Page 46 of Babies for the Christmas Grump
I grin back, triumphant. “See? I knew you had it in you. You just needed a little Sunny magic.”
Ryder’s smile fades as quickly as it appeared, but there’s a lightness in his expression now.
He turns his gaze away, pretending to be all serious again.
“You’re impossible,” he mutters, but I can tell by the way he’s holding his hot cider that he’s not actually annoyed.
“I’m a holiday enthusiast with a gift for spreading cheer,” I say, taking a sip of my own cider.
We continue walking through the market, sampling everything from handcrafted soaps to overpriced mittens. We pass a stall selling tiny ornaments, and I can’t resist grabbing a glittery reindeer for the hotel’s tree.
Ryder’s looking at a vintage sign with the words Merry and Bright in swirly gold script, and I wonder, just for a moment, if maybe he’s getting a little bit into the spirit after all.
Maybe he won’t admit it yet. But I’ve got plenty of time to wear him down.
After we’ve exhausted the market’s supply of hot cider and cutesy ornaments, I’ve got one last perfect stop in mind. I’m practically vibrating with excitement.
“Alright, Ryder Hale,” I announce, giving him a sly grin as we walk toward the path leading to Boston Common. “Time for some ice skating.”
His eyes narrow. “Ice skating? You’re kidding, right? I’m not exactly a glide on frozen water kind of guy.”
“Oh, come on!” I tug at his arm enthusiastically. “It’ll be fun. Look, there’s nothing more Christmassy than skating under the stars, with the twinkly lights reflecting off the ice, and maybe a hot chocolate afterward. You’ll love it.”
He shakes his head, arms crossing over his chest in the most infuriatingly confident way. “No, thank you. I’ll watch.”
I roll my eyes, deciding not to give up so easily.
“Oh no. No, no, no.” I grab his hand, yanking him toward the rink before he can protest again. “You’re going on the ice. You don’t get just to watch. Come on!”
I’m laughing, but Ryder? He’s scowling with the look of a man who’s about to be shoved into a vat of cold cement.
He tries to slow me down, digging in his heels, but I’m stronger than I look. And maybe just a little too stubborn for my own good.
Finally, we make it to the rink, and Ryder’s doing that thing where he crosses his arms and glares at the ground as if it’s personally offended him. I hold out a pair of skates, grinning.
“You’re going to love this, I swear. It’ll be magical. You’ll feel like you’re in one of those cheesy Christmas movies.”
He doesn’t take the skates.
“Magical,” he mutters dryly. “Right.”
I sigh dramatically, grab his hand again, and lead him to a bench. We get the skates on, and despite his protests, I finally get him onto the ice.
At first, he’s a deer on roller skates, wobbling, stiff, and gripping the edge of the rink to keep himself upright.
He’s awkward. Seriously, it’s almost endearing. He might collapse into a heap of frustrated billionaire at any second.
“Come on, you’re fine.” I cheer, skating circles around him with a giggle. “Just trust the ice. Pretend it’s like walking, but on slippery ground.”
He shoots me a look that could melt all the ice in Boston. “Thanks for the tip, Miss Ice Skating Pro,” he grumbles, still clutching the side of the rink because it’s clearly his anchor to civilization.
I can’t help but laugh, zooming away in a smooth glide. “You’ve got this! Come on!”
Of course, Ryder doesn’tgot this. Not yet.
He slips once, then catches himself. Then, not even two minutes later, he falls again, crashing into the ice with a disgruntled yelp.
“Ahh!” I bite back a laugh, skating back to him. “See? Wasn’t so bad, right?”
