Page 45 of Knot Sharing the Ice

Mason shifts the lights in his arms, his expression growing concerned. "You okay? You look a little flushed."

I nod, probably too quickly to be convincing. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... taking a walk. Clearing my head."

He nods, understanding in his eyes. "Want some company? I was just heading back to Carter's place to help with decorations, but I can take a detour."

Ishouldsay no.

Ishouldstick to my plan of taking things slow, of giving myself time to process. But the thought of walking alone with Mason, of having a chance to talk without the others around, is too tempting to resist.

"Sure," I hear myself say. "That'd be nice."

We fall into step together, walking in comfortable silence for a few moments. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, even through our winter coats, and it takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to lean into him.

"So," Mason says finally, his tone carefully neutral. "How are you doing? Really?"

I consider deflecting, giving him the same polite non-answer I've been giving everyone else. But something in his voice, in the genuine concern in his eyes, makes me want to be honest.

"I'm... confused," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "Everything feels different now.Smellsdifferent. It's like my whole world has shifted, and I don't know how to find my footing again."

Mason nods, his expression thoughtful. "I know what you mean. It's been the same for us. Your scent... it's everywhere. In everything. It's driving us all a little crazy, to be honest."

The admission sends a thrill through me, equal parts excitement and terror. "I don't know what to do," I confess.

We've reached the town square, where a massive Christmas tree stands proudly in the center. Mason guides me to a nearby bench, brushing off the snow before we sit. The lights in his arms tangle as he sets them down, and I find myself laughing as we work to untangle them.

"You know," Mason says, his fingers brushing mine as we work, "we meant what we said before. About taking things at your pace. We're not going anywhere, Ember. We can figure this out together, whatever that looks like for you."

I look up at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. But all I see is sincerity, and that fierce protectiveness that makes my heart race.

"I believe you," I whisper, and I'm surprised to realize it's true. "I just... I need to know this isn't just about biology. That it's not just the heat talking."

Mason's hand stills on the lights, his gaze intense as he meets my eyes. "Ember, the heat might have brought us together, but it's not what's keeping us here. We want to know you—all of you. Your dreams, your fears, your taste in terrible Christmas movies."

I laugh despite myself, shoving his shoulder playfully. "Hey, 'Die Hard' is a classic."

"A girl after my own heart."

He grins, and for a moment, I can see a future where this is normal. Where teasing and laughter and casual touches are just part of our everyday life.

The thought both thrills and terrifies me.

Before I can respond, a familiar voice calls out, "Ember?"

My head snaps up at the sound of my father's voice, and for a moment, I'm frozen in place. Dad's walking toward us, his arms laden with board games, looking every bit the adorably nerdy professor he is. My heart races as I watch him approach, torn between the urge to bolt and the desire to stay right where I am, next to Mason.

"Hey, sweetie," Dad says, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses as he smiles at me. "I didn't expect to see you out and about. Who's your friend?"

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. How do I even begin to explain this?Oh, hey Dad, this is one of the four alpha hockey players I spent my heat with during the snowstorm.

Yeah, that'd go over well.

But before I can stammer out some half-baked explanation, Mason stands, extending his hand to my father with an easy confidence that makes my stomach flutter.

"Mason Holbrook, sir," he says, his voice warm and steady. "My teammates and I met Ember at the rink a few days ago."

I hold my breath, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn't. No mention of heats or mates or anything that would make my father's eyes bug out of his head. Relief washes over me, followed quickly by a wave of gratitude toward Mason.

He's giving me space.

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