you okay?” Everett appears above me.
“Never better,” I gasp between laughs. “Just working on my ice angels.”
He offers me a hand up, which I gratefully accept. His grip is firm and sure as he pulls me to my feet, steadying me when I wobble. I see Gabe coming to Finn’s rescue as well.
A small crowd has gathered around us, but they’re not looking at our spectacular failure. They’re gathering around Everett.
“Perfect Pines really came through,” an older woman says, patting his arm. “Our Fraser fir is the most beautiful one we’ve had in years.”
“Mine too,” a man in a puffy jacket agrees. “Don’t know what we would’ve done if you hadn’t stepped up.”
Everett accepts their thanks with a modest nod, but I can see the pride in his eyes. These are his people, his community, and he came through for them when they needed him.
“You know what we really need?” says an older woman, her perfectly coiffed hair undaunted by the frigid temperature. She jabs a finger at Everett’s chest. “We need an alpha like you in the mayor’s office, not that slick-talking Reynolds.”
A chorus of agreement ripples through the small crowd that’s gathered around us on the ice.
“That’s the truth,” another adds. “Reynolds keeps pushing for the merger with the neighboring towns. Nobody wants that except him and his developer buddies.”
“My nephew works in the county planning office,” another woman chimes in. “Says Reynolds has been meeting with some sketchy developers. Something about rezoning if the merger goes through.”