by Lisa Plumley
“Without us?” Zach wailed, looking worried.
Aiden’s lip quivered. “I don’t want to live with Daddy.”
Karlie appeared no less concerned . . . but she was craftier.
“Jason likes it here,” Karlie pointed out with a sly look, probably intending her statement to be an inducement for Danielle to nix her new move-to-Los-Angeles idea. Her daughter nudged her chin in Jason’s direction. “See? Just look at him.”
Danielle did . . . just as he executed a sweeping turn around the rink’s outer edge. He looked steady. Composed. Athletic.
He caught her looking. He belly-flopped to the ice.
All four of them sighed. Karlie shook her head. “He might be hopeless, Mom, but he wants to be hopeless here. Not in L.A.”
It was obvious that Karlie thought Jason’s newfound fondness for Kismet was a strike against him. That she believed Danielle might change her mind about going to L.A. for Jason’s sake.
It was proof of how much Karlie didn’t want to move elsewhere, if she would rather have her mom paired up with someone other than her dad instead of move away from Kismet.
“No. I wouldn’t move without you. With you!” Danielle hugged them all to reassure them. “I would only move with you.”
“If we move away,” Zach said, “how will we ever see Dad?”
That was another wrinkle, Danielle realized. She couldn’t move everyone three thousand miles west without talking it over with Mark. It wouldn’t be fair otherwise. He was their father; he’d want to be involved. They were kids; they needed their dad.
Danielle was the only one who wanted to get away from Mark. And Crystal. And all the annoyances their relationship caused.
Maybe Jason had had a point about her wanting to avoid Mr. and Mrs. Rub It In Your Face. Maybe she needed to work on that.
But not tonight.
“We don’t have to decide all the details right now,” Danielle told them. “I don’t even know if I’ll get the job yet.”
All three of them stared at her. Mutinously.
“Didn’t somebody say something about whoopie pies?”
That did the trick. It was a good thing kids had short memories. Karlie cast Danielle a final suspicious glance, then corralled her brothers to help them hastily remove their ice skates, don their snow boots, then make a joint trip to the concession stand at the edge of the ice-skating rink.
Danielle watched them go, feeling torn. It was evident there was no long-term harm done because she’d brought up the idea of moving. Aiden skipped along cheerfully, arms waving as he described something. Zach tromped beside him kicking up snow, looking bigger and ganglier every day. Karlie brought up the rear, typically keeping a watchful eye on her younger siblings.
Well, she’d had to broach the subject sometime, Danielle knew. She couldn’t exactly pick up everyone from school in a rented moving van one day and pull off relocating as a fabulous surprise. She had to prepare Karlie, Aiden, and Zach.
She had to prepare herself, too. Because, all of a sudden, the usual Kismet schmaltziness held a whole new appeal for her. Given the way she felt just then, she might have a difficult time leaving it all behind herself someday. Standing there beside the ice-skating rink, with the lights shining down in the velvety darkness to create a cozy cocoon, and Christmas carols playing over the loudspeakers to goose the holiday ambiance, and smiling, happy skaters all around, Danielle felt . . . happy to be in Kismet for Christmas. She hadn’t felt that way for a long time.
An announcement interrupted the start of the next carol.
“Couples’ skate, everyone,” the volunteer DJ announced. “This is a couples’ skate. Singles, please clear the ice.”
Couples’ skate? Danielle loved the couples’ skate.
At least she had, years ago, when she’d been visiting this same ice rink with her mom and dad. Not that they’d ever skated. Usually, Blythe Benoit had set up an easel and oils to paint the skaters. Forrest Benoit had hunched on the bleachers with his notebook, capturing whatever fleeting impressions helped him write poetry. Danielle had skated with her friends—or sometimes when it got late, as it had tonight—skated by herself, imagining that she was a graceful Olympic champion circling the rink.
Couples’ skate had been only for adults. It had been special and romantic and fascinating, with its end-of-the-night hush and its couples-only status. During the couples’ skate, special music played. Some of the main lights were turned off, leaving only the white strings overhead to provide a glow for the skaters. Volunteers cast spotlights on the couples, Danielle remembered, highlighting them as they glided around on the ice.
Anticipating it, Danielle hugged herself. All those years she’d spent waiting to be old enough and coupled enough to join the couples’ skate . . . and Mark had never actually donned ice skates while at the rink. He’d always kept on his boots and hung out with his buddies instead, talking about ice fishing and football and tossing an occasional “Attaboy!” or “Attagirl!” to his kids.
Mark hadn’t been a bad father. Or a bad husband. But he’d lacked a certain sense of imagination. Of tradition. Of romance.
“Excuse me,” someone said. “Can I have this skate?”
Danielle looked. Jason. He stood bundled up just a foot or so away from her, holding out his gloved hand in invitation.
She wanted to take his hand. But her gaze slipped lower, to his snow-caked knees and beaten-up skates, which only reminded her of how truly terrible Jason was at ice-skating. Taking part in the couples’ skate with him would not be the realization of a cherished romantic dream, Danielle realized. It would be an uncomfortably public act of charity designed to cripple her.
Accidentally, of course. She knew that. Jason wouldn’t have hurt her on purpose. He truly didn’t seem to recognize how inept he was at wintertime sports. His face actually shone at her.
She didn’t have the heart to refuse him.
And that’s how she knew she was really falling for him.
Danielle inhaled for bravery. “Of course!”
He seemed pleased. He gestured to the rink. “After you.”
With Jason’s hand at her back in a show of chivalry, Danielle reached the ice rink just as the couples’ skate song—a soulful rendition of “Please Come Home for Christmas” began to play. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad, she thought. Jason had been practicing all night. He must have improved by now.
With a warm smile, he took her hands. She wished she could have whisked away their gloves. At least then she would have had the benefit of enjoying his touch, skin to skin. As it was, Danielle had to content herself with gazing raptly at his face.
Jason betrayed no knowledge of the public atrocity he was about to commit. Folks in Kismet took their ice-skating seriously, Danielle knew. Children ice-skated not long after they learned to walk—the better to practice their hockey moves. Adults ice-skated as a matter of course, the same way they went dancing or bowling or down to The Big Foot Bar to celebrate the Lions football wins. Ice-skating was Kismet’s unheralded talent.
Still holding her hands, Jason performed a careful swivel on the slippery ice. Oh no. Gallantly, he was planning to lead, Danielle realized too late. That meant skating backward.
“Oh! I can do that,” she offered. “I’ll lead. Let me.”
“I’ve got this,” Jason assured her. “Just relax.”
His cocksure look actually fooled her into thinking he knew what he was doing. For a nanosecond. Then she panicked again.
How could she relax? She might be in traction by tomorrow.
“Are you ready?” Jason smiled down at her, brimming with foolish certainty. It looked good on him. She had to admit that.
Swallowing hard, Danielle nodded. She was nothing if not courageous. She only hoped her children weren’t watching this.
“Here we go,” Jason said . . . then he skated them both backward.
Stiffly, Danielle braced herself for impact.
Instead, all she felt we
re Jason’s hands, her own shaky legs, and the gentle caress of the wintry evening air as it flowed past them both. Briefly, the breeze ruffled her scarf.
Imagining it fluttering, Danielle could almost envision herself part of one of the couples’ skate duos she’d dreamed of.
“You can open your eyes now.” Jason’s wry voice interrupted her fanciful trip down memory lane. “It’s safe to look.”
Warily, Danielle did. “I’m sorry.” A spotlight glanced over them, then graciously moved on. Probably the volunteer steering it recognized a disaster in the making when she saw one. “I didn’t even realize I’d closed my eyes.” And braced for impact.
“You can stop fighting me for the lead, too. I’ve got it.”
Danielle gawked at her own hands and arms, firmly wedged in a battle with his. “I didn’t realize I was doing that, either.”
“You almost broke my arm trying to ‘nudge’ us into a different position.” Jason’s smile touched her. “Trust me.”
Valiantly, Danielle sucked in another lungful of cold air. Around them, agile, experienced couples swirled across the ice. A few of them were almost ice dancing to the holiday music.
“Don’t trust me to do that,” Jason warned good-humoredly. “I’m still a beginner at this. But you looked so wistful standing there when the DJ announced the couples’ skate. I knew I had to give it a try.” He smiled. “You know, for you.”
His casual tone didn’t change the content of his words—or the impact they had on Danielle. Jason wanted to do something nice for her. Once again, he’d recognized one of her secret longings . . . then set about making it come true.
She could really get used to this. If she survived.
All the same, she couldn’t just trust him. She was still her.
“Relax,” Jason urged with his mouth next to her ear. His warmth sneaked over her, even as his deep voice rumbled past her hair and her hat, making her shiver—but not with cold. His big, strong body felt perfect against hers. “Just let go. Trust me.”
Danielle doubted she could. But just as an experiment . . .
Tentatively, she eased her viselike grip on Jason’s hands. She leaned ever-so-slightly into his arms. She let her legs carry her over the ice smoothly—not in a struggle for control, but as part of a sinuous shared experience with Jason.
To her astonishment, she did not immediately crash.
An instant later, she realized . . . “You’re good at this.”
Smiling, Jason steered them both around the next ice rink corner while the music begged them to come home for Christmas.
“You don’t have to sound so accusatory,” he said.
“But you said you were a beginner! You said you’d never ice-skated before.”
“I hadn’t.” Jason shrugged. “I’m a quick learner.”
Danielle gave him a suspicious look. “I saw you fall down.”
“Yeah. You almost got me that time. I got carried away making that turn and almost forgot to flop when you looked.”
“I saw you fall down over and over again!”
“Well, there was a learning curve to conquer.”
“You practically let Karlie humiliate you!”
“There’s no humiliation in learning.” Jason squeezed her hands in his, then kept skating. “I think I’ve got it now.”
“I’ll say you do.” Full of disbelief, Danielle skated with him, actually doing the thing she’d so wanted to do—join in the couples’ skate. “I’m not convinced you were ever a beginner.”
“I would never lie to you.” He seemed serious about that. “I guess since I already know how to surf, paddleboard, water-ski, and do dozens of squats in CrossFit, I already had some of the skills I needed to ice-skate. It’s fun.”
“You should have told Karlie.”
“Told her what? That her teaching was working?” Jason shook his head. Amiably, he nodded at one of her neighbors. “If I’d let her know I’d mastered it, she couldn’t teach me anymore.”
“That’s the idea.” Danielle smiled. “It’s called learning.”
“It’s called forging a bond with someone,” he disagreed, “and mine with Karlie wasn’t finished yet. It still isn’t.”
Thinking about that, Danielle let herself be whirled around the ice-skating rink in Jason’s arms. She was happy that Jason was dedicated to winning over her daughter, but . . .
“Sometimes it’s better to admit defeat.”
“Nope.” Jason swayed slightly, then righted himself—and her. “I never said I was perfect,” he added. “But I’m trying.”
“You’re doing all right.” With that massive understatement, Danielle relaxed a little more. Jason was right. Neither of them had to be perfect. Including her. She intended to enjoy this imperfect night with Jason, because it was all they had.
Unless she could somehow wrangle them both more time . . .
She was cooking up a way to do just that when Jason spoke up again. “Hey. Quit daydreaming and enjoy this, will ya?”
How had he known? Again? “I’m sorry. I will.”
“If you need an incentive,” Jason added nonchalantly as the music whirled around them, “I can promise a kiss at the end.”
Mmm. That sounded good. “What’s wrong with right now?”
“I’m good. But I’m not that good.” He laughed. “I think a collision with the wall, the ice, or each other would be bad.”
“Then let me lead,” Danielle invited, “and you trust me.”
Unexpectedly, Jason nodded. He whirled them around until she was leading by skating backward. Then he closed his eyes.
“Go ahead,” he said. “Take me wherever you want to go.”
So, with the Christmas carols playing and the holiday lights shining overhead and the moon looking down on all of it, Danielle took over. She brought her mouth to Jason’s, and she kissed him with all the affection and longing in her heart.
A spotlight played over them. Once. Twice.
Raucous cheering erupted from the locals.
It was magical, Danielle thought. It was exactly the way she’d always imagined being part of a couples’ skate would be.
That, of course, was when the universe laughed at her. Because that was when Danielle closed her eyes, just for an instant, to savor the incredible connection between them...
. . . and steered them both right into the nearest wall.
While in the spotlight. In front of everyone. Whoops.
Argh. I should have known better than to start trusting Christmas, Danielle told herself as they both got up, dazed and unhurt. What she’d always said was right: trusting was not for her. Even if she was, just then, ready to make another kamikaze run at the ice-skating rink wall, if that’s what it took to get another one of Jason’s kisses or another one of his smiles.
Because that’s what he gave her as they stood. He held her hand while they both took a cheerful, unified bow for the (even more loudly cheering) crowd. And in that moment, despite everything, somehow, to Danielle, it all seemed worth it.
This year, Christmas had definitely driven her crazy.
Chapter Thirteen
The proof of Danielle’s new Christmas craziness arrived not long after she returned home with Jason and her children in tow.
None of them could quit talking about the tumble she and Jason had taken on the rink—or about the way the two of them had rallied back from it in the end—but Danielle had other things on her mind besides ice-skating and kissing and getting carried away beneath the romantic lights of the courthouse-side rink.
Those other things began with shuffling her kids off to start their bedtime routines, continued with warning Aiden, Karlie, and Zach that she had to make an important telephone call . . . and ended with Danielle slipping away, phone in hand, while Jason was soothing his sore muscles in a nice, hot shower, to enact the plan she’d devised to snare them more time together.
The only way to make sure Jason wouldn’t have to leave Kismet tomorrow for the r
est of his Midwestern Moosby’s tour was to make sure the board of directors didn’t believe a Midwestern Moosby’s tour was necessary. That was why, with her heart in her throat and her mind boggling at the chance she was about to take, Danielle slipped into her bedroom and dialed Chip Larsen.
Fortunately, it was earlier on the West Coast. She caught him on the third ring. His terse, unpleasant voice rang over the line and almost made Danielle give up on this whole gamble.
Because that’s what it was: a gamble. She was about to gamble an opportunity in her future for a chance with Jason today. Danielle hoped it worked. She also hoped she wouldn’t regret it. But there wasn’t any time to contemplate that.
“Chip Larsen here,” he barked. “State your business.”
Wow. He probably didn’t win a lot of friends with that phone opener. “Hi, Mr. Larsen. It’s Danielle Sharpe.”
“Who? If you’re calling about an admin position, you should check with the HR department,” he huffed, clearly in motion toward someplace. “I don’t know how you got this number, but—”
“It’s Danielle Sharpe,” she repeated patiently. “The manager of the model Moosby’s toy store in Kismet, Michigan.”
A tense silence filtered over the line.
She’d had to endure this weirdness last time, too.
“Did you think I was calling about an admin position just because I’m a woman?” she blurted incredulously, belatedly realizing the probable source of that taut silence. “Because I’ve been applying for management positions for months.”
“Ah. Yes.” Chip chuckled. “Ms. Sharpe. Danielle. Of the model Moosby’s store. In the boonies. Right. Of course.”
His words came out with lengthy pauses between them. Clearly, he was checking something to remind himself who she was. Danielle didn’t find his absentmindedness reassuring.
She also didn’t appreciate his snide remark about “the boonies.” If she went to work at HQ, would they all view her as some kind of country bumpkin? That would be a hurdle, for sure.
“We spoke earlier this week about Jason Hamilton and his media tour of the Midwest.” Danielle darted a glance toward the hallway outside her bedroom. At the other end of it, Jason was luxuriating in a hot shower. All wet, soapy, and naked.
