Him
She's skating with a man. I've barely seen her look at a man let alone link arms and skate with one. She is smiling at him. Smiling and skating and linking arms. What magic must he have spewed from his mouth to make her agree to that? What poetry could change her so completely? How is it I can barely get a civil word out of her and he manages to get smiles and laughs? I know it is mostly my fault, as stupid as I've acted around her, but still. Is it really just because I'm a brute? Somehow this cuts deeper than any insult.
I skate around in a fury and my cheerful attitude is ruined. Though I didn't mind the company, after so long cooped up in that house, the ladies that keep approaching me become tiresome and I become short of temper. I'm standing near the edge, taking a break from skating when Amber and Grace come over.
"I never thought I'd see the day." It's Grace that says it, sounding very much as though she is as shocked as I am.
"Do you know him?" I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.
"He's a tenant of the house, Sam Jennings. Has a successful farm not far from here, he's very nice."
"Ah." I clench my jaw so hard my teeth hurt, forcing myself not to glare at them. So he's no gentleman either. No higher than me. So it's not my station that keeps her away—it's just me.
Her
I expect being with Sam to be awkward. I expect to be fooled by my initial impression, and escape the moment he reveals he is just like every other man.
But it isn't, and I'm not.
Any awkwardness melts away like old snow in the first few minutes, and I find the conversation coming easier and easier. He is warm, sturdy and sure, but not arrogant. With him, I fall into an easy rhythm of skating and talking. I find myself smiling pleasantly and laughing softly.
And yet.
It's… detached somehow. Warm and easy, but not real. I can almost picture it, meeting like this, spending time together, even getting married one day. It would be as easy as breathing. Safe. But the thought twists my stomach. It wouldn't be real, not for me. The darkness would linger—hiding in the corners, maybe—but ever present. I feel strangely heavy, my chest tight, even as I smile at him.
"Penny for your thoughts, Laura?" He looks at me so obligingly, so open and honest.
"I was thinking how lovely it is to be outside, after such a cold month." The lie slips out before I can stop it, smooth as the ice under our skates. And yet it stings—another thorn lodges deep, another weight pressing down.
"You see I thought maybe…" He looks down, cheeks flushing. He hesitates and I nod to encourage him.
"You're not… spoken for, are you?" He looks so worried to offend me I almost laugh. I go to answer, but part of me hesitates. I blink in surprise at myself. I have no prior attachments, and yet…
"Oh, um—no, I don't." The words feel wrong the moment they leave my lips, like they don't quite belong to me. Foolish. Why did I hesitate?
He looks relieved—smiling brightly at me once again.
"Oh good, I just noticed that man has been staring at you, and I thought maybe…" I follow his subtle que as to where to look and meet a startling pair of grey eyes.
Aleksi immediately avoids my gaze, turning back to his conversation with a man from town. Heat flares in my chest, sharp and sudden. My breath catches, and for a second, I forget the cold entirely.
"No, no. He dislikes me, that's why he's watching, he's probably coming up with jokes to make later." I assure him, and myself. Sam nods, but his eyes fall to the ice.
We slow to a stop, the first awkward silence stretching between us.
I want to be free of the past. I want to be free of how Aleksi makes me feel, all unpredictability. Maybe this is how. Maybe I could learn to love him, maybe someday that darkness would fade.
It's worth a try.
"Would you like to get some hot chocolate with me? I saw some being handed out over there." My heart twists so tight I almost regret speaking. My fingers, clammy beneath my gloves, curl into my palms as I brace for rejection. But then—his smile. Bright, easy. Just like I want this to be.
Him
"What's got your bonnet in a twist?" Adah nudges me, teasing.
"I don't know what you mean." But even to myself my voice sounds surly.
"So you're unaware you've been sulking like a small child around this rink all day?" I give her an unhappy look and she laughs at my expense, "Does this have something to do with your girl going around with someone else?" The words hang in the air a moment, my face never shifting.
"She's not my girl." I finally grumble. Adah is laughing so hard she has to grab onto me to stay upright. I give her a long suffering look and roll my eyes.
"Help!"
Adah's laughing stops and we turn together to the sounds of distress. A crowd is forming around a groaning Amber, clutching her ankle. Grace is next to her, rapidly explaining that she fell and her ankle twisted at a horrible angle. Adah and I move immediately. One benefit of working on farms your whole life is knowing what to do with injuries. One time on the farm during harvest one of the men fell into a pit we hadn't noticed formed by heavy rains. His leg broke so bad you could see the bone. I carried him to the doc and helped him set the leg. It wasn't the first or last time.
"Let me see." I kneel in front of Amber and raise my eyebrows, hands hovering around her ankle. Her face is tight with pain, but she nods. I know almost immediately it isn't broken, but probably severely sprained. Wrapping her in my coat, which I brought over from the edge.
"You'll have to stay off it a while, but it isn't broken. May I?" Again she nods and I scoop her easily up into my arms.
The crowd shifts to let me through, murmuring approval, but I barely notice. Because she's just… watching me.
Her cheeks are kissed pink by the cold and her eyes—sparkling and sharp—hold mine like a snare, like she's caught me before I even realized there was a trap.
The world seems to stop, then disappear, and it is only the two of us, trapped in this strange, silent exchange.
Some part of me—reckless, desperate—urges me towards her. My feet move before Adah's hand closes around my arm, grounding me, pulling me back.
Laura looks away, turning to talk to someone else, but as I near the edge of the clearing, I catch her watching again. The tension doesn't fade. It stretches between us, taut and waiting, like the moment before a fall.