Page 84 of Hometown Heart

"My dad used to bring me here," I said suddenly, the words escaping before I could reconsider them. "When I was little, before he left. He taught me to skate on this exact spot and said it was the smoothest ice in the harbor."

"Was he right?" Jack asked, keeping his voice neutral in a way I appreciated.

I nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of my mouth despite myself. "Yeah. He knew every inch of this harbor—where to fish, where to skate, where to watch for seals in summer." I paused, my skates cutting twin trails across the pristine surface. "For years after he left, I couldn't come here without feelingangry. It felt like he'd stolen this place from me, along with everything else."

"And now?" Jack's question was gentle, without pressure.

"Now I'm reclaiming it," I said. "Making new memories." I didn't add with you, though the words hung silently between us.

I pushed forward, feeling a fluid confidence I rarely experienced in other parts of my life. On this frozen harbor, away from Tidal Grounds and the watchful eyes of Whistleport, I felt unburdened.

A laugh from the main skating area drew our attention. Cody attempted to teach Tyler some complicated spin, and both boys tumbled onto the ice in a tangle of limbs before scrambling up to try again.

"He's thriving here," I observed, watching Jack's expression soften as he looked at his son. "You both are."

"We are," he agreed. "Though I didn't expect it when we first arrived."

"What did you expect?" I asked, genuinely curious about how he'd viewed Whistleport when they'd first come to town.

"A temporary way station. Somewhere to catch our breath after the divorce, somewhere Cody could play hockey without the baggage of our old life. I figured we'd stay a season, maybe two, then move on."

His answer confirmed what I'd suspected but hadn't wanted to acknowledge. They had never planned to stay.

"And now?" I asked, unable to keep a hint of vulnerability from my voice.

Jack turned to face me fully, his features illuminated by moonlight—the strong line of his jaw, the depth in his eyes, the openness in his expression that had become increasingly frequent in recent weeks.

"Now," he said, "I'm having a hard time imagining being anywhere else."

We'd skated to the furthest edge of the harbor ice, where the frozen surface met the shadow of the old cannery building. The moon hung directly overhead, casting our elongated shadows across the untouched expanse. From here, Whistleport appeared as a collection of glowing windows and lantern light, the town's reflection wavering in the ice like an invitation to some parallel universe where everything familiar was transformed into something magical.

"I never get tired of this view," I murmured, coming to a stop. The words carried in the still air, undisturbed by the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation from the main skating area.

Jack halted beside me, respecting the deliberate space I'd placed between us—not from hesitation, but to take in the moment fully. I could feel his eyes on my profile as snowflakes began to dust my shoulders. The weather was shifting, the air growing heavier with moisture as clouds gathered above us.

"It's different from here," he agreed. "You can see the whole town at once."

"Like looking at your life from the outside." The words emerged unbidden, revealing more than I'd intended.

"Is that what you're doing? Looking at your life from a distance?" His question was gentle but perceptive.

I turned to him, feeling the weight of the moment. "I spent years doing exactly that. Standing behind my counter, watching Whistleport live around me without really being part of it."

"And now?"

"Now I'm tired of watching." I drew a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs completely before releasing it into the cold night air. "I want to participate."

A snowflake landed on his eyelash, and he blinked it away. The world around us had quieted as if nature itself was holding its breath. Even the distant sounds of the other skaters seemed tofade into the background, leaving just the two of us suspended in this perfect, private moment.

"What changed?" he asked, though his expression suggested he knew the answer.

I smiled—not my careful, measured smile that I offered customers at Tidal Grounds, but something that felt raw and honest. "You know what changed. You and Cody arrived."

The admission hung in the air between us, honest and unadorned. Jack reached for my hand, our gloved fingers intertwining with practiced ease. The gesture had become natural over the past months—a bridge between the careful distance I'd always maintained and the intimacy we'd been slowly building.

"We weren't looking for Whistleport," he admitted. "It was an accident—a wrong turn that somehow ended up being exactly right."

"Some wrong turns aren't wrong at all," I said, squeezing his hand, then unexpectedly pushing off across the ice, pulling him along with me.

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