Page 27 of Her Mountain Christmas
My cheeks heat. “Uh. A couple days?”
Kaylee and Hailey exchange a knowing look, and Sophia laughs. “Honey Ridge time. That’s like a year anywhere else.”
Jack’s arm slides around my waist, his thumb tracing idle circles over my hip. “You know, Ella’s from Edmonton, but she’s going to be moving to Honey Ridge, and she’ll be in the market for a job. If you hear anything, let her know. She’s got a business degree and a flair for the creative. She loves art, especially painting.”
Sophia’s face lights up. “Oh! The gallery over on Maple just posted about needing a new manager. My friend Meg works there. I’ll get the details and text them to you.”
Before I can even thank her, Hailey chimes in. “And you have to come out to dinner with us after Christmas.”
Kaylee nods. “Yeah, we do girls’ nights every other week. You’re in.”
I glance up at Jack, who’s looking at me with that quiet, proud smile of his as he watches me find my place here. My throat tightens. It’s amazing to talk to people who don’t carewhat my dad does or what my last name is. People who just want to know me for me.
“That sounds great,” I say. We trade numbers, and I glance around again as the group moves on, taking in the festive Christmas decorations, the mountains rising up in the background, “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” playing over a speaker from somewhere in the distance.
The rest of the morning passes in a blur of laughter and Christmas-infused warmth. We wander from stall to stall, sipping our apple ciders as we go. Jack buys me a delicate necklace with a pretty little red ball ornament pendant on it, and I insist on getting him a new toque, even though he swears his old one is fine. It’s dark gray with a nice thick knit, and when I raise up onto my tip toes to tug it onto his head, he catches my wrist and pulls me in for a kiss that tastes like cinnamon and sugar.
By the time we reach the large outdoor ice rink, my cheeks are flushed, and my heart is full. This is easily one of the best days of my life.
The rink is a flurry of activity, with kids zipping past, couples gliding hand-in-hand, the crisp scrape of blades on ice cutting through the air. Twinkle lights wrap around the wooden railing, and a giant, lit-up Christmas tree stands sentinel at one end, its branches dusted with snow. I realize this is where the Christmas music was coming from, Frank Sinatra crooning about mistletoe and holly from a speaker leaning against the railing.
I hesitate as we get closer. “Um, I should probably warn you that I don’t really know how to skate.”
Jack’s eyebrows lift, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Not at all?”
“I’ve only ever skated once, which probably makes me a terrible Canadian. It was at a birthday party when I was ten. Ispent most of the time clinging to the wall trying not to fall on my ass.”
He chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “Good thing you’ve got me, then.”
We rent skates, and Jack helps me lace them up, his fingers sure and steady. When I stand, wobbling immediately, his arm bands around my waist, holding me upright.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his breath fogging the air between us. “I’ve got you.”
I quickly learn that Jack’s been skating since he could walk. He started playing hockey when he was five, and still plays once a week in a local rec league. “Bet the other team hates to see you coming,” I tease as he guides me onto the ice, our hands entwined.
His laugh is so deep and sexy that it makes my toes curl in my skates. “They should.”
The cold bites at my nose, but I barely feel it, too focused on the way Jack moves, with effortless, powerful, strokes. He skates backward in front of me, pulling me along, his other hand steady on my waist.
“Relax your knees,” he says patiently. “Lean into me.”
I do, my fingers tightening in his, and I have a sudden, visceral vision of him teaching a little boy or girl to skate just like this. The world is a blur of laughter, music, the crunch of ice under blades, and the only thing I see with absolute clarity is Jack. The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way his biceps flex beneath his coat as he guides me.
“You’re doing great,” he says, and the pride in his voice makes my chest ache.
We pick up speed, gliding in slow, easy loops. Jack spins me once, just a little, and I let out a completely undignified shriek, clutching at him as the rink tilts around us. He catches me effortlessly, pulling me flush against him.
“See?” he says, his lips brushing my temple. “Nothing to be scared of.”
And he’s right. With Jack by my side, there’s nothing to be scared of. Nothing at all.
Ten
Jack
It’s the afternoon of Christmas Eve, and Ella and I are cozy at home. She’s baking shortbread in the kitchen, humming along to the Christmas music playing, and I’m building a fire in the fireplace. This morning, she came with me to help out at a soup kitchen in Canmore, and now we’re settling in for the day. It’s snowing again, but the flakes are small and light this time.
Everywhere I look, I see little signs of Ella around my house, and it makes my heart expand in my chest. Her coat on the hook by the door, her small boots lined up beside my much larger ones. Her toothbrush beside mine in the bathroom. The smell of her on my sheets. The sound of her off-key singing from the kitchen.
