Page 86 of Holiday Hostilities

“No,” I admit, “but I’m sure I’d be a natural. In fact…” I skate over to her and place my hands at her waist. “We’re doing a lift.”

She struggles a little in my arms, but doesn’t skate away. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t lift me.”

“Watch me.”

And then, with absolutely zero grace or poise or form or anything else needed to figure skate, I lift Olivia into the air, holding her up like she’s Simba in the freaking Lion King.

“This isn’t regulation!” she squeals, clinging onto my arms for dear life.

I’ve been skating since I was three years old and have spent most of my life in skates. It feels as natural to me as walking. So much so that I’m entirely confident in every move I make, knowing that I’ve got her. Knowing I could never let her go.

I could do this forever.

“It’s a brand-new move,” I shout. “The Aaron Marino Masterpiece.”

“Put me down, you fool!”

“And the crowd goes wild!” I yell instead, skating backwards with her in my arms.

She’s laughing, her palms now spanning my hands around her waist. The lights above us are sparkling, and the Christmas music is swelling, and it’s a picture-perfect moment that I hope she’ll remember for a long time.

I know I will.

33

OLIVIA

I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much. Or hurt this much. I haven’t busted out my figure skating moves since I was about twelve, so after an hour of messing around on the ice with Aaron, twirling and jumping and generally acting like idiots, I’m sore all over.

“Ready to call it?” he asks. His cheeks are pink, and his green eyes are shining, and minus the ridiculous sweater, he looks like some kind of prince from a storybook.

But a sexy, naughty version who’s about to ravage you. Like the ones in those books Jing reads.

One can only hope.

Apparently my mind is still firmly on last night’s kiss. Or as Aaron would say, in the sex gutter.

“Yup,” I say with a smile that I hope masks my thoughts.

We change into our shoes, and I’m expecting us to walk back to the car, but he puts a hand on my elbow and steers me in the other direction. “This way.”

I chuckle as he leads me to the far end of the rink. “Let me guess, you’re not going to tell me where we’re going.”

“Damn straight.” He smirks at me, and then offers me his arm. I loop my hand through the crook of his elbow and let my fingers splay on his bicep as we walk along a dark pathway once again, walking further from the car.

“That was really fun, Aaron,” I say, and I mean every word. “Thanks for setting it up.”

His eyes twinkle in the darkness as he looks down at me. “The date isn't over yet.”

A few moments later, we step off the pathway and onto a quiet street that looks like a Christmas bomb exploded on it.

It’s the sort of street that would belong in the same fairytale book in which I was just picturing Aaron, complete with old-fashioned street lamps and cobbled walkways. Quaint storefronts with intricate window displays feature fake snow, and nativity scenes, and toys fromThe Nutcracker. White Christmas lights are strung above us, glowing like stars. Hidden speakers along the street play an old Christmas hymn, which floats through the crisp night air.

At the end of the street, a majestic Christmas tree with a huge star on top towers over a bustling Christmas market.

“Where are we?” I gape at Aaron for what feels like the millionth time this evening.

He looks down at the cobble for a moment before looking at me, his eyes suddenly cautious. “Helen, Georgia. Also known as the Christmassiest town in the state. Which I’m not sure is a word, but should be.”

---