Page 70 of Mistletoe Face Off

“Look, Mommy!” Macy calls as she turns in an arc in front of us, pulling my attention from Harry.

“You’re really doing it, my little figure skater.”

“I’m not little anymore, Mommy. I’m eight and a half,” she corrects, rounding up by several months.

“Okay. You’re my big figure skater.”

She takes another turn, only this time she loses her balance, her arms flailing as she falls to the ice. With my heart in my mouth I rush over to her, thoughts racing through my head. Wegot this far and now she's fallen and she won't want to do it again.

But as I crouch down over her she smiles up at me.

“I fell over!” She exclaims as though this is news to me, the mom who's been watching her every move on the ice. Well, almost her every move. When the man you’re falling for tells you he just wants you, it's kinda hard not to get lost in his eyes.

“Give me your hand,” Harry says, and Macy places her little hand in his as he pulls her back to her feet. “We all fall over on the ice at one time or another. The important thing is to get back up and keep on trying.”

Could this man be more of a dad if he tried?

I think my ovaries just gave me a nudge.

We skate around the rink with Macy a few more times, until I offer to buy us all hot chocolate with gooey marshmallows. We sit together as we enjoy the sweet, chocolatey drink, Macy telling us all about how she's going to take the figure skating world by storm, just you wait and see, and Harry telling us about his time as a figure skater back in Portland.

My phone beeps in my purse at the same time as Harry’s. But I'm reluctant to break this sense of family I've got with these two, so I ignore it, instead focusing on what really matters to me: my daughter, and now this incredible man who has come into our lives.

“Anyone want another?” Harry asks as he takes our empty cups.

“Me!” Macy says with a grin.

“Where are your manners?” I ask.

“Me, please,” she says much more politely.

Harry laughs. “I'll be right back.”

I watch him walk away, my heart telling me that this is the man for me—and my body insisting I check out his broad shoulders and the way they taper to his perfectly formed butt.But I lose him in the crowd, and return to listening to Macy regale me with stories of her prowess on the ice.

Harry arrives back, empty handed but for his phone, and I look up at him in surprise to see his brow furrowed, his jaw clenched.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Look.” His voice is barely above a whisper as he turns his phone around and I read the headline.

Harrison Clarke Doping Scandal.

“What the—” I exclaim, reaching for his phone. I do a quick scroll, skimming the text.

… former figure skater who went by the name of Harrison Soutar… “I tried to stop him,” his former coach, Garth Gluckman said in a statement…

And then my eyes land on the journalist’s name. I look from the article back up and in Harry's stricken face. “I can't believe he did this to you.”

In an instant, my brain feels waterlogged and I can't think straight, my thoughts swirling chaotically, refusing to settle into any coherent pattern. The rink seems muffled and distant as my heartbeat pounds in my ears.

“Who’s Stephen McFarland?” he asks in a low voice tinged with anger.

“My boss. I told him you were innocent and that there was no story.”

“It looks to me as though he didn't believe you.”

“What's wrong, Mommy?” Macy asks.

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