Page 89 of On Thin Ice

“Give me one second,” called a deep voice from somewhere in the back, followed by the sound of sliding drawers.

A moment later, a man appeared behind the counter. Mid-fifties, maybe. Salt-and-pepper beard, tortoiseshell glasses, and a cobalt scarf draped artfully around his neck. He wiped his hands absently on a cloth tucked into his waistband.

“Afternoon,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “Just browsing or working on a project?”

I cleared my throat, feeling suddenly awkward about being here. “I think … maybe a project.”

He nodded. “Well, if you’ve got a specific something in mind, I’m all ears.”

I pulled out my phone, scrolling to three photos taken by the official team photographer I’d saved back in October without really understanding why. I hesitated before turning the screen toward him. “Would it be possible to do a custom triptych? These three, all in one frame?”

He leaned in, squinting slightly as he studied the screen, his glasses slipping down his nose.

“Oh, I remember this. What a night for the kid.” He looked up at me with a curious expression on his face and then blinked. His eyes widened fractionally as recognition dawned, his gaze moving from my face to my phone and back again. “You’re Ethan Harrison.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement of fact.

I winced, bracing myself for the type of pandemonium that’d happened back at the mall. My shoulders tensed, and I felt my expression close off, my mask sliding back into place. “Guilty.”

He didn’t gush or ask for a selfie. Just offered a crooked smile, his posture remaining relaxed. “Well, damn. You clean up better than you do on the Jumbotron.”

I huffed out a short, startled laugh. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

“Oh, it is,” he said, his eyes raking over me appreciatively for a brief second before returning to the task at hand. “You want the triptych to be sleek and simple or more of a statement piece?”

“Simple. Matte black frame, I think. Maybe a plate with ‘October 13’ engraved on it.”

He nodded, his eyes on a piece of paper as he jotted down the information. “October Thirteenth?”

“His first NHL hat trick.”

He looked up again. “Well,” he said, his tone softer now. “I’m sure he’ll treasure this.”

“I hope so.”

He finished scribbling, then tore off a slip showing I’d pre-paid. “Five days, tops. If I finish early, I’ll call.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Really.”

As I stepped back out into the cold December evening, I tucked the slip into my wallet and let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

Around me, shoppers hurried past with bright, overflowing bags and excited chatter. The saxophone had been replaced by a small choir singing “Silent Night.” The twinkle lights seemed to shine a little brighter now, or maybe it was just me.

I still didn’t know what I’d say to Bell when I gave it to him.

Wondered if I’d have to say anything at all, or if the look on my face when I wished him a Merry Christmas would say it all for me.

My fingers brushed against where my wallet rested in my pocket, and for the first time all day, a genuine smile spread across my face.

CHAPTER21

ETHAN

The door burst open like the house was under siege, slamming into the wall as Bell stumbled in carrying a giant box overflowing with loose vegetables and six reusable cloth shopping bags hooked over his shoulders. The veins in his forearms were popping from the weight of his haul, his cheeks were flushed, his blond hair windblown, and the look in his eyes was somewhere between pride and full-blown panic.

“Before you scold me, I already know,” he said breathlessly, kicking the door closed behind him and staggering toward the kitchen with enough food for us to survive a nuclear winter.

“Need help?”

He set the box down on the long island and dropped the bags next to it, letting out a moan and rubbing his shoulder. Even in obvious discomfort, he looked stupidly beautiful. A flushed and disheveled Bell was my favorite Bell.

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