Page 28 of Nicky

Nicholas shot him a withering look, but his voice stayed light. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

With a laugh, Kyle clapped Jordan on the back and started leading him away toward the benches. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” he called over his shoulder.

Nicky exhaled, his shoulders relaxing as he turned back to me. “Sorry about Kyle,” he said, though the fondness in his voice betrayed him. “He can’t help himself.”

“No need to apologize,” I said with a small chuckle. “He’s... spirited.”

Nicky laughed softly. “That’s one word for it.”

We stayed on the ice a little longer, our banter easy and comfortable. Every now and then, I caught myself watching him—his smile, the way he brushed the hair from his eyes, the way he leaned into his teasing. It wasn’t the teasing itself that made me nervous—it was the pull I felt every time he did it. The need to steady him when he wobbled, to guide him when he hesitated, to… take care of him.

That need, so close to the surface and sometimes barely held in check, made me a little nervous. Was I overstepping? Reading too much into his playful remarks? Despite the questions running through my head, I was having an amazing time. And all of Nicky’s teasing only made it harder to stop imagining how adorably bratty he could be.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I wanted to find out.

By the time we skated off the rink, I could feel the flush in my cheeks—Nicky’s were just as rosy—and my legs were sore, but my nerves had melted away entirely.

Nicky glanced at me, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not half bad at this dating thing, Doc.”

“Not half bad, huh?” I replied, unable to hide my grin. “I’ll take it.”

He snorted. “High praise from me. Don’t let it go to your head.”

We sat down at a small café by the rink, a cozy spot nestled next to a row of holiday-decorated trees. The warmth hit me first, a welcome contrast to the biting cold of the ice. Strings of lights crisscrossed the ceiling, reflecting off frosted windows, and the air smelled like cinnamon, coffee, and freshly baked pastries.

Nicholas rubbed his hands together, his cheeks still pink from the cold.

“You look half frozen,” I said, pushing one of the steaming mugs the barista had just brought over toward him.

“I’m fine,” he said, though he wrapped his hands around the cup immediately, letting the warmth seep in.

I gave him a look. “Drink it. And don’t even think about skipping the whipped cream.”

He rolled his eyes but took a sip, smirking over the rim of his mug. “Bossy much?”

“Practical,” I countered, though his teasing pulled a chuckle out of me. “You were shivering on the rink. I’d call it looking out for you.”

“Sure you would.” His smirk deepened. “And here I thought you were all about letting me take care of myself, Doc. Should I be worried you’ll start lacing up my skates next time?”

I hesitated, thrown for a moment by his tone. He wasn’t serious, obviously, but the teasing edge left me both charmed and a little unsure. It all seemed to be in good fun, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was walking a line here.

“Only if I think you’re going to trip and break an ankle,” I said finally, managing to keep my tone light.

He leaned back in his chair, grinning like he’d won some invisible battle. “Noted.”

I took a sip of my own hot chocolate, rich and sweet with just the right amount of whipped cream, and watched him as he dove into the apple cinnamon scone we’d ordered. There was something unguarded about the way he ate—completely at ease, crumbs on his fingers and a dab of whipped cream at the corner of his mouth. I had to fight the urge to lean over and wipe it off myself.

“So,” he said after a moment, setting the mug down, “what made you move from San Francisco to Juniper Hollow? It’s not exactly a direct pipeline.”

I chuckled, leaning back in my chair. “It wasn’t. My life there… was hectic, to say the least. I worked in a hospital, pulling ridiculous hours, barely had time to breathe most days.”

“That checks out,” he said, tilting his head with a knowing look. “You’ve got that workaholic vibe.”

“Do I?”

“Definitely.”

I grinned, though the topic wasn’t all lighthearted. “I was dating someone at the time. We were together for years—lived together, even. I thought things were solid.” I paused, staring down at the swirls of whipped cream melting into my drink. “But he cheated on me. And when things ended, it felt like everything I’d been building my life around just... evaporated. I tried sticking it out in San Francisco, but after a couple of years, I realized I wasn’t happy. Work was just work, and my personal life? Well, it didn’t exist.”

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