Page 39 of A Very Titan Christmas
“Oh—Woah—”
He maneuvered them around a pileup of kids laughing on the ice, unaware she might mow over them.
“Thanks,” she managed.
“Think about it,” he said without missing a beat. “Ugly sweater theme. If somebody feels particularly artistic or is dead set on winning the contest, they could get creative and detailed.”
She could envision the artwork on the cookies.
“But if someone—a kid, let’s say—is there to have fun, then they make a fuckin’ ugly sweater cookie.”
It was brilliant. “How did you come up with that?”
He dropped his arm from her elbow and gripped her mittened hand, for some reason having enough faith that she wouldn’t fall over now that he didn’t have an iron grip on her arm.
“I was trying to remember what you and I did around the holidays.”
Her heart squeezed.
“Lord knows, there was a ton to choose from, but I remembered that ugly sweater party we went to at Mr. Gleason’s house and how silly everyone got. The cheerleaders wore theirs short and tight and on-brand. The sports guys did their favorite teams. Even that goth girl who didn’t talk to anybody got into it. Ugly sweater parties speak to everybody.”
He wasn’t wrong. She could even picture the cookie-decorating contest in her article. That was a top-shelf idea. Rachel tilted her head and leaned against Bryce. “That’s a great idea. I really love—” One second she was talking, the next second her feet were running in place on the ice, like she was Fred Flintstone trying to jump-start the cavemobile.
Once again, Bryce caught her before she could fall. “All right. You good on research, or want to go another round?”
“Done,” she said, more breathless than she liked to admit, and let him pull her to safety.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Heaven was takingoff the tightly laced ice skates. Rachel tried to hide the groan of relief that came from pulling her feet free, but she didn’t manage it. Bryce snickered and was in his shoes before she’d managed to wriggle her toes.
Rachel shoved her hands into her mittens and stood up, not thrilled with the way her legs felt like squishy marshmallows. “Do you feel like you’re still on ice?”
“No.”
“My, my. You’re an ice-skating overachiever.”
He didn’t triumphantly smirk as much as smile to himself and adjust his gloves, but Rachel was sure that he would gloat over his superior skating skills given the chance.
“You ready to head back?” Bryce asked.
“Want to look at the Christmas tree?”
“Is this a work-research thing?” He shrugged. “If not, seen one Christmas tree, seen them all.”
Her mouth fell open. “That’s a little antithetical to the season, don’t ya think?”
He shrugged again and glanced over his shoulder. “It looks like every other big-assed Christmas tree.”
“Do you hate the holidays?”
“You’re asking me that because I don’t want to stare at a tree?”
Her gaze narrowed. “You’re grumpier than I remember.”
“You’re a lot of things that I don’t remember.”
She was too wary to ask for clarification. “Do you like the holidays?”
