Page 11 of Hometown Heart

"Dad! Can we go now? Please?" Cody was already halfway out of the car, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Sorry, Mrs. Perkins." I managed what I hoped was a polite smile. "Duty calls."

"Of course, of course! But do stop by the Legion Hall later—Vi's organizing a wonderful chowder contest..." Her voice faded as Cody tugged me toward the carnival entrance.

The combined scents of woodsmoke and chocolate hit us first. A massive fire pit crackled near the arena doors, surrounded by families warming their hands and toasting marshmallows. Paper lanterns shaped like snowflakes swayed in the breeze, and someone had carved an intricate map of Whistleport's coastline into a wall of ice.

"Jack! Cody!" A familiar voice cut through the crowd. Silas appeared, balancing a tray of steaming cups, his Tidal Grounds apron, worn over a winter coat, dusted with cocoa powder. "Perfect timing."

He handed Cody a hot chocolate topped with those famous hockey stick marshmallows plus a generous swirl of whipped cream. "Special order for my favorite future NHL star."

"Yes! Dad, look! He even put the little chocolate sprinkles on top!"

Silas passed me a coffee—dark roast with a splash of cream. "Figured you could use the real stuff, not that arena coffee they're serving inside."

Our fingers brushed during the handoff, and I found myself noticing how the winter air had painted his cheeks pink above his beard. "You didn't have to—"

"Dad! Come on!" Cody was already racing toward the ice maze. "I bet I can find the middle before you!"

"Duty calls," Silas echoed my earlier words with a grin. "Better hurry—he's got that determined look."

I hesitated, surprised by how much I wanted to stay and ask Silas about his day, but Cody's voice rang out again. I nodded at Silas before jogging after my son.

The coffee warmed my hands as I followed Cody's path through the ice walls. It was perfect—exactly how I liked it. I wondered when Silas had noticed, how many morning coffee runs it had taken for him to learn my order by heart.

***

"Keep your blades straight. Like this, see?"

Cody shared some unsolicited advice as we took part in a free skate inside the arena. I wobbled slightly on my rental skates, feeling every one of my thirty-five years. "Some of us didn't learn to skate before we could walk, bud."

The carnival had hit full swing. Music drifted from speakers hidden in the snowflake lanterns—a current hit song that Cody hummed along to while circling around behind me.

My son, the show-off.I chuckled softly. On the far side of the rink, younger kids clung to orange skating aids shaped like seals while their parents captured wobbly first steps on their phones.

"You're too stiff," a voice called from behind me. "You're thinking about it too much."

I turned—too quickly—and nearly collided with a woman skating past. Silas glided to a stop beside me, his Tidal Grounds apron replaced by a well-worn Whistleport High Hockey jacket.

"I didn't know coffee shops had a skating division." I tried to hide my balance issues with humor.

"Varsity team, class of '09." He shrugged, but I saw the flash of pride in his eyes. "Nothing special, but—"

"He was good," Cody piped up, executing a flawless stop. "I saw him in his team photo in the trophy case. He scored like a million points!"

Silas laughed. "More like twenty, and the scorekeeper was very generous." He turned to me. "Here, try this—bend your knees more, and stop watching your feet."

"If I stop watching my feet, I'll end up wearing them as a hat."

"Trust me." He held out his hands. "Cody, come show your dad how it's done."

My son beamed, puffing up with ten-year-old authority. "First, you gotta get lower, like you're sitting in a chair. And don't be so scared—the ice isn't gonna bite you."

"The ice might not, but the ground sure will." I let them position my feet, adjusting my stance until Silas nodded in approval. I'd played hockey in high school and skated with Cody, but I was out of practice.

"Better. Now push to the side, don't try to walk. Like this..." He demonstrated with casual grace, then circled back. "Your turn."

I managed three decent strokes before my edges caught. I grabbed for the nearest support—which happened to be Silas. His hands closed around my forearms, steady and warm through my coat sleeves.

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