Page 86 of Merry Me
Me: GOODBYE FOREVER.
The moment I stepped onto the ice, I knew I’d made a terrible life decision.
Not the kind where you accidentally text your ex at two a.m. because Spotify shuffled to your song and you suddenly forgot how to have boundaries. And not even the kind where you order sushi from a gas station and spend the next twelve hours having a spiritual experience on your bathroom floor.
Yes.Both of those things had happened to me.No,I wasn’t proud of either.
This was worse. This was full-body regret. Existential crisis regret. The kind where your brain is screamingabort mission, your feet are sliding in opposite directions, and your dignity is clinging to the railing like it’s Jack in the ocean and Rose’s stupid fucking door she wouldn’t share.
“Are we sure this is a pre-wedding activity and not a secret plot to thin the bridal party?” I asked, arms windmilling as I tried to center myself, which only made me look like a drunk scarecrow attempting yoga.
“Technically,” Ellie said, gliding past me like an ice ballerina with a cider in hand. “Paige called it ‘festive bonding.’ So basically, yes.”
“Excellent,” I muttered. “I love bonding. Can’t wait to break my femur for it.”
The skating rink was a pop-up winter wonderland setup just down the road from the B&B. Fairy lights were strung overhead in crisscrossing loops, casting a soft, enchanted glow across the ice like we were trapped inside a holiday snow globe. A vendor cart off to the side was doing God’s work serving hot chocolatelaced with peppermint schnapps, and someone had the gall to be DJing a mix of Christmas classics and, for some reason, Céline Dion’s “All By Myself.”
Not that I was complaining. My knees were shaking too hard for me to do anything except mentally cling to her high notes for support.
Around me, other wedding guests skated like they were born on blades—laughing, twirling, holding hands. Meanwhile, I was inching along the wall like Bambi if Bambi had anxiety, schnapps breath, and a mild vendetta against winter sports.
Small mercy? Easton hadn’t shown up yet.
He’d been delayed—something about a last-minute call with his agent. Apparently, a new project was being fast-tracked, and he’d needed to step away before the group left for the rink.
Which was fine.
Really.
Totally fine.
Actually, it did give me time to maybe figure out how not to skate like an injured pelican before he arrived and saw me flailing.
Or—I don’t know—stage a convincing injury, spend the rest of the night sipping schnapps-laced cocoa, and dramatically sighing about the fragility of the human ankle.
Also a solid plan.
The best part? The entire rink had been rented out for the night to keep the chaos contained to the wedding guests. Which meant no stray paparazzi and, even better, no random fans showing up to witness me biting it in front of my famous ex-boyfriend.
Ex.
Right.
I kept calling him that in my head, but…he wasn’t reallyfeelinglike an ex lately.
Not with the way he looked at me.
Not with the way my heart kept acting like we hadn’t missed a single beat.
Ugh.
I was halfway through mentally calculating how long I needed to skate before I could “gracefully retire” to the sidelines when I heard it.
That voice.
Low. Smug. Laced with just enough mischief to make me want to bodycheck someone on purpose.
“Hey, Trouble.”
