Page 107 of Check & Chase
“Nope, all me.” I pull her closer, savoring the way she fits perfectly against my side. “Your turn. Something I don’t know about you.”
She’s quiet for a moment, candlelight casting dancing shadows across her thoughtful face. When she speaks, her voice is soft, almost dreamy. “I was super into astronomy too as a kid.”
“Wait, what? Really?”
“Yup.” She’s laughing now, the sound bright and surprised. “If my mom hasn’t changed my childhood bedroom, you’ll see—I had star stickers all over my ceiling. I loved everything about space, wanted to visit the stars one day.”
I stare at her, amazed by this unexpected connection. “No way.”
“My mom used to tell me that my dad would read me books about the constellations as a baby. Obviously I can’t remember that, but I like to believe he’s the reason I loved them so much growing up.”
The mention of her father shifts the mood slightly, introducing a note of melancholy into our warm bubble. I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo.
“It must be hard not having any memories of him.”
She shrugs, the movement small against my side. “You can’t miss what you never knew, not really. It’s more like missing the idea of him, you know? What might have been.”
“Jackson remembers him, though.”
“Yeah.” A touch of sadness colors her voice. “He has all these stories and memories I’ll never have. Sometimes I feel like I’m grieving a stranger.”
The confession opens a floodgate. Emma talks more freely than I’ve ever heard her, sharing fragments collected over a lifetime of questions and secondhand stories. Her father’s love of music, his terrible dad jokes that made her mother laugh despite herself, the way he proposed with a paper ring because he couldn’t afford a real one yet.
“Mom saved it,” she reveals, a soft smile playing around her lips. “Keeps it in this little glass box on her dresser. Says it means more than the diamond he got her later.”
“He sounds like a good man.”
“He was.” Emma’s hand finds mine under the blanket, fingers interlacing. “Jackson says I have his stubbornness. Mom says I have his determination. Same thing, really, just viewed differently.”
“Definitely got the stubbornness,” I tease gently, earning a light pinch to my side.
Conversation meanders after that. The candles burn lower, wax pooling at their bases while the storm continues. The house grows steadily cooler, making our shared warmth all the more precious.
“Do you miss it?” I ask carefully, knowing the ice remains a complicated subject. “Skating?”
The question hangs between us, heavy with potential landmines. But Emma surprises me, answering without the defensiveness I’ve come to expect.
“Every day,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not the competition part, not the pressure or the judging. Just the freedom. There’s nothing like it, being alone on fresh ice, the world reduced to the sound of your blades and your own heartbeat.”
Her words paint a picture I can almost see—a younger Emma gliding across pristine ice, arms outstretched, face tilted toward the arena lights like she’s reaching for something just beyond her grasp.
“You could skate again,” I suggest gently. “Not competitively, but for yourself.”
She tenses against me, then gradually relaxes as the idea settles. “Maybe.”
It’s more openness than she’s offered before on the subject, and I recognize it as the gift it is: trust.
“When you’re ready,” I promise simply, “I’d like to be there.”
She doesn’t respond verbally, just nods against my shoulder.
The wind continues its percussion against the windows, but inside our cocoon of blankets and candlelight, time seems suspended. Emma’s breathing has grown deeper, more relaxed, and I realize she’s fighting sleep.
“We should probably check on Max,” I murmur, though I’m reluctant to disturb this perfect moment.
“He’s fine,” Emma assures me, not moving from where she’s tucked against me. “Probably sleeping on that ridiculous memory foam bed you bought him.”
“He deserves the best. Hard work being that handsome.”
