Page 20 of Stuffing His Stocking

“Are you sure, Mom?” I ask, slightly disappointed. Ice skating has been a Christmas tradition for us, and this will be the first time in a long time that Mom doesn’t participate. She usually loves it, and I hate that she’s going to miss it.

“Yes, honey, I’m sure,” she confirms with a tired smile. “This old girl needs to get off her feet and have a glass of wine.”

“You make it sound like you’re a hundred,” I tease her. “You’re barely fifty.”

“And I’m feeling every bit of those fifty years,” she replies with a chuckle. “But you and Dylan go on ahead. It’s his first time experiencing our little tradition. I’m sure you two will have a great time. Just give me a call when you want me to come pick you up.”

“This isn’t high school, Mom.” I laugh. “We don’t need you to pick us up from the mall.”

“Well, how are you getting home, then?”

“I’ll make sure we get a ride, Carol. No worries. I have someone who can take us,” Dylan replies before I can answer.

I glance at him from the corner of my eye. He means he has adriver. Sometimes I forget how much money he has because he never acts like it, but I’m grateful during moments like these.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Mom asks again. “I’m happy to pick you two up when you’re done ice skating.”

“I’m positive,” Dylan assures her. “Take the car and be safe getting home. I’ll keep an eye on this one here.” He gestures to me with a lift of his chin.

“I’m not the one known for being a troublemaker,” I mutter, playfully nudging his ribs with my elbow.

Mom steps forward and gives both of us a big hug. “I had a great time shopping with you guys today,” she says with a warm smile. “It’s good having you both home. Have fun and be careful.”

“We will. Love you!”

“I love you too, honey,” she replies before Dylan helps her into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. We watch her pull out of the parking space and then the garage.

“Let’s go see what this ice skating is all about.” Dylan turns to me as we walk toward the rink. “You’ve been talking about it all day.”

“It’s one of our favorite things to do. We look forward to it all year,” I admit. “I’m surprised Mom didn’t want to come today, but I know she’s picked up extra shifts at the hospital. They have lots of babies who need cuddles right now.”

Dylan and I stroll through downtown toward the main square, which is an open space surrounded by charming boutiques and small, family-owned shops. In the center of it all stands a large temporary ice rink, transformed into a Christmas Wonderland with dazzling lights and glittering decorations inshades of white, silver, and blue. It reminds me of a miniature version of New York’s Rockefeller Center, minus the towering Christmas tree. But we have something they don’t. A gigantic inflatable snowman at one end of the rink. It’s big and gaudy and perfect for the holidays.

“Wow, this is really cool. Looks like it’ll be a lot of fun,” Dylan remarks as we near the rink.

Families are gathered everywhere, with kids running around and laughing. People are sipping on hot chocolate to warm their hands, and the aroma of freshly roasted pecans fills the air with cinnamon, vanilla, and sugar. My mouth waters as I anticipate my first taste of the season.

We wait in line to get our skates and then head onto the ice. There are plenty of chuckles and giggles as we awkwardly try to maneuver around the rink. We bump into other people and even each other, resulting in several falls that will probably leave a few bruises. But I haven’t had this much fun in a long time. And seeing Dylan enjoying himself makes it all worth it.

When we’re thoroughly chilled and can barely feel our toes, we return our skates and reclaim our shoes. “Did you have a good time?” I ask.

Dylan grins widely. “I had a great time. I haven’t been ice skating since I was a kid, and it was nothing like this.”

“Maybe we can come back next year and do it again,” I suggest, excited at the thought of spending another holiday with him.

“Sounds like a plan,” he agrees as he bumps my shoulder with his.

“Ready for some hot chocolate and candied pecans?” I ask while rubbing my mitten-covered palms together.

“Absolutely.” He helps me off the bench and follows behind me. “Lead the way.”

As we weave through the swarm of people, I notice two girls walking toward us, and my guard is up immediately. “You know what? How about we just head home and enjoy some of the goodies we made yesterday?”

Dylan stops in his tracks and turns to face me. “What? I thought getting hot chocolate and candied pecans was part of your ice skating tradition,” he points out, reminding me of the half hour we spent discussing the process of how the nutty treats are made and that I only get my signature white peppermint hot cocoa from a specific vendor who has a beverage cart made from an old bicycle.

“Yeah, but we don’t have to do that. We can just go home,” I say, trying to brush it off as not being a big deal.

Dylan gives me a suspicious look. “What’s going on? You’re acting weird.”

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