Page 39 of A Christmas Spark
“Okay,” he said, still laughing. “Sure. Why not? Let’s go ice skating.”
Mabel nodded, swallowing hard as she reached for her purse. Her pulse wasn’t just fluttering now—her heart was pounding.
George stared up at the blinking Christmas lights that wreathed the big sign over Lincoln’s ice-skating rink, wondering what exactly he’d gotten himself into. As they walked in, he smelled pizza and popcorn mixed with cider and a faint scent of chocolate, along with that particular smell that came along with being in a building kept exceptionally cold. It should have been a strange combination of smells, but it was weirdly nostalgic. It brought back memories of skating lessons, after-school hangouts, and other events like it—like concessions out by the football field in high school. It made him feel oddly young again, and overall, it was alarming.
Why on earth had he agreed to this? He never would have, normally. He wasn’t a “fun activity” person. He was a practical person. A sensible person. A person who sold Christmas trees and built gazebos and fixed things that were broken. He wasn’t the kind of person who went ice skating on a whim on a Sunday afternoon, especially not when he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been on skates. Had it been high school? Earlier? He honestly wasn’t sure, and that should have been his first clue that this was a terrible idea.
But when Mabel had suggested it, sitting there in the diner with that mischievous sparkle in her eyes, something in him had simply refused to say no. The word “no” had been right there on the tip of his tongue, along with a perfectly reasonable explanation about how he had work to do, and trees to tend to, and a dozen other perfectly valid excuses. But instead, he’d heard himself agreeing to what had to be Mabel’s most ridiculous idea yet, and that was saying something.
The truth is, you want an excuse to spend time with her.The nosy voice in the back of his head was getting louder, and the realization that he was willing to do all sorts of stupid, inconvenient things in order to spend time with Mabel Stewart was beginning to be difficult to ignore. The whole situation withthe kitten had been one thing—helping a friend out, like when he’d brought her dinner a few times last year when she’d hurt her wrist. But then there was the Christmas market, which he avoided every year like the plague. And now spontaneous ice skating.
He was not a spontaneous man. He was the opposite of whatever that was. And this entire thing was alarming.
He also was not a romantic. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a date—it had probably been a few presidents ago. But somehow, lately, all of his common sense kept flying right out of the window when it came to Mabel.
“Come on,” Mabel said, practically bouncing on her toes as she headed toward the window to rent the skates. “This is going to be wonderful. I haven’t been skating in ages, but it’s like riding a bicycle, isn’t it? You never really forget.”
George seriously doubted that. In fact, he tried to remember the last time he’d paid his insurance premium, just in case this ended with a trip to the ER and his first hip replacement.
“Hey there, Mabel! And… ah… George?”
Lincoln’s voice reached them from across the rink, as he walked toward them, dusting off his work-gloved hands on his pants. “How are you two? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before, George.” He looked at George curiously, and George fought the urge to frown, trying to ignore the politely puzzled look on Lincoln’s face, like he was seeing something that was not where it should be.
“Hey there,” George said gruffly, giving the other man a brief nod. He felt his face heating slightly at the scrutiny, like he was a teenager again sneaking out with the girl he liked, which was ridiculous. He was a seventy-year-old man. He could go skating with a friend without it being an entire event.
He just hoped no one particularly gossipy happened to see them. They were risking this being all over the town, and if thewrong person caught sight of it, all of Fir Tree Grove would be re-opening the betting pool on if he and Mabel were going to make things official.
Strangely, the thought didn’t bug him as much as it usually did.
Lincoln glanced between the two of them again, heading behind the window to dig out skates for Mabel. “You here to skate too, George?”
“That’s usually what people do here, don’t they?” George groused, and Mabel shot him a look. He cleared his throat. “Ah… yes. Size ten, please.”
Lincoln looked at George, at Mabel, and then shrugged, fishing out two pairs of skates and setting them on the counter.
Fortunately, the rink was surprisingly quiet for a Sunday afternoon. George figured they must have managed to come during a lunchtime lull. They had the place to themselves, at least for a little while, and he was glad no one but Mabel was going to witness him wobbling like a baby deer on the ice.
“Aren’t you excited?” Mabel asked, already lacing up her skates with practiced efficiency. “I used to love skating when I was younger. I’m always so busy now, but I kept meaning to get out here. Maybe invite Vanessa and Imogen, I know her little one takes lessons here?—”
George grunted noncommittally as Mabel kept chattering and he laced up the skates. He stood up experimentally and immediately felt unsteady, like the ground had shifted beneath him.
“Ready?” Mabel asked, and before he could answer, she was already moving toward the entrance to the rink, gliding smoothly onto the ice like she’d been doing it all her life. Maybe she had, he thought grumpily. He didn’t know all her hobbies.
George followed more cautiously, gripping the wall as he stepped onto the ice. The surface was slick, without much grip tothe ice, and George felt his feet immediately try to slide out from under him. He tightened his grip on the wall, moving forward inch by careful inch while Mabel glided effortlessly ahead of him.
“Come on, George!” she called over her shoulder. “The ice won’t bite you!”
“It will if I go down!” he yelled back, just as his left foot decided to go in a completely different direction than his right foot. He windmilled his arms, trying to regain his balance, but it was too late. His feet shot out from under him and he went down hard, landing on his backside with a thud that he was pretty sure echoed throughout the entire rink.
Mabel looked back, and he rethought being fine with just her seeing him. He glared at her as she covered her mouth with a mittened hand, clearly trying not to laugh as she came to help him up.
This was why he didn’t do “fun” activities.
“Are you okay?” Mabel asked, holding out a hand to help him up. “Maybe go slower this time.”
“Mabel, if I was going any slower, I’d be standing still,” he said grumpily, getting to his feet with the help of the wall and her hand.
“Well, it takes a minute to get the hang of it,” Mabel said reassuringly.
