Page 93 of On Thin Ice

He popped the lid and peered inside. “I’m not technically allowed to eat these.” He grabbed one without hesitation and popped it into his mouth, his eyes briefly closing in a sign of bliss as he chewed. “But what Elizabeth doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” His gaze bounced to me. “And you’re not going to tell her.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” I told him, letting the grin I’d been fighting win.

“Good.” He tossed me a sly wink. “Come on, Marjorie. Everything’s set up out back, and now all I need is someone to tell me I’m a genius in the kitchen or I’ll get self-conscious.”

I pushed off the wall, my hand landing instinctively on the small of Bell’s back before I even realized what I was doing. My steps faltered and I dropped my arm, lingering behind my neighbor and my ... Boyfriend? Lover? Partner?

Suddenly, I was aware that I had no idea what to call him.

None of these labels seemed to capture what he’d come to mean to me.

All I knew was he’d carved out a space both in my heart and my home that was undeniably his.

CHAPTER22

ETHAN

Bell guided Marjorie to her seat, uncovering the appetizer platter with a flourish. “Feta-stuffed mini peppers with a little lemon zest, smoked paprika, and a tzatziki dipping sauce,” he announced. “Completely extra, I know.”

Marjorie gave an impressedhumas she picked one up and took a bite. “If this is what extra tastes like, I’m fully on board.”

I chuckled as I settled the cloth napkin over my lap, then moved to fill our water glasses as Bell slid the steaks onto our plates, the crust seared to a perfect mahogany brown while the center remained a juicy medium rare. He’d also made blistered green beans that snapped between my teeth with a satisfying crunch, crispy rosemary potatoes with dark, golden edges and fluffy centers, and honey-and-thyme glazed carrots that melted on my tongue. I was already planning to fight him for any leftovers.

“So tell me about this wine,” Bell said, examining the label before he reached for the corkscrew he’d already set out beside the candle centerpiece.

Marjorie finished chewing, then took a sip of water. “It’s from a small vineyard just outside Fredericksburg. A woman in my book club brought a bunch of their wines to our holiday party last week, and I thought this one was lovely. She said it should pair well with red meat.”

Bell nodded thoughtfully as he slid the cork free and set it aside. Running his nose over the bottle’s opening, he said, “Smells earthy. A little peppery, maybe?” He poured some of it carefully into her glass, his wrist turning to stop the flow without a single drop spilled.

I found myself unexpectedly transfixed by the movement—the flex of tendons beneath tanned skin, the controlled strength in that simple twist. Of all of Bell’s physical attributes—and there were many I’d spent considerable time appreciating—I was surprised to find myself mesmerized by something as mundane as his wrist. But there was something undeniably elegant about the way his hand moved, confident and precise. It was the same careful control he showed on the ice, translated to this domestic moment, and for some reason, it made my mouth go dry.

I was still staring when he shifted toward me, the bottle poised above my glass. Our eyes met briefly, and I wondered if he could read the unexpected desire on my face. If so, his expression didn’t give anything away.

“That’s what Jocelyn said,” Marjorie replied. “She used all the fancy wine terms I’ve never bothered to learn.”

I chuckled. “Tastes good? Great. Pour more. Otherwise, I have no idea.”

“While I know just enough to pretend to be a pompous windbag,” Bell said, raising his glass for a toast. “To good food, good wine, and people who don’t judge us for not knowing all the terms.”

Marjorie’s eyes twinkled as she lifted her own in salute. “I’ll drink to that.”

We clinked our glasses gently, and a moment passed in comfortable silence as each of us took a sip.

Night had fully settled in, the darkness broken only by the warm glow of the string lights I’d hung along the porch railing a couple of weeks ago at Bell’s insistence. They cast soft halos against the inky sky, where stars broke the darkness in millions of brilliant white pinpricks of light.

Despite the patio heater nearby, the crisp winter air nipped at my exposed forearms, but for this Mainer, it was a pleasant sort of cold.

Bell let out a satisfied hum as he set down his wine glass. “Okay, that’s really good. Nice pick.”

As I’d explained earlier, I didn’t really know much about wine, but this one was rich against my tongue, with a warmth that traveled down my throat and settled pleasantly in my chest. I thought I caught hints of dark fruit and something earthy, the complexity surprising me.

“Glad it passes muster,” Marjorie said, her gaze flicking between the two of us with a faint smile tugging at her lips. “This whole setup is beautiful, by the way. You boys set a lovely table.”

Bell shot me a quick look, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“That’s all him,” I said at the exact same time he said, “That’s all me.”

Marjorie laughed, eyes twinkling. “Bell, then.”

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