Page 118 of Wild Then Wed
He doesn’t say anything, just watches me like he’s not sure what he’s allowed to say. I shift slightly, then hold out my hand between us. My pinky extended.
“No more secrets,” I say.
His gaze drops to my hand, then lifts slowly to meet mine.
“I’m not asking for your life story. That’s not what this is,” I go on. “But if there’s something the other personshouldmaybe know—like being previously married, or being a secret serial killer or something…”
That gets the corner of his mouth to twitch. Just barely. But it’s something. He reaches out and wraps his pinky around mine, his skin warm against the cold.
“Deal,” he says. “No more big secrets.”
And we just stand there like that for a second longer, fingers hooked together in the middle of a freezing parking lot.
Our hands drop after a beat and Sawyer jerks his chin toward Main Street, where cars are packed in tight and bundled-up bodies weave between them, steaming cups clutched in mittened hands. “You hitting up Winterfaire?”
“Obviously.”
His dark brows hitch. “Obviously?”
“Yeah,” I say, already seeing it—the glow of the rink under the winter sky, the crisp scrape of blades on ice. “They’ve got the rink up, and it’s supposed to stay clear tonight.”
Sawyer follows my gaze toward town like he’s trying to picture it, too. “You ice skate?”
“Please,” I say. “I don’t just skate. I dominate.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up, and damn if that smirk doesn’t do something stupid to my pulse.
“My dad used to take me when I was little,” I admit, the memory softening my voice. “He’d hold my hands, skate backward, and let me believe I was doing it all by myself. We went every year—even when it was so cold our faces went numb. Then, when I got older, it turned into me trying to out-skate Boone and Ridge.” A grin tugs at my lips. “Still do, when I get the chance.”
The rink unfolds in my mind—big and gleaming under strings of white lights, right in the middle of the square where the farmer’s market usually sits. The wooden rails get slick by the end of the night, the speakers blare too much Bing Crosby, and the hot cocoa is cheap, but it’s magical. For two weeks, this town becomes something else entirely.
Sawyer lets out a low chuckle. “That actually sounds…fun.”
“It is,” I say, holding his gaze.
He shifts his weight, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I don’t know how to skate.”
My mouth hangs open a little. “You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
“You’veneverice skated? You live in Montana!”
He shakes his head, shoving his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “My parents weren’t exactly the Winterfaire type. Too many of us to keep track of.”
I squint at him. “Not once?”
“Not unless you count the time I ate shit on a frozen pond when I was twelve.”
“Wiping out isn’t exactly a skill set, the last time I checked.”
His grin is slow. “Maybe I just need a good teacher.”
“Let me teach you,” I say. “I taught Sage. I’m afantasticteacher.”
He looks skeptical, which is fair. “And can Sage skate?”
“Now she can. It took her three days to stop gripping the rail like it was a matter of life or death, but she got there.”
